I could spend the rest of my life in Samoa, so it was with sadness that I left this pristine paradise for another jewel of the Pacific – Fiji. With a 10am ferry to catch on the other side of the island, I didn’t have time to enjoy the delights of Satuituti this morning. I loaded up the Rav and set out, and it seemed like everyone in Samoa was heading along to church in their best white clothes. It was stunning and strange at the time, seeing the whole country close down for one reason.
I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, because the drive turned out to be a lot further than I thought, and soon I was running out of time and a long way from my destination. I put my foot down and screamed through Savai’i, scaring chickens and pigs and dogs. I made it to the ferry with about 35 seconds to go, loaded the car on board, then plonked myself on the top deck for a nice sail back to the main island.
Once on the other side, I had a few hours to kill before my flight, so I took a drive along some of the back roads and reflected on time in Samoa. It really is a beautiful country with warm-hearted people a laid-back atmosphere. Unlike other tropical paradises, like Thailand, it doesn’t have a dirty underbelly of sex and violence and exploitation, tourism hasn’t destroyed it, and it just feels genuine. It’s a friendly, awe-inspiring place that I’d be happy to call home.
After handing back the Rav, I boarded plane and 90 minutes and seven beers later I was in not-so-beautiful Nadi, Fiji. As my courtesy bus rolled through barbed wire-lined lanes, I realised I wasn’t in Apia anymore. The Sandlewood Lodge, my accommodation for the evening, is a dump, with bars on the windows and a warning to leave as many lights on as possible to scare off rapists. It couldn’t have been more different than downtown Apia, where my accommodation didn’t even have a door, and the intruders are pleasant.
I was as hungry as Matt Preston gets between breakfast and brunch, so I strolled into Nadi to grab something to eat. Before I even made it out of my street, a very larger person in a mini skirt said she wanted to suck my cock. I thanked it for the offer, but suggested that if it really wanted a cock there was probably a perfectly good one between its legs.
The streets I walked were full of poverty and misery, scammers and drunks, but I eventually sourced some cheap beer and a pizza. I was hungry, so I ordered the large – and it was big enough for Julie Gillard to use as a sled next time she hits the slopes, with only a bit of her arse hanging over the side. I got home and scoffed it, but was barely able to make a in the bloody thingg. I wrapped up some for later, but there was so much that I might as well have poked a hole in a few slices and fucked them. They don’t go soft on the servings in Fiji.
With an early start the next morning – I’m heading out to the Yasawa Islands – and nothing but violence and AIDS outside the door, I went to bed early, with a quiet prayer to the baby Jebus to ensure that I wouldn’t get stabbed in the face while I slept. Well, I left the lights on, so that should scare all the bad guys off.