Navire's blog

Solotavui Village, Kavala, Kadavu 24 June David We are tucked up in a gorgeous bay, Kavala, at the eastern end of Kadavu.
Surrounded with high, steep, lush deep-green hills. They call this Little New Zealand and I can see why. Reminds us of the Sounds, but for the coral.?Such welcoming locals. We had no sooner put our anchor down than we were enthusiastically serenaded by a group of children ashore. We replied with our own songs which seemed well received. ?A passing family, returning from church in their fibre, a tough, versatile local boat, came on board with coconuts and pawpaw and then piloted us to a better anchorage. They stayed for tea and biscuits. We swapped songs and fell in love with one year old Lisi.
Yesterday we picked a dry spell and went ashore to do sevusevu at the village.
We joked with the Chief that the kava we presented was probably grown in the bay and bought in Suva just to be brought home again.
Sevusevu was followed with an extensive tour of the village guided by Luisa. *** Janet "These men are working on the pastor's place," said Luisa, pointing to a house nearby.
Bula," called a man in an old blue rugby jersey, then said something rapidly in Fijian.
"They are inviting you for yagona, would you like to go," Louisa translated.
"Yes please," I said. "We haven't tried Fijian kava yet." Inside the house there were 10 men sitting cross-legged on a mat, a large wooden bowl on feet in the middle of the room.
"Bula, my name is Joe." We introduced ourselves and Joe passed David a half coconut shell of brown liquid. He drank, and the men clapped four times. Joe refilled the shell and passed it to me. I'd heard that Fijian kava, called yaqona here, was stronger than in Tonga where we last partook. They clapped. I drank. It tasted part nutty, part aniseed and part river silt. It numbed my tongue a little and gave me a pleasant glow. The men were friendly and interested in us.
To get to the village we'd traversed a slippery muddy path over a hill and were not looking forward to the return journey.
"No, no, we go this way," said Luisa, pointing to the shoreline beyond the village.
Low tide had revealed a rocky beach all the way back to where the dinghy was tied up outside the local shop. Luisa helped us buy data for our Digicel simcard, and showed us how to set it up.
*** "We're gonna move," said David, donning his raincoat. We'd been sitting in the cockpit having a cup of tea discussing the day's events when suddenly the wind rose and started to change direction, threatening to push us onto the coral reef close behind the boat. I leapt below.
"Depth sounder shows 1.5 metres." I called.
Bit close. The rain was coming in sheets now.
Engine on, I get us up on the electronic chart, tiller down, David was winding the anchor in.
"Four meters now." Wind gusts push the bow round and I motor into the wind to take the load off the anchor.
"We're up," called David.
I turn the boat and motor across the bay to the lee of a headland.
"This is it," calls David. He releases the anchor chain and I motor back to lay out the chain. Gusts push us from side to side.
Back in the cabin, toweling his hair dry, David declares, "That calls for a shot of vodka." I glance at the clock, 4.30.
"Why not." I retrieve a green coconut from the basket in the cockpit and hand it to David. He deftly lops the top off it with a machete. Fingers still intact, he decants the nectar into the waiting shot glasses of vodka.

A Treasured Weight
On our arrival here in Namalata Bay, at the township of Vunisea, as we settled to our anchor and tidied the boat, we both remarked on a feeling that a weight had lifted. That, while we already missed our Kavala friends we felt also a relief from the associated social pressures. We talked that evening and again this morning of the comfort of anonymity. Here we are just another yacht arrived in the bay, a regular occurrence of no great moment. Anonymity we are used to.

Kavala - Solotavui Village Kadavu 24 June 18 58.870s 178 25.153e David We are tucked up in a gorgeous Kavala Bay at the eastern end of Kadavu.
Surrounded with high, steep, lush deep-green hills. They call this Little New Zealand and I can see why. Reminds us of the Sounds, but for the coral.?Such welcoming locals. We had no sooner put our anchor down than we were enthusiastically serenaded by a group of children ashore. We replied with our own songs which seemed well received. A passing family, returning from church in their fibre, a tough, versatile local boat, came on board with coconuts and pawpaw and then piloted us to a better anchorage. They stayed for tea and biscuits. We swapped songs and fell in love with one year old Lisi.
Yesterday we picked a dry spell and went ashore to do sevusevu at the village.
We joked with the Chief that the kava we presented was probably grown in the bay and bought in Suva just to be brought home again.
Sevusevu was followed with an extensive tour of the village guided by Luisa. *** Janet "These men are working on the pastor's place," said Luisa, pointing to a house nearby.
"Bula," called a man in an old blue rugby jersey, then said something rapidly in Fijian.
"They are inviting you for yagona, would you like to go?" Louisa translated.
"Yes please," I said. "We haven't tried Fijian kava yet." Inside the house there were eight men sitting cross-legged on a mat, a large wooden bowl on feet in the middle of the room.
"Bula, my name is Joe." We introduced ourselves and Joe passed David a half coconut shell of brown liquid. He drank, and the men clapped four times. Joe refilled the shell and passed it to me. I'd heard that Fijian kava, called yaqona here, (pronounced yangona) was stronger than in Tonga where we last partook. They clapped. I drank. It tasted part nutty, part aniseed and part river silt. It numbed my tongue a little and gave me a pleasant glow. The men were friendly and interested in us.
To get to the village we'd traversed a slippery muddy path over a hill and were not looking forward to the return journey.
"No, no, we go this way," said Luisa, pointing to the shoreline beyond the village.
Low tide had revealed a rocky beach all the way back to where the dinghy was tied up outside the local shop. Luisa helped us buy data for our Digicel simcard, and showed us how to set it up.
*** "We're gonna move," said David, donning his raincoat. We'd been sitting in the cockpit having a cup of tea discussing the day's events when suddenly the wind rose and started to change direction, threatening to push us onto the coral reef close behind the boat. I leapt below.
"Depth sounder shows 1.5 metres." I called.
Bit close. The rain was coming in sheets now.
Engine on, I get us up on the electronic chart, tiller down, David was winding the anchor in.
"Four meters now." Wind gusts push the bow round and I motor into the wind to take the load off the anchor.
"We're up," called David.
I turn the boat and motor across the bay to the lee of a headland.
"This is it," calls David. He releases the anchor chain and I motor back to lay out the chain. Gusts push us from side to side.
Back in the cabin, toweling his hair dry, David declares, "That calls for a shot of vodka." I glance at the clock, 4.30.
"Why not." I retrieve a green coconut from the basket in the cockpit and hand it to David. He deftly lops the top off it with a machete. Fingers still intact, he decants the nectar into the waiting shot glasses of vodka.

