We wake up at precisely 2:20am. I’m impressed that it wasn’t as brutal as expected, but that’s probably because I’m embarking on my first adventure to Fiji! Paul later discloses that he initially set the alarm for 2:20pm…whoops! We make great time to the airport and we are on our way without a hitch so far (rare for us) and make great time to Sydney International, arriving at 3:40am. The airport opens at 4am and we need to be there exactly then to avoid any delays caused by the border patrol strike. We patiently wait in line to check in and are told Paul’s carry-on bag exceeds the measurement restriction. Paul proceeds to tell this man that he’s “traveled the entire world with this bag” and has “never had an issue”. (Side note: this is because he’s always flown business…until he met me. I used to think it was a complete waste of money, that is until this trip. More on that later). The agent explains that this is a “very small” plane and Paul counters with “Yeah, it’s a 737 and I've flown with this bag on one before.” Here. We. Go. Paul loses this battle as the Fiji Airways agent rolls over the bag restriction box for economy passengers. The look on Paul’s face is nothing short of disgruntled and as we continued the check in process, we are told by the desk agent that all bags excluding my “purse” (I use that word loosely to describe this bag. It is a very large weekend duffle bag moonlighting as a purse as to carry on more items – and it was a steal for $50 at Target the night before leaving for Australia..YES!) and Paul’s laptop bag are overweight. Apparently Fiji Airways has very strict baggage restrictions. As we watch the line growing at customs, we have no choice but to pay the overage fee at $16/kilo for a grand total of $480! I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Those of you who know me understand that it PAINS MY SOUL to spend unnecessary dollars. Paul and I separate. I head to the immigration line and Paul heads down to sort out a lockbox for a key of friend’s car we had been borrowing. Thirty minutes later Paul shows up due to difficulties with said lock box. We make our way to the gate and await boarding, greeted by Paul’s new baggage police bestie. A depressed feeling washes over me as we pass business class and head into economy. I settle into my peasant cube, but the quality of the pillow and blanket gives me hope. That hope is quickly stripped away as I am served scrambled eggs, sausage and baked beans. I now understand what prison would be like - that is if it were full of screaming children unhappily making their way to Fiji. I opt for a meal of apple slices and white wine and drift off to sleep wondering whose idea it was give a plane full of passengers baked beans with every meal on a 4 ½ hour flight...
I think to myself this is probably what hell is like and remind myself to make good Christian choices moving forward.
As we land and head through customs, we are greeted by musicians and steamy weather, a nice change from the unseasonable chill that we faced in Australia. We beeline to duty free as we wait for our luggage to miraculously show up. Due to our terrible attitudes regarding the overages, it wouldn’t have surprised me if the bags were still Sydney, patiently awaiting their turn on the baggage merry-go-round. I take notice that chardonnay is the only white wine available. Based solely on this information, I begin to wonder if Fiji is all it’s cracked up to be. We carry out
two bottles of champagne, two of cab sav and two of pinot gris (it’ll do!). I remind myself that this will be a bottle for every day that we’re here. Yeah, we’re okay with that.
We head to the travel office to get our land transfer sorted and a very uneventful car ride follows. The driver turns on the playlist “country” and combination of Garth Brooks and the Bee gees plays. I accept that I’m being profiled for being American. After an hour and half, we change cars and drivers and meet Sonny, a very friendly and talkative man who shares his local insight for the next 60 mins. He’s very interesting and engaging, and he even offers to take us on a village visit during our stay.
We arrive at the harbor for the next leg of our journey: the boat transfer. Paul asks if we can sit in the front and we are nonchalantly told “the water is a little choppy.” We opt for a seat in the back as the captain asks if either of us gets seasick...The next 30 minutes remind of three movies:
Along Came Polly when the crazy Australian braves the storm with Reuben Feffer in tow. Paul plays the part of the crazy Australian, I’m obviously the overcautious Ben Stiller character.
Wolf of Wall Street as Leo DiCaprio’s yacht was navigating the “choppy waters”
The Perfect Storm – no explanation necessary.
As we make landfall unscathed, we are introduced to the Royal Davui resort. The manager, Michael, greets us the jetty. The clear waters below are saturated with the most colorful fish. It looks as though a skittles bag exploded! We are led to our home for the week, Villa 4. At first, we are taken aback by the beauty but after a few blissful minutes pass, Paul comprehends that this is not the “western facing room we paid for.” Here. We. Go. Again. He politely complains.
We indulge in the bottle of champagne that was so graciously provided by our travel agent (thank you Kate Scott!) and help ourselves to the fresh banana bread. We later forget to put it away and are greeted by a lovely ant colony carrying large crumbs away and back to their families.
Paul and I prepare for dinner and he soon realizes that he has (yet again) forgotten his hair gel. I ask for an iron and unnecessarily get to work on my clothes.
Dinner is served! A Mongolian BBQ is being prepared and we head to the bar and discover that with the exchange rate drinks are only $7, hallelujah! I’ll save a few shekels where I can, I mean I have a few hundred dollars in baggage fees to make up for. We finish up dinner with tastings of crème Brule, chocolate mousse and fruit. We walk off the calories down to the dark wooden pier we arrived to the island on. We spot the many fish whom greeted us and two baby black tip reef sharks on the prowl that I affectionately name Frank and Pamela.
Upon our arrival back to the room, we meet our new friends – an entire posse of geckos. A quick skinny dip in the pool is followed by hot bath in the enormous tub as we make a dent into the first bottle of wine. Christian friendly activities follow ( I am a married woman after all!) but rest assured nothing, and I mean nothing would've have happened if I wasn't. Heaven seems far too enticing after my brief glimpse into hell this morning. We enclose ourselves in the comforts of the mosquito net aka the lizard barrier and I am determined to watch the season finale of Project Runway, #priorites. Paul breaks the news that the entire resort is running off a modem speed from 20 years ago so there’s no way to download. Doesn't he understand that I can hardly wait to see if Kelly from the Deli was victorious at New York Fashion Week?! Oh well, I guess there’s always tomorrow.