The walls around St. Giles Rehabilitation Center were colorful.  Sometime in the past, a local artist spent a few months painting the place with a few of the residents.  He worked much the same way I do.  He planned the walls and had his volunteers add the color.  Unfortunately, I know what time and elements do to murals.  I don’t really want to think about it.  I leave my masterpieces, and in my mind they stay that way. 

But, they don’t.

Many of the walls at the hospital need cleaned up and repainted.  Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have months to stay in Fiji.  Only one area could be painted and it needed to be a spot that didn’t need a lot of preparation work.  So, the entrance to the Occupational Therapy unit was selected.  The above photo is of two walls.  The other two "walls" were open space.  It was a fun area to hang out and paint.  Food was prepared in the area (always something I like) and there were sessions when residents gathered to sing.  Golden oldies appeared to be a favorite.  I can’t really say that I ever expected to hear John Denver’s “Country Roads” sung in Fiji.  It took me home.

Usually, I talk to administrators to get ideas for the mural.  Well, the person in charge was sick for the first several days of the project.  I got no input from the center.  I had to pick the brains of a few other Fijian friends to get ideas for a local theme to the mural. 

The mural wove around windows and doors of a patio area.  Hopefully, it would be protected from sun and rains.  I used tapa cloth designs, a local fabric made from mulberry tree bark, to frame the mural and hold it together.  My tapa design had three rows.  The first was made up of individual stripes that I painted.  The second row was made with circles and applied with a stamp.  But, my college artists really wanted the third row to be made like a traditional tapa cloth with a stencil.  I said if they created the stencil, they could have a go at it.  I loved the authentic touch and that the kids wanted to take ownership with their own ideas.  It added an extra day of painting the mural, but I thoroughly enjoyed that time with my crew.

For the rest of the design, on either side of the door was half of the national crest.  The other wall had the letters spelling “FIJI”, but as usual, I kind of hide the lettering in the art.  I love the “ah hah” moment when people discover it.  Inside those letters included a kava ceremony, a waving palm and turtle, a rugby player and a ukulele.  Colorful accents included the fragrant frangipani flower and the red hibiscus.

Painters for the project came from a unique pool of volunteers.  Patients and nursing staff at St. Giles were very eager to participate.  In addition, there were volunteers from the U.S. Embassy and local art students attending Fiji National University.  And, I’m very happy to say, three painters came all the way from the village of Kuku where I spent my weekends.  It was a very fun mix of people who laughed a lot as we create one more mural for another worthy cause.

I really like working with artists and letting them add their own touches to the mural.  On this particular mural, I told artists to create a Fijian shirt design and blend colors for a sunset and the frangipani flowers.  I kind of take a little pride in the fact that it works so well.  I don’t think every artist could share ownership of their mural design.  And, whenever I see that someone has the ability, I want to give them a chance to shine. 

Well . . . most of the time. 

If you’ve ever painted a mural with me, you probably know that I save the eyes till last.  It usually drives people crazy, children and adults alike.  But, for me it’s like dessert.  I save it for the very last and I look forward to that moment.  It’s when the characters come alive.  Well, on this particular mural, one of my artists took interest in the eyes and he had no idea about my tradition. While he carefully added the eyes to each and every face, I had a horrible argument going on inside my head.  “Do I let the young artist flourish and do something that he can obviously do well?” or “Do I tell him that those faces are my babies and nobody does it quite the way I do it?”

It really was a struggle.  I really wanted to paint those eyes.  I tried to be rational, which I’m not always good about.  I know I looked calm, no matter what was going on inside my head.  But, this was really not easy for me.  In the end, I tried to convince myself that I shouldn’t be so petty and I should let the other artist shine. 

I never really totally convinced myself.

However, I learned my lesson from this.  From now on, right from the start, I’m telling every volunteer who paints with me about “dessert”.  Yep, those babies are mine and I plan to continue savoring the moment.

I looked forward to revisiting my friends in Kuku on my final weekend in Fiji.  There truly was no place else in the country that I’d rather be.  I arrived just before sunset.  So, it was dark when nature called and I needed to go outside to the bathroom.

It was a flush toilet, so there are no outhouse horror stories to relate.

However, the horror sort of happened on the way.  There were three steep steps from the home to the level of the bathroom.  The steps were wooden planks with space between them.  Since the home did not yet have electricity, there was no light to turn on.  I grabbed on to the door jam, and managed to hit the steps just right, or rather, just wrong.  I stepped into the void between two planks and I took my second trip to Fiji. 

It could have been awful.  One of my friends recently broke her ankle on a stairway, and although there wasn’t much time to think of anything, I thought about her on the way down.  When the tumbling was over, I had some cuts on a foot that could have been broken.  My right wrist was ever so slightly sprained.  It, too, could have been broken.  And, for the second time in less than a week, I really knocked my skull and got a bump.  The pair of bulges on the side of my head were about an inch apart.  (In case you just have to know, the first bump came when I plowed into an overhead beam at the mural project.  I watched where I stepped but not where I was going.)

