Bula, Grandma!
Learning Fijian the fun way
ALEX CAMPBELL, '10
Issue date: 10/9/08 Section: GSB Life
Bula, Grandma! (that's Fijian for "hello, goodbye, no way this kayak was designed to go forward, and does it bother anybody that we're the only people on this island without machetes?") Vinaka (Fijian for "thank you") for the sweater and hat; they will come in handy this winter. So far, business school is wananavu (Fijian for awesome). We take week-long cultural immersion journeys - as you can tell, mine was in Fiji, where I went with 17 of my closest friends. At least they are now, after slogging through six (maybe seven, hard to tell with that international date line) days of grueling travel, expensive water (just because it's made in Fiji doesn't mean it's affordable!), exotic bacterial infections, and bar after bar of Golden Gaytimes (a delicious ice cream favored by my closest friends and me).
We left on Saturday, flew for 17 hours, and arrived on Monday. 17 hours equals three days you say? Well, Grandma, this is known as Fijian time. Fijian time means that when a bus trip over a cliff road in the mountains is going to take two hours, or a sea voyage to a remote island where you're expected to dance for a chief's pleasure is going to take three, it will be at least twice as long. Time is a curious thing in Fiji - it's mostly to estimate how much waiting there is between meals, except for volleyball. That starts everyday, promptly at 4pm. We played a lot of volleyball, Grandma. But the most interesting thing about Fiji is the drinks. Instead of the tropical concoctions favored in the islands of the Carribean or Hawaii, Fijians prefer a peppery whistle-wetter called Kava. Made from ground kava root, resembling dirty dish water, and tasting like turpentine from a pepper mill, Fijians consume this with much satisfaction and pageantry; and they require visitors to do the same, so we attended several kava ceremonies with the chiefs of local villages. We had to clap once, say "Bula!" and then gulp half a coconut (standard unit of Fijian fluid measurement) of kava while the spokesman (number two man in the village) clapped three times. After dozens of noninebriating rounds of kava, dehydration kicked in, and we became acquainted with the local bacteria. We avoided kava ceremonies by the end of the trip, but I bought some at the airport, so get ready for a real taste of Fiji this Thanksgiving!
We left on Saturday, flew for 17 hours, and arrived on Monday. 17 hours equals three days you say? Well, Grandma, this is known as Fijian time. Fijian time means that when a bus trip over a cliff road in the mountains is going to take two hours, or a sea voyage to a remote island where you're expected to dance for a chief's pleasure is going to take three, it will be at least twice as long. Time is a curious thing in Fiji - it's mostly to estimate how much waiting there is between meals, except for volleyball. That starts everyday, promptly at 4pm. We played a lot of volleyball, Grandma. But the most interesting thing about Fiji is the drinks. Instead of the tropical concoctions favored in the islands of the Carribean or Hawaii, Fijians prefer a peppery whistle-wetter called Kava. Made from ground kava root, resembling dirty dish water, and tasting like turpentine from a pepper mill, Fijians consume this with much satisfaction and pageantry; and they require visitors to do the same, so we attended several kava ceremonies with the chiefs of local villages. We had to clap once, say "Bula!" and then gulp half a coconut (standard unit of Fijian fluid measurement) of kava while the spokesman (number two man in the village) clapped three times. After dozens of noninebriating rounds of kava, dehydration kicked in, and we became acquainted with the local bacteria. We avoided kava ceremonies by the end of the trip, but I bought some at the airport, so get ready for a real taste of Fiji this Thanksgiving!
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