Fijian Fraternization

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Today we woke up sore all over after using every muscle in our bodies to survive the Fijian mountain trek. Note to self: a few workout videos with five pound weights each week does not adequately prepare you for holding up your body weight for hours on end as you crab crawl down a mountain. I knew I should have learned to do a damn push up. I just don’t understand how they are even possible. Seriously. I’m expected to out-push gravity just to keep a little side boob at bay? Fuck that.

If anything good came of that hike, other than my super cute mountain selfies before I started crying, it was that we actually slept in. Until 8am at least. That’s big for us. The plan for today was to have a leisurely breakfast and then head out for a snorkel tour at an area known for manta rays. And luckily for us, September is Manta Ray season in Fiji. They have seen rays every day the past few weeks so it’s basically a guaranteed sighting, right? Wrong. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The resort calls this tour “Island Safari”. However, we all learned yesterday that transparent and forth right activity descriptions aren’t this resort’s strong suit. The “safari” was more of a “fishing boat ride to see some coral”. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, I’m just saying be straight with me. First, we grabbed some snorkel gear and hopped into a boat to make our way to the snorkel location. It was a bumpy ride against the current as we sat on the floor of the boat and winced in pain as we pounded harshly against the ocean. Once we arrived the bay, the name of which I can’t tell you because we were given no introduction or instruction except “swim that way…”, we hopped out of the boat and swam around looking for manta rays. The coral was actually incredibly beautiful, some of the best I’ve seen. But let’s be honest, how long can you swim around looking at the same shit? Coral is coral. Fish are fish. I usually give it about ten minutes before I use my life jacket as a floaty diaper and crack a beer. Well, it pains me to tell you this, but WE HAD NO BEER. There is nothing I can say to explain this. It was an oversight. We dropped the ball. Our minds clouded by post hike exhaustion, we forgot. All of this is really no excuse for committing what I consider to be a cardinal sin – getting on a boat without booze. I know better. This isn’t me. I’m ashamed of my mistake and can only ask that you will forgive me, as I know I’ve let you all down.

So basically, we were bored. No manta rays. They just decided not to show up. Mother nature is a fickle creature who rarely bends to our whims. Or maybe the rays just didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of losers who went on a boat ride without beer. I woudn’t either. So after becoming intimately acquainted with the coral we jumped back in the boat and headed home. Lunch and a lazy afternoon of laying on the beach followed. Shortly before the dinner, we got a little rain which apparently the locals desperately needed. Remember when I asked to you to try to think of something better than an outdoor shower? Well I found one – taking an outdoor shower in the rain.

We headed to dinner that evening without having made a reservation for our own table. Our main waiter, Jeffery, must have had the afternoon off and we couldn’t find him to book one for us. Everyone else who works at the restaurant or bar is pretty fucking useless and it’s painful to even try with them, so we said fuck it. Communal eating for us tonight! As painful as dining with our fellow resort patrons often is, it makes for some fun fodder for blog. Tonight our table mates would also be our team for trivia night, so we sat at one of the long open tables in the main restaurant area with our feet in the sand and awaited our fate. A backpacker couple consisting of a German boy and a Swiss girl joined us first. Backpackers do not win trivia nights, they win drinking contests. Combine that with the fact that the boy spoke little English and I saw our chances for winning the champagne brunch slowly slip out of reach. Next to join us was a pair of women, one in her sixties and one in her thirties, who I had seen strolling around the resort like they owned the place. Annoying they may be, but they looked like they may have some Fijian knowledge under their belts, and so my hopes crept back up. Until they opened their mouths and I realized they were both completely full of shit. The older woman, Wendy, was an eccentric loud mouth who fancied herself some sort of a Fijian Mother Teresa. Wendy owns a house in Nadi, on the main Fiji island, and owns a private charity to support Fijian children, about a dozen of whom are apparently named after her. Wendy is best friends with every single person who works at that resort. If she needs more toilet paper, she is on a first name basis with the janitor. If she needs a drink, she asks the bartender how is family is first. The younger girl, who’s name I can’t remember, is along for the ride with crazy Wendy, having worked for her for a few years in Wendy’s shop. She is 36 years old and more boy crazy than a sixteen year old girl without a curfew. She has a boyfriend back in Melbourne who she hates, while the “love of her life” ditched her for a job in Hollywood, and she is currently in a love triangle with two Fijian boys 10 years her junior who live on the island. These two take cultural immersion when traveling to new heights. But would it be enough for a win?

