Fiji: A Day Too Long

Why is it that something must always go terribly wrong when I'm on an overseas vacation? Did I at some point offend the travel gods? Perhaps I brought on their wrath by always overpacking, never reconfirming my flights, and often running late for the airport. Oops. Well whatever it is, I must find a way to make amends. Either that, or burn my passport!

What could go wrong in Fiji, you ask? Tropical paradise. World-class snorkeling. Highly recommended accommodation. Friendly culture. And that's really what it was, for the first five days. In fact I was wondering what in the world I would have to blog about. If only I hadn't stayed one day too long.

As soon as I got the shuttle bus outside of Nadi Airport, I met Emelie, the first of many new friends I was to make. Emelie, a Swedish girl studying in Australia, was on her way to meet some British friends at the Octopus Resort, the same place I was staying. We shared the 1-1/2 hour boat ride to Waya Island, and were awed to catch our first glimpse of the wonderful secluded beach and bay where the Octopus was located. She went off to meet her friends, and I went about exploring.

"Resort" is a relative term, and in Fiji it has evolved to mean "a low-cost tourist accommodation to fool travelers into forgetting about our little coup issues." The ploy seems to be working. The Octopus was near full the whole five nights I was there, and the only time I heard Fiji politics mentioned was at trivia night (What 80's band sounds like the new leader of Fiji? I guessed Go-Go's, but the real answer was Bananarama. The leader's name is Frank Bainimarama).

As I was saying, the resort could be described as maybe high-end rugged, or low-end luxury depending on where you were staying. There were traditional thatched huts at various prices, and then the 12-person co-ed dormitory where I stayed. I opted for the dorm since I was traveling alone and wanted to be able to meet other travelers readily. It was clean and simple--a single bed with mosquito netting for each person, plus their own night table with lamp and electric fan. The communal toilets and showers were next door. In front of the dorm was a nice swimming pool with a view of the ocean and wide beachfront. Meals were served three times daily in a covered dining area--sturdy wooden tables for eight set right in the sand. With no shops or restaurants nearby on the island, this was the only option for meals. Luckily the lunch menu was plentiful and tasty. Several of the 8 or 10 choices featured pumpkin, one of my favorite foods. The Thai yellow curry, which I ate twice that week, had pumpkin and eggplant. Yum!

I sat down at a table with two British girls: Sarah, who turned out to be a friend of Emelie's; and Lucy, who recently completed Yachtmaster sailing school and was leaving for Canada the next day. After lunch we joined forces at the pool with Emelie, Julia (Sarah's sister) and Dan (Julia's fiance). Once Lucy left the next day, I spent most of my time with the remaining four. We shared all our meals, did some activities together (snorkeling, swimming and just general relaxing), and we single girls slept in a row in the dorm. Though I'd had every intention of catching up on reading and writing while on vacation, it seemed every time I opened my John Grisham, I was pulled into a conversation or convinced to join another activity. It was great fun spending time with non-Americans and hearing a chorus of words like "snogging", "crikey" and "I quite fancy a smoothie."

We were all excited about the New Year's Eve festivities, which were to feature a seafood bbq, games, and retro dance music. The dress code was sulus, similar to sarongs. The other girls took a class that day on the many ways to wear a sulu, while I opted to finally read my book and nurse the sunburn I'd gotten while snorkeling that morning (I saw a leopard shark and a stingray!).

Before dinner all the girls met up in the dorm and worked out the different ways we would wear our sulus. Dinner was at 7:30, and after that we were moved out to the porch while the tables were cleared away for dancing. In the meantime there were party games like limbo and balloon dancing. I can't really explain the balloon game as I was starting to feel under the weather and kept ducking out to rest in the dorm. I felt overheated and thought it might be the sunburn. I took off the flower lei they'd given out, and put my hair back. Then my stomach began hurting and I realized it must be something else. "My stomach feels funny too," said Emelie. I laid down, hoping it would pass. Emelie flitted in and out, checking on me and letting me know the music wasn't very good anyway. As the deejay cranked up Britney Spears "Hit Me Baby One More Time" I was overcome with nausea and ran next door to the bathroom. Nothing came up in the first two retches, but each was so severe and sharp that my whole body shuddered. Panicked, I fumbled at the door lock to make sure someone could get in if I passed out. It felt like a hand had reached in through my navel and begun twisting and squeezing my intestines. When the vomiting finally stopped, I stumbled back to my bed and waited for the momentary relief that expelling the contents of one's stomach usually brings. Instead I got another round of abdominal pain. The partygoers were getting lounder and louder and I heard the New Year's countdown from my bed. Soon Emelie came back, regretting that she was feeling worse "just when the music was getting better." I wondered if she meant Britney but was too weak to converse. I told her I'd been sick. "My turn must be next," she said. I realized then that it must be food poisoning.

I fell into a fitful sleep, but the pain woke me again and I staggered to the bathroom and got sick a second time. Sleep again, then pain so bad I went next door actually praying I could be sick a third time to get some relief. There I ran into Sarah, who was helping Emelie, as well as Louise--both Louise and her husband Andrew were sick. In all, eleven guests had fallen ill.

With Emelie and others retching in the bathroom, I escaped to the front porch steps of our dorm where it was considerably cooler than in the dorm or bathroom. Exhausted, I considered just lying on the porch until morning but knew that without mosquito netting I'd be eaten alive. Having experienced food poisoning before, I expected to get better, not worse, over the course of the next two days. The following afternoon I was scheduled to take the 1-1/2 hour choppy boat ride (no bathroom on board) back to the mainland, followed by several hours of waiting until the 9-1/2 hour flight home. I knew I couldn't make it in my condition, and tried to work out how I could rebook my flight, get a hotel on the mainland, and notify my office that I wouldn't be at work on the 2nd. In my weakened state these tasks seemed fully insurmountable, and my eyes welled up with tears.

Somehow, I did make it home. From Internet research later on, I narrowed down the type of food poisoning to one that strikes quickly (within a few hours of eating), but lasts no more than 24. By the time I boarded the plane with Louise and Andrew, we were still exhausted and worse for the wear but finally able to keep down fluids and a few bites of food. My friend Margaret picked me up at LAX and we ate our first meal of the New Year at Islands hamburger chain--probably the only islands I'll be visiting for a while. And when I do travel overseas again? I plan to do some serious kowtowing to the travel gods beforehand. I feel I've done quite enough bowing down to that porcelain god for a long while.