We landed in Fiji the day a cyclone hit. We’d come so I could rediscover the love of scuba diving—I’d been certified in college and gone on a few initial trips but had drifted away from the sport, not consciously, I just had found other sports that captured my interest and none of my friends had been diving in recent years.
I had recently begun dating a dive master (and attorney) who needed a break from his law office. We’d just spent two weeks in New Zealand, and besides wanting a diving adventure, we wanted to break up the long twelve-hour plus flight home back to the states. We landed in Nadi and hopped a plane to Taveuni island. It was a small twelve-passenger or so plane where you couldn’t hear the person next to you unless you yelled.
Seated in the front row, I was ready to scream—I could see the pilot’s view out the front windshield as the tiny windshield wipers went back and forth. The visibility was close to nil. The rain just pelted the tiny aircraft.
Miraculously, we landed safely and were taken by van to the beach where we were greeted by a guy who looked like a very dark-skinned Fijian version of the Gordon’s fisherman. “Bula!” (hello in Fijian) he said. He was dressed in a yellow rain slicker and hat and took us by private boat to the island of Qamea.
It rained sideways on the boat. My boyfriend and I looked at each other, “So much for diving.” My boyfriend yelled as we bounced from wave top to wave top.
It was a shame. It had been a good fifteen years or so since I’d last been diving and I had just outfitted myself in all the latest gear and gadgetry. Technology had completely transformed the sport since I learned and I was excited to try out my new Suunto computer dive watch. I had a new wetsuit, BCD, everything from mask to fins.
We arrived on the island, which looked as if it was straight from the set of a Fantasy Island episode (well, except for the fact that I don’t think it ever rained there). I half expected Tattoo to come running out, “Boss, de boat! De boat!”
Instead, a Fijian guy met us with umbrellas, took our luggage, and escorted us to our Bure (thatched hut) where we arrived drenched. We set our resort umbrellas down and dipped our feet in the conch shells embedded in the entryway of our hut with fresh water to wash off the sand.
Our room was magical with twenty-foot soaring ceilings, hand polished local mahogany hardwood floors, and authentically outfitted in antique Fijian art from neighboring islands. All the beachfront bures were just remodeled with new furniture, romantic four-poster beds, and new deck furniture.
The covered outdoor riverstone courtyard shower had Pure Fiji brand amenities and the bathrooms boasted gorgeous European fittings. My boyfriend and I each had a chocolate chip cookie from the Mason jar full of a fresh-baked batch which was part of our welcome gift.
“Well, time for plan B,” I said. “Let’s go see what else there is to do here.” It was hard to imagine coming to Fiji and not diving. It would be like going to Aspen in the winter and not skiing.
The grounds were pristine—carefully manicured vibrant green grass with just eleven beachfront bures and two larger honeymoon bures, a split-level honeymoon villa, and two new private 1600 square foot villas. Qamea has the beautiful island to itself so it’s easy to see why it would make for an ideal honeymoon or destination wedding locale.
We wandered over to the restaurant where the rainy activity of the day was, and I kid you not, basket weaving. We sat down on the porch and grabbed a couple of palm leaves as the resident artisan showed us how to weave. The rain continued to beat down. We finished our baskets, which were quite impressive for first time basket weavers. I was disappointed to learn we couldn’t bring them home with us as they constituted a live plant and wouldn’t make it past customs.