My hosts were horrified.  I assured them that it could have been a disaster.  This was a lucky break that broke nothing.  And, I got the medical treatment I needed.  I washed my foot at the kitchen sink by candle light.  Yes, I was very grateful for running water.  I came prepared with medical ointment in my travel bag.  And, I even got ice for my bump.  I’m not exactly sure where the ice came from, but I think it was some kind of frozen treat.

After treatment, Simi, my vasili friend, walked me over to the neighbor’s house for yet another round of kava.  I stuck to my two cup limit which nobody could really understand.  Nothing could convince me to try more.  But, the neighbors were equally concerned about my wounded foot.   And, they thought it was time for a local treatment.  Was I up for “mile a minute”?

I really wasn’t sure.

The wife went out into the bush to gather her supplies while someone in the house explained.  “Mile a minute” is a local creeping plant that gets its name because of the speed it grows.  It would help my wound.  It also relieved the itch of mosquito bites and, if I drank it, it was supposed to reduce high blood pressure.  As we sat around the tanoa filled with kava, I stretched out my foot over a plastic bag.  Then, “mile a minute” was squeezed over my wounds.  In the darkness, I never saw the plant, but it had so much liquid that I thought it was mixed with water.  No, that wasn't the case.  That was one juicy plant and the liquid was a local antibiotic.  My hosts asked me if it stung.

That would be a yes.

In the light of day, I saw that creeper.  It truly was all over the neighborhood.  If you just squeeze the leaves, no juice comes out.  You need to take three leaves and briskly roll them in your hand to get the healing flow.

I take medical help whenever I can get it, but this is one of the stranger treatments I’ve ever had. For the record, my most unusual treatment was for a massive headache while in Morocco.  My landlady prepared some herbs into a green paste and then wrapped it all around my head with a turban.  Both treatments appeared to work. 

In the morning, the bump was gone, the wounds were healing nicely, but my wrist was still very tender.  Rest assured, I used a lantern the next time nature called.  I didn’t want to fall a mile a minute, do anything faster than a speeding bullet or have another trip in Fiji.

I have never been to Hawaii, but it is my impression that it’s fairly easy to find hula dancers and cultural entertainment all over the islands.  That was not my Fijian experience.  I saw lovely photographs of beautiful women with flowers in their hair as well as muscular men jumping in the air, all wearing traditional clothing.  And, they happened to be at that Fiji Arts Village which never seems to have anything scheduled when I showed up at their doorstep.  I thought it was going to be simply impossible to see anything like this.

That was before I went to Kuku.

A lot of cultural traditions are taught to young people at school and by their elders.  And when my friends in Kuku learned I wanted to photograph someone in traditional dress, two of the women in the extended family said they could make a vasili (vah SEE lee).  It’s the traditional skirt for men that is woven together from large leaves.  And, Simi and Semi were volunteered to dress up for me.

The very unique part of the experience for me was watching the women weave the leaves together.  They used a modern convenience, strips of cloth, for the weaving.  If they went totally traditional, it would have been done with palm fronds.  I was asked if I knew why they removed the stems from the leaves.  I guessed for comfort and so the leaves could move easier. 

Good guess.

In addition to the skirt, small ferns called balabala were used to make arm bands and anklets.  A woman would wear balabala as a bracelet instead of an arm band.  And, of course, I got to see them woven together.

As I mentioned, my volunteers were volunteered.  Semi wasn’t exactly thrilled.  He went to work on the day scheduled for the photos and never returned while I was there.  Simi didn’t have the same excuse.  He was home the entire day, helping with the lovo. 

Now if you knew Simi, you’d know that he is a kind and gentle person. He cannot strike a convincing pose as a fierce warrior.  And, with two of his friends standing by, laughing as hard as they could, it didn’t help matters.  But, he thankfully had no trouble putting on the vasili and balabala for me.  In addition, warriors smeared charcoal over their bodies.  Instead of charcoal, Simi had soot from a gas lantern bulb. 

My warrior had warmth that would welcome visitors to Fiji.  There was no spear, no fear, and no hint of danger.  Everyone is welcomed in Kuku.

My photo shoot was shortly before my scheduled departure to return to the capital and begin my mural.  A taxi arrived to take me to my hotel.  Simi took the cab with me.  He didn’t need to go into Suva.  But, he wanted to escort me to my hotel.  Simi explained that it is just what they do in Fiji. He did this both times I visited his family.

I told you my warrior had warmth that would welcome people to Fiji.   I felt so welcomed.

