After ten days in the amazing northern islands, we (as in Dee and I) were spending the night on Manta Ray Beach Resort, drinking funny named cocktails and trying to ignore the tropical storm around us. All of a sudden, her glass empty, Dee stood up and went to bed; I wished her goodnight with my glass of Manta Ray Island Ice Tea still half full, adding “Just the time to finish the cocktail, and I’ll go to bed too!”
It was almost midnight and little I knew…
So, here I am fighting with the remnants of the cocktail, observing a bunch of people shotgunning beer, when drunk Irish Pauline approaches me, sits on my lap, puts her arm around my neck and starts talking in my ear, too joyful and cute for me to ignore… And all of a sudden I find myself sitting at the table with her and 3 others -her Irish friend, an Aussie guy and a totally drunk American octopus-, the glass left empty on the bench, a cold can of beer in my hands. If we all, every now and then, get very silly ideas, when drunk and abroad these very silly ideas tend to assume an extremely cool appearance and like an aura of inevitability. And so it starts as a shy whisper and ends with the 5 of us walking on the beach, heavy wind blowing, and heavy rain pissing down. And from there, it is an instant and you could see these terrestrial mammals floating on the stormy ocean half naked, a show as unnatural and against any survival instinct as it would be the one of fish that keep their breath and jump on the rock to get sun tanned… Anyway, time and beer go by in between the black ocean and the freezing beach, and I wake up in bed the morning after, sand all over, the tropical storm still knocking on the window, the bones and the brain still wet and creaky. And then it was a dull morning, trying somehow to get dry amidst an almost horizontal rain, getting ready to jump on the boat and start the descent toward South Sea Island; hoping to leave the bad weather in Manta Ray.
Alas, little I knew…
In the Mamanucas and Yasawas, due to the small size of the islands, the lack of proper docks and, above all, the presence of miles and miles of shallow reefs, the big boat (or catamaran that is) can’t get ashore, having to stop well before the coast. And so, it is routine in these islands to board small boats that will eventually get you to the big one. So, in this case we’ve got two small boats full of holidaymakers and one small boat full with the holidaymakers’ bags… A little digression: as soon as I arrived in Fiji, partly because of the amazing scenery (green, volcanic mountains surrounded by the ocean, and all over lush tropical vegetation), partly because of the weather, hot and often humid, partly because of the importance of kava in these islands life, I instantly understood the real meaning of what the natives proudly call “Fiji time”: it looks like these islands float in a dimension were hurry is not an option, time is so stretched that an hour can fluctuate from 15 up to 180 minutes. And so, here we are in these boats, the holidaymakers and the bags, just off the reef (less than 30 meters off the coast), cats and dogs raining from the sky, waiting for the catamaran to pick us up. After an hour or so, the bags and the holidaymakers totally soaked, we can finally see it approaching. Fuck, just get on board, find a sit and get some warm, comfortable sleep.
But little I knew of what was laying ahead…
The journey starts, the ocean is rough, the catamaran parts the waves amidst the excitement of the people, laughing at all this bouncing. It feels like being on the roller coaster, people laughing and screaming, as they are aware that this is only entertainment, safety is obviously paramount and there’s nothing to worry about. Then, at some point, the bouncing gets heavier and heavier, the crests get higher and higher, people still laugh and scream, but you can hear some of these laughs start having a hysterical nuance. Anyway, the fun goes on for five more minutes, taken to a sudden halt the moment that the catamaran bounces, lands on the water and the following wave (or preceding that is) is so big that smashes on the windows of the lower deck, for a second fully obstructing the view of the outside world. Few people still try and see the funny side of the situation but you can feel that panic is slowly taking over. The hostess, who has already seen all this, smiling moves around the deck providing people with paper bags… The captain takes the mike to announce that “we have very rough conditions and the journey will be extremely uncomfortable throughout the Yasawa.” (yeah, thanks for letting us know!) Five minutes of more and more extreme bouncing and you can hear distressed voices on the lower deck asking the captain, who anyway can’t hear them as he’s staying in the upper deck, to slow down. Then the catamaran hits yet another wave, the splashing is so powerful that not only hits the windows, but also water begins entering the lower deck. At this point, no one laughs anymore, there are few people screaming, but they are screaming out of fear… As for us (as in Dee, Meghan and myself), we cope with it pretty well, no puking, no panic, but it’s difficult to ignore the negative karma that is spreading around (not to mention the smell of vomit…); there’s a woman next to us that is crying, desperate, there’s another that at some point faints, I’m observing the faces of the hostesses and of the few Fijian people on board. They look all right, so I just close my eyes and try and forget the bad feeling that is inevitably moving around my stomach. After a while, in the middle of this big storm in the open ocean, the catamaran stops the engine and all the crewmembers (including the captain, apart from the hostesses) go outdoor to fix something on the bow, totally exposed to the violence of the sea (I was told afterwards that they were tightening the lifeboats to the catamaran…). In this very moment, it’s as if the deck freezes and holds its breath, hence no more talking, screaming, or vomiting. After ten very uncomfortable minutes, the crew begins re-entering the deck, totally soaked. When it comes to the captain, a longhaired, Polynesian featured and tattooed sea dog, people break the tense silence and start clapping, as if they want to convince themselves that all got fixed. Eventually all gets fixed and the engine is ready to roar again! However, the water keeps on coming in, defying the “watertight” door and the efforts of the hostess trying to properly lock it. The smell of vomit gets more and more pungent, the karma around is so negative that you would think that, after the trip, the catamaran will be in need for an exorcist; people start going to the outdoor upper deck, desperately trying to avoid sea sickness. It is impossible to get an exact idea of time in such a situation (and without a watch), but after few hours of this evil’s deed, the catamaran finally leaves behind the Yasawa group and the stormy weather and begins accelerating, trying to make up for the lost time. Smile gets back on people faces, everyone feels relieved and a bit more relaxed; and Beach Comber Island gets closer and closer. Just a little longer and we’ll be ashore!
That’s what we all thought, but alas little we knew…
All happens very suddenly, a Fijian guy whispering “Where are we going?” and then a bang, a bruising noise, and…
For some (in particular for the people that had to catch a plane the same day and the ones that got very sick and took the bumpy journey a bit too “personally”) that was the so-called “last straw that broke the camel’s back”, transforming a bad adventure into a nightmare. As for us, and everyone that managed to keep the cool during the bumpy journey (minus the people too sensitive about environmental matters), such an ending twisted the story; from a memory to share with people when the subject is “adventurous journey by sea”, it became an anecdote to talk about under the header “surreal experiences of life”… As for me, after the night I had before the journey, these will also be remembered as the most humid 24 hours of my life so far…
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