Day 169: Fiji – 24/06/10

Mike goes up to the yacht services offices to arrange for our generator parts to be picked up from the airport and for the engineer/electrician to come and inspect the job.  Amazingly, a couple of hours later there is a knock on the side of the boat and the parts are hand delivered to us.

We go out for a closer look at the port facilities.  The shops are very cheap, even though they are probably more expensive here at a tourist resort than in town.  I end up buying two dresses (the equivalent of £10 each), a pair of Havianas (half the US price) and a handbag that won’t go grungy as it’s plastic (almost against my religion, that one).

As we walk back to Jeannius we bump into Stephen who says that he and Francois are taking a taxi into the local town, Nadi, and as Mike has to hang around the boat for the engineers, would I like to join them?  I would.  I rush back to the boat, quickly have some lunch, change into something more suitable for town (trousers and less skimpy top) and off we go.

In the short, 10-minute ride to town, we pass fields of tapioca, bananas and sugar cane.  In fact, the feel is much more like south-east Asia than an island in the South Pacific.

Nadi has one main street, quite long and full of shops, but very scruffy.  I hate being hassled and people trying to engage you in conversation for the sole purpose of dragging you into their shops, and this is something that happens all the time here.  We wander down the main road, Stephen looking for a gas lighter for his stove and me looking as ever for my champagne coloured pearls.  At the bottom of the main street is the largest South Indian temple in the whole of the South Pacific.

Photos:  The Sri Siva Subrahmaniya Swami temple, Nadi

We go back up the other side of the road, still looking.  We have to go in a strange assortment of shops looking for Stephen’s lighter.  They seem to sell them in supermarkets, hardware stores, the Fiji equivalent of pound shops, but today we eventually find a bright pink one (half full of fuel) in a stationery shop.

We find the handcraft market and on a stall I find some freshwater pearls.  I tell the lady that I am looking for gold coloured pearls (I didn’t think the term ‘champagne coloured’ would mean much to her).  It turns out that gold has little meaning either as she brings out pink ones then white ones.  I give up using her ‘expertise’ and pick a pair out myself which are more of a deep cream and ask her how much they are.  $120 Fiji – too much.  The price immediately drops to $80 Fiji.  I say no.  “How much you wanna pay madam?” she asks.  All this time I am feeling them between my fingers – they feel remarkably, and suspiciously smooth.  I ask her if they are real freshwater pearls and she replies that they are 100% genuine freshwater pearls.  I raise them to my mouth (God knows what I will catch) and touch them on my teeth.  Completely smooth.  Fake.  “These aren’t real” I say.  She then goes into true Bollywood movie actress mode, saying that the cheating wholesaler must have send her the wrong ones, she will telephone him right away and complain to him and at the same time she is reaching for another strand which she describes as “101% genuine freshwater pearls” (which they are – I do the same test).  But she has blotted her copybook – I wouldn’t buy anything from someone who had so blatantly tried to cheat me and treated me as though I was completely stupid.  We leave.

We continue the hunt for pearls and in a pukka shop I actually find exactly what I am looking for - at a cost - $7500 Fiji (about £2500).  They are beautiful and I make the mistake of trying them on.  I have three assistants serving me – no pressure there then – but they are good hearted about it.  I disappoint them when I use the “I’ll have to check with my husband” get-out routine although their spirits are momentarily lifted when Stephen appears, only for them to be dashed again when I tell them he is my friend not my husband.  One of the assistants rushes after me, pressing a card into my hand with her name on for when I come back – obviously on commission then!

  Photo:  Sigh!  The strand I let go

Since I have now bought far too many other pearls to even contemplate trying to talk Mike into opening his wallet for these babies (and don’t fancy the messy divorce) and instead I settle for the freshwater ones in another branch of the same shop, costing a fraction of the price, a mere $99 Fiji (about £33).  I now need a halo.  Such restraint, especially with it being my birthday tomorrow.

 Photo:  Champagne freshwater pearls – much cheaper!

As we are walking out of the shop, a local guy entering at the same time sticks his arm out and slides his hand into my crotch.  This takes place so suddenly that I stop dead in my tracks wondering if I imagined it.  But I haven’t.  I turn to look behind me but he is continues into the shop and doesn’t look back.  I can’t believe that someone has had the audacity to do this (and I am modestly dressed today, no legs or cleavage on show at all) and it leaves me with a very unpleasant feeling.  When I tell Stephen what has just taken place he is in favour of finding the police but there is no point, so we go and have an ice cream instead then get a taxi back to Port Denarau.

We invite the crews from Skylark and Voyageur over tomorrow evening for a drink to celebrate my birthday.  Major boat cleaning will have to be done before that!