Alright, pull up a chair, let’s spin this yarn proper.
You wanna hear about Taveuni back in ’94? Man, that was a chapter. I was overdue for some real shore leave, needed a break from galley life aboard those big ships. Swapped my chief steward hat for a backpack and pointed south, way south, to Fiji. Landed in Nadi on Viti Levu that December, and the second I stepped off the plane, that island air hit me. Thick with heat and something sweet, like all the flowers in the world just decided to bloom at once. Felt like a weight I didn’t even know I was carrying just floated away.
My plan was to get to Suva on the other side of Viti Levu. Found this old van, a character of a driver to match, and we struck a deal. Figured it’d be a decent drive, maybe a few hours. Bless my naive heart. This wasn’t like steaming on a plotted course. This was navigating what felt like a dry reef at high speed. We took the southern route – went through Navutu, Sigatoka, past The Naviti Resort looking all fancy, then Vunaniu, Galoa, Nabukavesi, Togalevu, all heading towards Suva. The roads? Man, sometimes they just… weren’t there. Or they were washed out. Like the sea had decided to reclaim a few stretches. We started early morning, and we drove straight through the night, stopping for fuel and water like we were prepping for a transatlantic voyage. Ended up pulling into Suva in the afternoon the next day. About a day and a half trip, all told. Took longer than crossing some bodies of water I know! You just had to laugh and go with it. This was Fiji time, land edition.
Suva was a blast, though. A proper capital city but with that relaxed island vibe woven through it. Spent a couple of weeks just soaking it in. Wandered through the markets, buzzing with people and colors and smells. Checked out the museums, peeked at the government buildings (looking very official for such a laid-back place), found parks to just sit and watch the world go by. Hit the beaches, even went to a service at the Catholic Church – just wanted to see. My room was perfect, right in the middle of everything, it looked down on the church spires and the busy Suva Market. And every single evening, sitting there as the sun went down over the ocean, painting the sky and the water? Just incredible. Made you feel small and part of something huge, all at once.
But the real magnet was Taveuni. Heard it was called the “Garden Island,” and my friend had a kava plantation there. Flew from Suva – not exactly a jumbo jet experience. Little plane, landed on a grass airstrip on Taveuni. Felt like stepping back in time in the best possible way. A local guy met me at the strip, instantly welcoming. Took me to find my friend, who was exactly where she should have been – sitting under a tree, reading stories to a group of bright-eyed village kids. That picture is burned in my memory.
Her place… wow. Overlooked the Somosomo Strait, this wide, shimmering expanse of water that just drew your eye. The driveway was lined with these absolutely massive palm trees, some of ’em loaded with Betel nuts. My friend introduced me to the local custom – chewing the nut with a bit of slaked lime and a betel leaf. Gives you this warm, buzzy feeling, a little lift. Definitely not your average coffee break. And the welcome? A hammock strung between two perfect coconut trees, waiting for me, and a glass of fresh tropical juice that tasted like pure sunshine. Felt instantly at home.
Taveuni back then, in the 90s, really was pristine. The rainforest was thick, alive with sounds. They didn’t have those darn mongooses there, which meant the native birds weren’t constantly under threat. You could hear and see them everywhere. It was a birdwatcher’s dream, and even for me, someone used to just seeing seagulls, it was pretty special. You still saw the coconut plantations, especially along the coast, remnants of the island’s agricultural past. Folks still made copra from them, a steady bit of income. But you could tell things were shifting. People were starting to see the value in the rainforest itself, in protecting it. That’s where the ecotourism bit came in. Bouma National Heritage Park had only been established a few years earlier, in 1990. It was a big deal, meant to protect the forest but also make sure the local villages – Bouma, Waitabu, Korovou, and Lavena – benefited from visitors. It was a smart way to mix their traditional land ownership with a new way to earn a living through sustainable tourism. The Tavoro Waterfalls in the park were unreal, just pounding down into cool pools. You could hike around and just be surrounded by this incredible biodiversity.
