Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“I hope he doesn't pinch the damn thing,” said Gavin suspiciously, “I don't trust these
shady card sharps.”
“You don't trust anybody,” I observed dryly.
We had a few hours to kill and decided to walk to the busiest part of town and experience
all the noise and action. The minute the pavement traders laid eyes on us, they converged
like flies, offering trinkets and knives, watches, and even dirty photos and playing cards. I
bought a pack. “It's a souvenir from Fiji,” I justified, leafing through the saucy cards.
“We really have to watch our money; we are very low right now,” chided Gavin. He was
dead right. We had at this stage pooled our resources and were very low on funds. We had
hoped to get work here in Fiji, but that idea evaporated as we walked about town.
“There's no way we could make any money from these people,” I stated. “They are streets
ahead of us in everything.”
Many of the Indians were dressed in traditional robes and sandals. The women wore
birkhas and shawls. The men sported long, curly beards and turbans. The native Negro
Fijians rubbed shoulders with the imported Indians, and, on the surface, all seemed fairly
equal. It was only after one heard an Indian address one of the Fijians that you realized all
was not quite well in paradise. They spoke down to their Fijian counterparts, almost in a
demeaning and degrading manner. The Fijian natives were sullen or silently resentful. The
Indians constantly rode on their backs; they were by far the smarter of the two races, and it
was very evident who was really running the show.
Well, that was not our problem right then. We walked on, taking in all the exciting sounds
and smells of cooking and strange, enchanting, little shops in the back alleys and sidewalks.
The smell of burning incense was everywhere. The noisy traffic and near misses on the
roads kept us amazed all the time. There were a lot of bicycles being ridden about; some
had preposterously large loads on the backs of them. There were rickshaws on every strip
of pavement. Ice cream vendors wheeled their treats around in the sweltering heat and did
a roaring trade.
There were many beautiful women to ogle over. Some of these delicate, little Indians were
mesmerizing. How we could do with one or two of those on-board Déjà vu! We bought a
cheap plate each of lamb curry and, sitting in a little side café, ate and watched Nadi during
lunch hour. It was hot and humid, and I had developed a headache from all this noise and
bustle. I looked at my watch and saw it was only one thirty, but we decided to walk on
back to the workshop any way. Perhaps the walk would clear my head.
We were delighted to find that the alternator had been repaired, and the technician had sup-
plied me with a separate voltage regulator. He had even drawn a diagram on how to hook
