Revelation: I’m a bus whore.

Yes, it’s true. I get on a bus, any bus, anytime, anywhere and I’m gloriously happy. Ridiculously happy. I’m even happy waiting for the bus. At the bus stop on the side of the road or in a busy station or under a tree. Anywhere, anytime, I am there and I am happy.

Once I board, the delirium usually continues, even with a intermittent sore ass and knees that are bruised the following day from being wedged against the seat in front of me- a hazard of traveling in countries full of short people. Though the island Fijians are large in all ways (many women are both bigger and taller than me), so this doesn’t make sense really. I can tell a lot from a country on the bus. When I ride a local bus, surrounded by people on their way home or to a wedding or whatnot and I’m the only white person, I feel so alive.

After four days, three nights on Nananu-I-Ra island off the northern tip of Viti Levu (the largest Fiji Island- there are more than 360 total), I started to feel claustrophoic on such a small island filled mostly with Australians. I was starving for local interaction, so I caught the boat back to land and then a bus to Suva, (pop 390,000) the largest city in Fiji and the also the largest in the Pacific Islands.

At the bus stop, I met a local Brahman Indian-Fijian boy in his early 20’s who had lived in Wellington for a while. He was wearing a black t-shirt with “Edmonton” embroidered on it. I asked if he’d been to Edmonton. He said, “No, but I’m moving there on the 30th of May.” He was moving with his sister and brother-in-law to run a takeway business in Banff. He pointed out his sugarcane farm on the hill behind us. I asked what his mom and dad thought. He said, “That’s my mom,” pointing to the lady in glasses and a yellow sari across from us who’d been smiling all along. “She has to stay six more months for the harvest and then maybe she and my younger brother will come. My dad passed away four years ago.”

After about an hour‘s wait, the bus finally arrived. It was the express bus but it still took over three hours to get to Suva. Some roads were dirt and several bridges we drove over were small wooden plank things, just wide enough for one vehicle and no guard railing.

I sat next to Linny and her mom. They were coming home from her cousin’s wedding. Linny was born March 14th, 1971 in Fiji. She had a 22 year old son. She pointed out the village where she grew up (pop 100) and then the village that she was “married to.” She was married eight years ago. She and her mom both had small afros. Linny wore a red polo and denim skirt and carried a pink lettered handbag, Her mom reminded me of a black Grandma Agnes. It was the facial expression. She was a lady of purpose, but had tan Fossil gemstone-rimmed sunglasses that matched her tan patterned dress. After a few hours on the bus, one of the mom’s brothers got on. Shortly after that, they were waving out the window to one of her sisters who was in a van on the side of the road. It’s a small island.

Linny and her mom got off a few stops before me. As did the Indian boy and his mom. His mom patted me on the shoulder as she walked down the aisle and waved from the side of the road as we drove off.

The bus came into Suva from above and at first sight, it reminded me of Auckland. A harbour town, ocean all around. We pulled into the bus station and I struggled to get my pack off the bus as the driver made a snide comment about it. (He is the only not-nice person I have encountered.) After I practically fell out the door of the bus, I stopped to get myself loaded up. Two Fijian men tried to help me haul my stuff in a wheelbarrow but I declined saying I was just getting on another bus. They kept asking questions and told me I was beautiful. Then I realized I was a blonde girl in a sea of dark. I’d forgotten the extra sort of help you get in that situation.

I wandered off, asking a local girl, “Where is the bus to Sawani?” She pointed. I said, “Ok, over there?” I must’ve looked confused, because then she said, “I’ll take you.” “Are you going that way?” I asked. “No, but it’s ok.” I got led quite a ways and dropped at my bus. I said, “Thank you” and she was off, wishing me a good trip,

So Fiji… it’s different. Interesting. Not remote. Full of it’s own culture and life. I have three more days of exploring before I set foot on the plane back to North America. Prepare the red carpet, I’m coming home!