Alright, picture this:
I’d been bouncing around on ships for months, doing my thing as Chief Cook, probably dealing with too many frantic 24-hour port calls in noisy, fenced-off container wastelands. My brain was fried, my feet hurt, and I needed a serious break. So, when December 1994 rolled around, I found myself hopping off whatever tub I was on and heading straight for Fiji, specifically Taveuni, the legendary “Garden Island.” My reason? My lifelong friend, practically my second mother, had a yaqona plantation there. Christmas in Fiji with my chosen family? Don’t mind if I do.
Stepping off the plane (or maybe a small boat from a bigger island, details get hazy after a while), it was like entering a whole different world. This wasn’t the concrete and steel chaos of the ports I was used to. Taveuni was lush. Seriously, the kind of green that hurts your eyes in the best way. Rainforests felt ancient, alive with birds squawking and flitting about – turns out they never introduced those darn mongooses here, so the local feathered residents were having a field day. Coconut palms swayed everywhere, a reminder that this place had a history beyond just looking pretty.
My friend’s plantation overlooked the Somosomo Strait, famous for its diving. And man, spending those Fijian summer months (December through March, remember) there was pure bliss. After months cooped up in a galley at sea, just lying in a hammock strung between two palms, with the trade winds blowing gently, watching the clouds drift by… that’s not just a good day, that’s a perfect South Pacific day. My stress just melted away like butter in a hot pan.
Taveuni in the 90s still felt really untouched. You’d visit these traditional Fijian villages, and life seemed centered around community, simple living, and the rhythm of the day. Not a high-rise or a traffic jam in sight. One village we went to was right on the International Date Line. Yeah, the actual 180th meridian! There might have been a simple sign or marker you could straddle, standing with one foot in today and the other in yesterday. It was a total novelty, a quirky little brag for the island.
This particular village lived off the land and sea – out fishing the Somosomo Strait daily, tending their taro patches and yaqona plants. Their lifestyle was beautifully simple. And for a wandering cook who’d just come from places where being “stuck” meant stuck behind a port fence, being “stuck” between yesterday and today on a tropical island with a full belly and a cup of relaxing yaqona grog (you gotta respect the ritual, presenting kava to the Chief is key!) suited me just fine. It felt less like being stuck and more like being perfectly centered.
Days were filled with exploring. Playing impromptu games with the village kids who had endless energy. Finding natural wonders like this amazing smooth rock waterfall slide – you just scoot down it right into a pool! Pure, simple fun. We’d take hikes, including heading up to Bouma Falls. Of course, everyone knew it as the place where they filmed Blue Lagoon back in the day. You half expected to see Brooke Shields wandering out of the jungle (spoiler: I didn’t).
Being a cook, the sea always fascinated me beyond just providing dinner ingredients. Taveuni had world-class diving, the Rainbow Reef was famous even then for its soft corals. We’d go diving, not just for pretty fish, but sometimes for dinner! Diving for “Falapa” – these funky looking “musical furry lobsters.” They were definitely a unique catch!
The hospitality though? Unbelievable. The Fijian people, and the local Indian families too, were just incredibly generous and friendly. I met the Sami family who ran a local market and transportation; they were the best. We’d often get invited into their homes, along with other Indian families, for feasts of fresh fish curry with all the trimmings – taro, homemade roti. Absolutely delicious, and offered with genuine warmth. Traveling around Taveuni with a backpack on, I swear I never had to ask for a ride. Locals would just stop and insist you hop in. And they wouldn’t let you leave without sharing a meal and offering you a place to sleep, even if it was just a mat on a wooden floor in their hut. Forget fancy resorts; that was the best accommodation a traveler could ask for – real connection, real kindness.
One of the absolute highlights was meeting George Bennett. This guy was an artist, a legend. He’d designed postage stamps for Tonga, among other cool things. I went to visit him at his bungalow, tucked away deep in the tropical paradise. This place was on stilts, he joked, “to avoid most of the crawling things.” His place was full of incredible paintings and drawings. We spent time talking, sharing stories. As we got to know each other, he did something truly incredible. He asked what piece of his work I liked. I saw the very first stamp he’d ever designed for the Tongan government. I cheekily told him I’d love that original design, but maybe, just maybe, he could redraw it and paint it in watercolor for me? And he did! A more unique, thoughtful gift I’ve never received, and a more generous, talented man I’ve never met. That piece is still one of my most treasured possessions.
So yeah, spending those months in Taveuni in ’94 and ’95 was exactly what I needed after the grind of life at sea. It was a place of stunning natural beauty, simple living, and incredibly warm people. It was a million miles away from the noisy, fenced-in world of container ports, a true break where the biggest decision was which amazing food to try next or which natural wonder to explore. Pure exploration, connection, and yes, a little bit of laid-back, sun-drenched mischief. A perfect South Pacific summer.
Bula!
/.BH