Most people, about 12,000 on the whole island back then, lived in the villages. Life felt really centered around community, family, those old customs. Not just a tradition, you know? It was the fabric of their lives. Daily life revolved around family obligations, community stuff, and being connected to the land and the sea. People were farming – taro was a big crop, becoming a real export – fishing, making traditional crafts. The chiefly system, the turaga-ni-koro, still had a lot of influence, guiding things, keeping social order. It felt… solid. Grounded.
Visiting the villages wasn’t just a tour; it was being invited in. I went to Lavena, did the sevusevu ceremony, offering yaqona (kava) to the chief. It’s this beautiful, respectful ritual. And man, the feeling after, being accepted, being made to feel like you were part of their community, even just for a little while. It was incredibly moving. They might even put on meke performances, traditional song and dance, or show you how they make their crafts. It wasn’t for show; it was sharing their culture.
The resorts on Taveuni back then were different too. Not the massive concrete blocks you see in some places. More smaller places, eco-conscious lodges, often family-run. Focused on the nature, on diving, snorkeling, hiking. Felt more personal, more intimate. You were there for the island, not just staying on it.
And then there was the Date Line. Yeah, the actual 180th Meridian ran right through Taveuni. It was a total trip! There was usually a marker, maybe just a simple sign. You could stand there with one foot in “today” and the other in “yesterday” (or tomorrow, depending on your perspective). Geographically, it split the island! Imagine the headaches for scheduling school or village events – “See you Monday, unless you’re on the other side, then make it Tuesday!” Must’ve caused some funny logistical tangles. But they wore it with pride, a unique thing about their island. Heard jokes about shops being the first in the world to open each day. As 2000 was getting closer, you started hearing more talk about it, about how awkward it was splitting the island, and that maybe Fiji should just shift the line so the whole country was on the same day.
Fiji overall, back then, had its mix of indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians. On Taveuni, given its history more with coconuts and less with sugarcane, the Indo-Fijian population was smaller than on the main islands like Viti Levu or Vanua Levu. The villages here were overwhelmingly Fijian. Both communities largely kept their own identities, languages, religions. You’d see them interacting in the towns, doing business, but social mixing wasn’t as common. The 90s were politically sensitive across Fiji, still dealing with the fallout from the 1987 coups and the new constitution that favored indigenous Fijians. You could feel that tension in the background, it affected relationships everywhere. Indigenous Fijians on Taveuni were tied to the land, agriculture, and the growing tourism. Any Indo-Fijians present were more likely involved in businesses, shops, providing services. It was two distinct worlds coexisting. Though, interestingly, something like kava drinking, which is purely Fijian, had been adopted by some Indo-Fijians over time, a little bit of cultural crossover.
I spent three months living this. Rode ferries, rode buses with the locals, and stayed in their villages. Dove the Rainbow Reef ’til I felt like I knew every coral head. Climbed that mountain and found that amazing Tagimoucia flower – Medinilla waterhousei, yep, the rare one, knew I had to see it. Played on the Waitavala waterslide like I was 10 again. Canoed with the chief and his son, went to Naiviivi at night, free-diving for our dinner in the Somosomo Strait and sharing it right there in the boat.
Three months. It sounds like a long time, but it flew by. By the end, I didn’t just feel like a visitor; I felt… integrated. Part of the fabric. Becoming “one with the people, the nature, and the ocean” – yeah, that sounds heavy, but it’s the best way I can put it. Their kindness, their openness, the sheer raw beauty of the place, the power and life in that ocean… it changes you. It got into my blood. That sunset over the Somosomo Strait from Taveuni… I’ll never forget it. The air thick with frangipani, getting cooler. The water, going from bright turquoise to this incredible molten gold, reflecting the sky that was just on fire with color. Distant islands silhouetted against the light. Just the sound of the breeze through the palms and the gentle lap of waves. A moment of perfect peace. Leaving was tough, like saying goodbye to family. But I took so much away. That feeling of connection, of belonging, of seeing the world and its people with a little more heart. It was more than a trip; it was a reckoning. A beautiful life experience, finding a different kind of depth than any ocean I’d sailed. Couldn’t have asked for a better voyage.
Anchors Away,
./BH
