Foreign Legion Fiji

David, the nice Irishman from the first jungle trip, had emailed. Had arranged another jungle trip, not offered anywhere publicly, only found out by chance from a villager. I agree immediately. Early in the morning we take the bus to Pacific Harbour, Art Village. Nice colonial ensemble.

I meet David around 11 and we go for a bite to eat. David tells me about his other hotels. Apparently everything is empty. It’s been a year since the last coup in Fiji, but the tourists are still missing. I check out the Uprising, a new backpacker resort in Pacific Harbour. Empty.

We take a taxi to the next village. Luisa, a nice resident, welcomes us. Shortly afterwards we set off. Our guide leads us out of the village and up into the jungle. The clay mud is deep. After a kilometre, I hide my shoes behind a tree. Very well, as it turns out later.

The first jungle trail was no problem barefoot. Taking my shoes off on this one was a huge mistake. The cow pastures are still okay, despite the large sharp stones under the mud. A few barbed wires are avoidable. Then it gets tougher. The cow pastures turn into swamp.

At first you could still avoid the bullshit. At some point, I no longer know what is bullshit and what is swamp. The swamp gets deeper and the poo mixes with the mud. There are some nice roots hiding under the swamp grass, perfect for hanging on to and landing in the mud.

Once the swamp is dry, there are plenty of thorny vines, thistles and similar fun things that make the trip a memorable pedestrian experience. Then the swamp gets really deep. Upper edge of lower leg means: lucky. Bad luck means wading in the muck up to your stomach and then suddenly losing contact with the ground. Sometimes swimming helps. Sometimes the mud is too thick and only helping hands can save you.

The swamp is followed by several river crossings with nice mangrove roots on both sides. The rucksack only stays dry if I hold one arm outstretched upwards while swimming. Up over steep, slippery clay over a chain of hills. Even the palm leaves on the ground are mean here, with saw teeth on three sides. My feet are being carved.

After more than two hours, we finally reach the promised waterfall. We continue climbing over slippery rocks and through strong currents. Losing our footing here is guaranteed to exhaust the air rescue included in the insurance. The last rock face leads to the jump point at the upper waterfall.

David can’t swim. I drag him swimming through the current. Up the wall. Without air roots, the four metres would be unclimbable. Together into the bowl below the waterfall, which is several metres deep. If I had known how strongly the water was pulling down the wall, I would never have said to him: “Do it, I’ll catch you!”. But David jumped. After a few seconds under water, he surfaces and I grab him. I’m pulled downwards. But I got him and pushed him out of the roller. I’ve done it.

The next cigarette was more than deserved. Back through the jungle. We take a different path after a while. Through a mangrove swamp. Yes, the guide was right: the mud is soft. But the vertical mangrove roots make me scream several times. Then another swim in the muddy water, arm up with rucksack. The water tastes nasty. After five and a half hours in the Fiji Foreign Legion, we are back in the village.

My shoes are still at the trailhead. I go back up in the rain to look for them. It’s raining, the clay is slicker than ice. Several falls. I can’t find my shoes. Luckily I had put my glasses in my rucksack after all, not in the hidden bag. I don’t have anything to change into, so I take a dip in the ocean. The effect on my feet is probably similar to forgetting to walk when running on fire. A hundred cuts burn like fire. Today I learnt my limits.

We get sandwiches and tea in the village. Unfortunately, the promised Lovo doesn’t materialise. After a few rounds of kava, we return to the Fiji Beach House on the packed Friday evening bus. The bus has an “Express” sign. It goes uphill in first gear at 5 km/h. At the steepest points, the driver makes additional turns to reduce the actual gradient. The fabric engine cover at the front puffs up menacingly with every push of the accelerator.