We tied in the Fijian knowledge round but lost the tie breaker in a dance-off to a group of unoriginal swingers whose team name was “fifty shades of grey”. How can you compete with a group of fifty somethings grinding on each other? We then took a dive in the general knowledge round…did you know that -40 degrees farenheit = -40 degrees celsius? I’m still trying to figure that one out. We had a chance to come back in the last round which consisted of chugging a soda, eating a horribly dry cracker called a “wheat bix” and whistling a tune. Once we swaped out the coke for a diet Steph volunteered, as she is the only one at our table who drinks soda and has actually eaten a “wheat bix” before. She killed it in the chugging portion, but we failed to factor in the fact that she can’t actually whistle. Mainly because what she thinks is whistling is actually her blowing air softly like a unicorn whisperer. We retreated back to our room in defeat. I almost lost sleep until I realized I could just buy a damn bottle of champagne at breakfast and pretend I won.

Steph getting wild at trivia night
Steph getting wild at trivia night

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

It rained through most of the night and we awoke to clouds. We had breakfast and a bottle of champagne (ha!) as we checked out and waited for our ferry to the next island, Nacula, home of the Blue Lagoon Beach Resort (“BLBR”). Upon boarding the ferry, Jorgie and I bought some magnums (the ice cream, not the condoms) and settled in for our three hour journey north.

We arrived at the BLBR and were transferred from the ferry to a smaller boat along with our new resort mates for the short trip to shore. Joining us at the new resort is no one too notable, save for a few. One young, hot blonde thing who appears to be from the U.S. that I’m trying to talk the girls into hitting on like a Fijian Mrs. Robinson. And then there are our personal favorites, the group of four Chinese girls on their very own friendmoon. The Sailor Moon Mafia hopped on the transfer boat already barfing into bags. Woof. Sailor Moon herself was decked out in a shorts pantsuit with a furry bag and heels with pearls on then. Perfect outfit for a trip between islands complete with a fucking beach landing. They then headed to lunch where they ordered one of everything (touché) and spent the afternoon falling off an inflatable swam. The girls and I downed a few bottles of wine at dinner and came up with a great little jingle about the Hello Kitty Crew, to be sung to the tune of “Apple bottom jeans”:

Pear bottom heels
Purse with the fuuuuur
The whole boat was looking at huuuuur
She hit the sand (she hit the sand)
Next thing you know
Guccis got low, low, low, low, low

Stripped pant suit shorts
And barfing with the bag (with the bag)
They went to lunch and gave that a la carte a slap
They hit the beach (they hit the beach)
Next thing ya know
Selfies on a flamingo, oooo, oooo, ooo

Hello Kitty's Pearl Studded Heels
Hello Kitty’s Pearl Studded Heels

We aren’t quitting our day jobs just yet but it was funny as hell last night.
Back to the day. We arrive at the BLBR, checked into our villa complete with outdoor shower, and had lunch. The cloudy afternoon was a welcome break from the heat and we spent it lounging around floating on our rafts. Dinner was a relaxed and forgettable affair, probably because I made a point to reserve us a private table every night for the rest of our stay. Last night’s foray into inter-resort socialization was enough for one week.

I’ll leave you all with a pic of a few sluts at our resort in thongs. By sluts” I obviously just mean “chicks who are hotter than us”. This is primarily for Tyler, because I failed to get him a picture of the hot lesbians. Hopefully this makes up for it.

Thongs
Thongs
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One thought on “Fijian Fraternization”

  1. “I’m expected to out-push gravity just to keep a little side boob at bay?” -> possible the greatest line ever written. I love reading about your (mis)adventures!

    Like

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