Yesterday was a wonderful day until the evening. Father Christmas drops me off at the Raintree Lodge above Suva. There are beautiful little lakes with water lilies between the buildings, surrounded by rainforest. The birds chirp in all directions and from all directions.
Nevertheless, Raintree Lodge is rubbish. Mouldy beds, cramped rooms. Food expensive and poor. Filthy bathrooms, toilets, green pool. Everything abandoned, staff unmotivated. Every little extra costs a lot. The absolute downfall was an ethno-techno-accompanied “local” dance performance, almost unbeatable in terms of sadness.
In the morning, I set off for the Colo-i-Suva forest without breakfast. A waterfall wonderland, dozens of pools and falls line the jungle. By Fiji standards, the path is almost suitable for wheelchairs. The humidity is very high, just like the rainforest. After three hours completely alone in the jungle, I am back at the Raintree Lodge. If you hang towels up to dry, they only get wetter.
I head down to Suva, musty. Quantas rewrites two of my tickets for little money. I walk through Suva, to parliament, the presidential palace (who’s actually in there right now?). Suva is ugly, filthy, hot and so dangerous that even the locals take a taxi for more than 300 metres at night. Sex, drugs and no rock’n’roll. After about 10km I finally find a pair of trainers in size 47 in the 23rd shoe shop.
Back at the Raintree Lodge, I call Father Christmas again, having forgotten my towel in the van. Father Christmas wants to go out for a bite to eat, so I answer his call and take a race taxi to the Holiday Inn.
Father Christmas is a bit strange today. He’s always had to say hello to everyone, and he’s always up for a joke. Today they are being a bit arrogant towards the Fijis. In the tropical rain, we go to a Chinese restaurant in the old town hall. Absolute emptiness. Father Christmas chooses the largest table in the centre for the four of us and the meal is a slaughter.
A lovely employee from the ministry accompanies us. More first-hand stories about the current situation in Fiji. Everyone wants to emigrate. The only thing that can turn a paradise into hell is people.
With the help of the Rotary Club, Father Christmas managed to avoid the import duty of 17,000 euros, which makes me very happy. Because two small handcarts were not on the list, the customs officers sealed the whole container. Knecht Ruprecht unwittingly broke the seal, which is sure to cause a few more problems.
We take a taxi to the local radio station, but Father Christmas has messed up his appointment. Next. Expensive whiskey, ice cream, road movie through Suva’s night. I have no idea where I’m going and don’t want to know.
At some point we arrive at the house of a smart lady with pink hair. There’s kava again, more expensive whiskey. I feel uncomfortable, the people were already asleep. And I don’t like the way Father Christmas throws his money for kava on the floor. I head home around midnight. Tomorrow will be a busy day.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.