We’ve been away for 15 days on a much-awaited holiday that surprised us when it finally rolled up after months of anticipation. It had been something we told ourselves we’d do once we got back from Singapore and the dust had settled a bit. The body had been feeling weary, the soul somewhat diminished after a year of emotional battering. So we took ourselves up to Brisbane to spend a week with Arddun’s Poppy and Nanna, and then to Fiji.
Here’s some holiday snaps. I do apologise for the quality; I’m not in love with the camera in my Android phone, and I’ve gotten out of the habit of taking photos of Arddun because the darling girl Cannot Keep Still Long Enough. (And also because this phone camera has the reaction time of a sloth with the flu.)
The three of us arrived at Tony’s parents’ place to find their house had been transformed into Toddler Wonderland. There’s a swing. And a sandpit. With sand in it! And building blocks… and new books… and a large toy garage with cars to slide up and down ramps… and the dolls have their own high chair and a nice wooden bed – with its own top sheet, blanket and quilt, of course – and their own pram… and there’s crayons, and playdoh, and strawberries to pick, and veggies to harvest, and…
Arddun was in love. I’m utterly convinced that at one point, she had looked at me as if to ask if she could live there for good. She had a grand time. And we got good rest. The moment her eyes opened in the morning, she’d ask for Poppy to take her out on the swing, and she’d look for “Nina” (Nanna) for cuddles and other treats yet undiscovered in the house. Brisbane life suits Arddun.
Fiji turned out to be a funny sort of holiday for us. Arddun felt miserable for the first three days; I suspect she had a bit of the flu, and after travelling and adjusting to yet another new environment, her usually good humour packed it in, and Tony and I had a rough time of it as we tried to soothe her, while gingerly picking through the minefield of illness-induced tempers and general Toddlerisms.
Then she emerged on Day 4 tonnes happier and raring to go. And that was when we got to see more of Fiji proper.
We poshed out this trip, and decided to stay at the Sheraton. Perched on the edge of the island, it boasted ridiculously postcard-perfect views of the waters, and made for very nice photography if one came better equipped than I did.
Staying at the villas worked well for us because we had a kitchenette, which we used at least once a day, and a washing machine with a dryer, that also got a reasonable workout. Most of all, we had the space to spread out and mooch when we didn’t feel like wandering the resort.
There isn’t anything in the way of attractions outside of the resort; Denarau, at least, seems content to lead their tourists from one resort to another, and the short cruise we took around some of the islands and islets showed us more of the same. Resorts all look and feel alike after a while, and by Day 5, we were starting to feel restless for some local culture and sightseeing. We took a couple of day trips to the town centre and walked around a bit. Totally reminded us of parts of Malaysia and, to a lesser extent because traffic wasn’t that insane, Hatyai. Our most reasonably-priced dinner was at a Chinese restaurant called Bohai, which really took me back to some of the Chinese family restaurants in Chinatown from when I was a kid.
Yes, we managed to meet up with Famiza twice during this trip! All a happy coincidence that they were also holidaying in Fiji at the same time. Other happy memories include our last and dearest meal at the fine dining restaurant at the Sheraton, called Ports O’Call. No children allowed, and the waiters would bunch up now and then and sing four-part harmony like a dream. We scored a farewell song because it was our last night in Fiji and at the resort. The food acrobatics (blue flames dancing down a Cointreau-drenched tangerine peel) suitably impressed, dinner was yum, and the dessert in particularly sent me to heaven and back.
Fiji, as a whole, has a gorgeous climate and a very warm people. And their singing is like melted butter with warm caramel. We were greeted with “Bula!” every 10 paces. Even Arddun got into the swing of things eventually. Once she got past the fact that Bula also meant Hello (so she stopped saying “Hello, Bula!” to those she chose to greet), she was quite happy to Bula anybody who happened to pass. But only in the evenings, around dinner time.