Day 168: Fiji – 23/06/10

We have a comfortable night.  The sea is like a mill pond - no crashing or banging around – and the anchorage is wonderfully quiet as there are only about five other boats here.  Although it doesn’t wake us, when we are awake and the main doors of the boat are opened, we can hear wailing coming from town, sounding very much like the call to prayer from a mosque, or maybe it was just some poor sod dealing with customs and immigration!

I notice that the boat is covered with black pieces of what looks like rubber or fibres of some sort.  Bloody hell, what part of the boat is falling apart now?  Then I realise that it is the fallout from the local sugar factory.  Sugar is one of the main crops here and all over the island you can see fires and their great plumes of smoke from both the many processing plants and the burning of the stubble.  Here in Lautoka, is one of the biggest plants producing the largest amount of fallout.  It smells good though – a sweet, smoky aroma.  More deck cleaning required!  Does it never end?

Mike starts to call the port authorities again around 8 am but gets no reply.  He keeps trying until after 9 am and eventually gives up and digs out the telephone number for customs, using my UK mobile to call them.  This mobile has been out of commission since we left St Lucia in January (apart from a very limited service in Rarotonga) but leapt into life yesterday, much to my great surprise – and delight.  He is passed from one person to another person in his quest to find out exactly how we check in, but eventually after about 10 minutes (at £1.20 plus VAT per minute, I might add) he has all the information he needs.

He takes the dinghy ashore and comes back about an hour later having completed all the paperwork for the customs, immigration and health departments.  Although we had been told that the officials would all board the boat, nobody was interested in doing so and they were all very friendly, more interested in watching the World Cup football than causing us any trouble.  However, we have to go into town to complete the formalities for quarantine and to get a cruising permit.  I go with him for a look around.

The sea, which was a mill pond when he first went out, now slams the dinghy against the barnacle encrusted dock so getting out onto slippery concrete steps is interesting but I manage it without injury or loss of dignity.  For the first time since we left St Lucia we lock the dinghy to the dock.  We wouldn’t have bothered had we not noticed that everyone else had and also that all the other boats in the anchorage pulled their dinghies up last night, a sure sign of outboard motor theft in the area.

We get a taxi to the Quarantine Department in town and Mike fills out the relevant forms.   The rather officious guy asks us what food we have aboard and where we bought it.  Mike says it all came from Carrefour in Tahiti and I start to say some of it was from Panama when I get a kick in the shin from Mike to shut up.  I find out later that Panama is on the hit list of undesirable places as far as produce is concerned, but on this occasion we get away with it.  The guy is uninterested and just going through the motions.

We have to pay an incineration fee for our one bag of rubbish which we have to deliver to the dock later on, but we have no local money, so while I wait in the office, the taxi takes Mike to the nearest ATM.  When he comes back, the fiasco starts.  They have to take the payment in cash but have no facilities for giving you change.  None of the staff has any.  None of the public coming into the office has any.  The taxi driver doesn’t have any.  Eventually after trying a couple of shops Mike cobbles enough together to pay them slightly over the correct money.  Why don’t they have a float?

When we get into our taxi, Mike gives me a stern lecture on honesty when dealing with officials.  Answer any question truthfully but give as little information as possible, never volunteering anything which is not asked for in case it is be used to hang you.  And don’t ask questions, lose your temper or even look irritated by their procedures.  Above all, look like you have all the time in the world.  Mike suddenly remembers why he never usually takes me with him on these trips.  I am a liability!

Next stop, a cruising permit from the Commissioner’s Office.  This involves a drive to the other side of town and an opportunity to look at the surroundings.  It’s a scruffy little town with little to recommend it to be honest, although as it’s not a tourist destination but a town living around its port and sugar refinery, I suppose it’s to be expected.