Nabawalu Bay, Ono, Astrolabe Reef 18 53.212s 178 27.775e Janet June 15 Life has gone from monochrome to full colour. The day dawned calm and David woke feeling a lot better. We lowered the dinghy into the sea and loaded it up with buckets of salty laundry, empty gerry cans, kava for sevusevu, and a large box of biscuits to trade for fruit.
We approached the shore with David standing in the stern looking out for bombies. He switched off the outboard motor, raised the prop and paddled. The area was infested with coral outcrops, which would take out your prop in one hit.
Arriving at low tide the shore was a long way out. We buried an anchor in the sand, hoping the dinghy would be happily bobbing in the sea when we got back.
Stepping onto the sand I staggered, my legs registering a solid surface for the first time in five days.
"We have to go back to the boat," said David.
"Why?" "My the zip in my fly is broken, I can't front up to the chief like this." After a bit of fossicking around in my bag I gave David the safety pin from my bandaged hand.
Ashore we strolled along well-groomed paths. The village houses were simple structures with gardens of bright yellow, red and pink vegetation. Loaded breadfruit trees towered over the houses, passion fruit vines wove around fences, citrus littered the ground, and everywhere the ubiquitous coconut palms.
It was all I could do not to forage.
Ahead was a bright pink house, dwelling of the turanga, the chief. In Fiji to enter a village you need to participate in sevusevu. David describes it "This, so far as we can tell, is the expected protocol for gaining permission to anchor and gives pratique to the village. A powhiri of sorts in which a half kg of yaqona (kava) is the accepted koha." "Bula, bula" said the chief, "Come inside." He extended his hand, "Meche." We sat on the floor and handed the kava bundle to Meche. He said a prayer in Fijian and now we were welcome to explore the village. We met a man who had an opinion on Bainamarama. Almost everyone we have met is a fan of 'Frank' the 'elected' democratic leader of Fiji, so it was interesting to hear a view from a villager, someone who didn't think much of Bainamarama.
We learned the village tap was turned on at three. Back to the boat for lunch and David retired to bed. Later I motored in on my own struggling to see the bombies and rowed the last two hundred metres just in case. I was anchoring the boat way out on the reef and wondering how many trips to get the laundry in to the village when two men appeared. One took my dingy and towed it up a small stream anchoring it near the houses and the other lifted my heavy laundry bag as though it were a bag of feathers. "I'm Joe" . We shake hands.
The tap was right outside Joe's house.
"Bula," said a smiling young Fijian woman, with a two year old balanced on her hip, who emerged from Joe's house.
"Bula, I'm Janet, from one of the yachts in the bay," I gestured to the three anchored boats half a mile out.
"I'm Queenie and this is Ester," she introduced her child as she popped her on the ground. "Can I help you with that?" She said pointing at my piles of salty clothes and bedding.
"Really? Yes please!" She filled one of my buckets, helped herself to washing powder and started pounding the clothes. She didn't even blanche at squeezing out David's undies.
Food and cooking is my way of getting the flavour of a place and of creating links.
I pointed at a bunch of stubby looking bananas and asked how they are prepared.
"You boil them," said Queenie.
"How do you know when they are cooked?" "When the skin is brown. Would you like some?" Back at the boat, laundry flapping in the rigging, I boiled the bananas.
"Ugh, that stinks," said David, "Are you going to eat them?" He has a mild mistrust of strange foods.
"Of course." Despite my foolish moment with the shellfish at the market in Suva I'll try almost anything.
Using a pair of tongues I pick a banana out of the pot and peel it. Yum, soft, but not gooey, and sweet. First one I chop up, pour on coconut cream and have for breakfast. Sustained me all morning. The second one made into a 'potato salad'.
"This quite nice," says David at lunchtime.
June 16 1700 Sundowner time "Cheers," I clink glasses with David and sip on my shotglass of vodka and fresh coconut juice.
Things are looking up. We both had more energy today. I baked brownie, and made a divine sweet passionfruit sauce. David, not to be outdone, produced three jars of marmalade with grapefruit I collected from under a tree in the village.
Midnight Sun sailed into the bay and we've invited them for dinner and a writer's group tomorrow night.
David now has a date for a colonoscopy in Suva. I'd been wanting to sail out to the Lau group, out east, but there is no internet there to receive the appointment email from the hospital. Now it was decided, we stay at Kadavu till we return to Suva at the end of July. In the 60's in Island Bay (Wellington) there was a Fijian family in living our street and my mother became good friends with their mother. I have tracked down the Nawalawala's village, about 30 miles from here. We'll gradually work our way down there.