You may have figured out by now that I really don’t hang out in the kind of locations that most tourists enjoy.  The reason for that is I don’t enjoy those kind of places.  But, from time to time, I have to bite the bullet and go where I where I really don’t want to go in order to see what I really do want to see.

That’s why I visited Pacific Harbour.

It’s a very exclusive community with expensive homes, manicured lawns and over-priced everything.  Sad to say, it’s the destination for so many people who visit Fiji.  And in my very biased opinion, they miss out entirely on the experience they should have. 

So, why was I there?  Three times?

There is a place there called the Fiji Arts Village.  Supposedly, at this destination you can see cultural troupes dance and experience a lovo.  Cultural troupes are always on my list of things to see everywhere I go.  I’m always on the look-out for a unique portrait.  Lovo, on the other hand, is a unique kind of Fijian meal that I didn’t think I was going to experience any other way.  So, I journeyed to the Fiji Arts Village, three times, and each day I was informed there were not enough bookings for anything.  I thought I was going to miss out on this entirely.

I didn’t count on going to Kuku.

Sunday is traditionally a big day for family events in Fiji.  On family occasions, or when you have an American artist in your midst, you need a lovo.   I did my research.  I knew what it was.  A lovo is a traditional meal which is cooked in underground ovens called lovo pits.  The Nalawa family had their own pit, and I’m going to guess that most families in Fiji do as well.

The task fell on Simi’s shoulders to introduce me to lovo, step by step, and he very patiently let me document what he did throughout the process.  Food in a lovo is cooked over hot rocks.  In order to get them hot, a fire is made with coconut husks, sticks and firewood.  I started the fire with a little bit of gasoline and a match.  I asked Simi if he could make a fire the traditional way without gas or matches.  He said that only older generations knew how to do that.  He preferred matches, and so did I.

Once the fire starts, rocks are placed on top of the flames.  The need to get hot, so you need to wait until their color changes from dark to white.  When the fire is ready, leftover firewood is pushed aside before meat wrapped in palm fronds or banana leaves is placed in the center.  In my lovo experience, we had fish uniquely wrapped in a woven palm frond.  But, just as matches make life a little easier, the chicken was completely wrapped in foil.  Thank goodness for modern conveniences! The meat, which is called a relish, could also include seafood or pork.  Before my time in Fiji was over, I attended another lovo where an entire pig was used.  Yes, you read that right.  I missed out on the Fiji Arts Village and still had two lovo experiences!

The meat dishes, relishes, are surrounded by the starches.  My starch of choice is potatoes.  That didn’t happen at a lovo.  We had freshly harvested cassava, direct from the garden.  We also lined the lovo with taro and sweet potatoes.  Other starches could include yams, manioc and breadfruit.  And, the most unique dish in my mind was palusami, cooked in coconut half-shells.  Of course, the recipe is coming.

So, when everything is ready to cook, you don’t stand around the grill and watch a chef apply barbecue sauce and turn the meat.  You bury it.  Remember, I said that a lovo is an underground oven in a pit.  First palm fronds are placed over the flames.  Next, banana leaves cover the fronds.  Another little modern convenience included heavy-duty plastic rice bags.  They didn’t melt.  They just helped seal the deal.  Finally, the whole pile is covered with dirt and left to smolder and cook for three hours. 

During those three hours, I toured a local village with some of my hosts.  Simi prepared an absolutely amazing amount of fresh coconut for other dishes not cooked underground.  He sat on a unique scraping tool, which I really wanted to bring home with me, and scraped out the coconut meat with a round, pointed grinder on the tip of the tool. 

The meal looked like a Thanksgiving feast, Fijian style.  And, I was so very thankful for the experience.  I gathered more recipes, but you’ll have to have a little patience before you learn about kokoda and vakasakera.  These, along with the palusami, are so worth the wait.

I tried almost everything prepared for the feast.  The one item I stayed away from was taro stems.  It looked sort of like celery and tasted that way too.  But, you are not supposed to eat them raw.  Nobody warned me.  But, unfortunately, I have this habit of sampling food.  As I said, it tasted like celery, but there is an after effect.  I noticed a little later that the back of my tongue and my throat felt like I’d swallowed a cactus.  Little tiny spears pierced my tongue and halfway down my throat.  I thought it was an allergic reaction.  No, that’s simply what happens when you eat raw taro stems.  When it is fully cooked, there is no problem.  I didn’t take any chances.  I wouldn’t try it.  It’s one of life’s lessons you learn once and know better than ever repeating.

Of course, the entire extended family quickly learned about the experience.  A visiting American can be a source of great entertainment at times.

So, I went to Pacific Harbour for a lovo experience that would have satisfied, because I knew it was the best I could find in the short amount of time I had in Fiji.  What I found instead was more than I ever could have expected with more family and friends than I ever imagined.  It is certainly the reason why I wander off the regularly beaten paths that most people tend to travel.