The Commissioner’s Office is a hub of activity – freeze framed!  I have never (outside of India) seen so many people, doing so little.  Everything happens oh-so slowly.  In order to give us the (free) permit, we have to hand over 5 different pieces of paper, all of which need to be photocopied by one of the slowest photocopier operators I have ever seen.  Each page is scrutinised and turned various ways before she gets it into the copier.  Her finger pauses each time over the ‘copy’ button before she actually presses it as she gazes vacantly out of the window or at the growing number of visitors arriving at the desk.  I wish I could film it all but a ten minute video would look like a still photograph!!

We wait patiently wishing we had books with us and finally, after about 20 minutes, we are done.  There’s smiles all round at the production of yet another piece of paper and we are free to go – back to customs.

Again, there are about ten customs officials, all standing around watching the football on TV (well it is nearly lunchtime closing).  They are a friendly bunch and ask us about our travels as one of them does the paperwork.  I glance up at a picture of our Queen on the wall and suddenly everything clicks into place.  All the paperwork, all the bureaucracy – Fiji used to be British and we taught them everything they know, just like India.  In fact, over a third of the population of Fiji is Indian as we brought them over as cheap labour for the sugar plantations.

At 1 pm we have completed everything and go back to the boat.  I ask Mike when we are going to deliver our one bag of rubbish to the dock.  “F*** that” he says and we start to get the anchor up.

The fact that the sea bed here is a thick clay-like mud means the holding is great and there’s nothing for the anchor or chain to get caught around.  The downside is it comes up covered in a thick grey gloop, so disgusting that I have to get the sea water hose out and clean it off, link by link, as I pull the chain up.  While I am at it I hose off some of the sugar debris.

  Photo:  A woman’s work is never done

We leave the bay and head south again for Port Denarau, our home for the next few days while we get our generator repaired (hopefully).  From a distance it is hard to see the channel into the marina but gradually the red and green markers come into view and we trundle slowly in.  We are allotted a berth in the superyacht section, next to the enormous motor yacht, Archimedes – a real David and Goliath situation.  Archimedes is a gleaming, shiny, blue hulled yacht, about 233 feet long (we are 43 feet).  Basically she all but blocks out the light!  There are other, slightly smaller motor yachts all around us and I have to say that the sight of Jeannius amongst all these monsters is quite comical, especially as they are all so shiny and clean and Jeannius is absolutely filthy!  Well we don’t have a crew of 20 scuttling around cleaning every day.

Photo:  Jeannius rubbing hulls (not literally) with the superyachts

We are finishing getting tied up when Stephen (Skylark) arrives to welcome us.  They are here getting their sail repaired.  We chat for a while and I go back to Skylark to meet Magda, Francois’ wife, who has just spent a couple of weeks with them and is flying back tonight.  We have a couple of drinks and arrange to go out to eat with Stephen and Ed at the local Indian restaurant later on.

As it gets dark, and we are leaving the boat, I gaze up at Archimedes, covered in her twinkly lights, and can’t resist taking a photo.

Photo:  Jeannius and Archimedes

The Indian restaurant provides us with a lovely setting and a really good meal and Ed is a total sweetheart by treating us all to the whole thing.  Service is a bit on the slow side, but then Indian staff on Fiji time?  Anyway, in good company, we are in no rush.

When we leave, we wander around Port Denarau to see what it has to offer.  Basically everything as it turns out.  A small supermarket, a good selection of shops, pharmacy, bank, post office, at least ten restaurants and amazingly, an Ugg boot retailer.  Ugg boots in Fiji?  I was so surprised I just had to go in and ended up chatting to the owner for quite some while.  He makes them for Ugg here and they are about a third of the UK price.  Apparently he does a roaring trade!

  Photo:  A pretty selection of thick, wooly boots, just what you need for Fiji

To be honest, Port Denarau has everything you need while you are staying here but it’s not like being in Fiji – it could be anywhere as it has no actual local flavour.  But it will suit us for the next few days and it’s great to have the freedom to get off the boat whenever I want without having to deal with the dinghy.