Tradition without the tourists in Fiji’s highlands

August 09, 2009|Jessica Leving, Globe Correspondent

NADI, Fiji - One of the last rigidly preserved vestiges of indigenous Fijian culture, Navala Village is the only place left on Fiji where everyone still lives more or less as their ancestors did - plus the occasional Coca-Cola and satellite television on special occasions.

Years ago, a village chief mandated that no new houses be built unless they were in the traditional thatched-roof bure hut style. No concrete or sheet metal allowed, only bamboo-woven walls and wooden pole supports. Today the village is a picturesque, one-of-a-kind experience treasured by locals and visitors alike.

Far enough into the highlands to deter the throngs of tourists below in Nadi, Navala Village is open to visitors but does not depend on them. For intrepid budget travelers, a visit is best achieved by a bumpy, sweaty ride on the local bus, an open-air Leyland classic that looks as if it hasn’t been updated since the 1970s. The entire journey will take at least half a day - but it will cost under $5.

My mother and I spring for a taxi. Our driver, an Indian man named Samir, offers us a special rate of $96 to make the journey there and back. We have a flight to catch the next day, so we accept.

Just a few hours into the highlands the scenery changes dramatically. The drab, square houses and billboards soon fade and the towns grow smaller until finally it’s just us, a breathtaking panorama, and the open road.

First, we pass through the majority Indian city of Lautoka, which Samir tells us is also known as “sugar city’’ for its sugar mill, the city’s biggest employer. It’s still early, but our stomachs are rumbling, and we offer to take Samir to lunch if he’ll bring us to his favorite local establishment.

“No problem,’’ he says, and pulls over on an unassuming side street. We hop out, wipe the sweat off our foreheads, and cut through an alleyway to Singh’s Fast Food, a simple Indian food court where we enjoy an assortment of chicken, lamb, and beef curries. The bill is less than $20 for the three of us.

Around the corner, we browse the vast array of sari shops and dollar stores, then get back on the road and head toward the town of Ba. There, Samir tells us we must stop at the open-air market. Visitors to Navala Village are expected to bring at least a half-kilo of the mildly narcotic kava root (locally known as “yaqona’’) for the “sevusevu,’’ the traditional welcoming ceremony.

The market is inside an old, dark warehouse behind a sprawling Western chain grocery store. Samir negotiates a deal: under $8 for an armful of what look like skinny twigs. We spend a few minutes browsing the endless rows of roots and spices, and then continue on the treacherous road to Navala.

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