"Oh you are English?" said my taxi driver, as we pulled away from Nadi airport and the Fijian forests began to rise up around us. "A lot of English people have been eaten here."
As opening gambits go, it's not exactly what you're hoping to hear, particularly as a single traveller, and I think it's fair to say that Fiji hasn't totally knocked my socks off in the first 24 hours. But then that is the problem with this kind of travel; leaving behind the rarefied beauty of New Zealand,
where I had my own car to explore, means that arriving in Fjij - on a tight tourist board timetable, with hotel inspections and early car pick-up times every morning - was going to come as a bit of a shock.
Fiji certainly feels more...hmmm....off-piste than I thought it would.
I'm kind of imagined it like Mauritius for the Australian/NZ market, but apart from the coastal strip - which is, unsurprisingly, dotted with resorts, it feels like stepping into a very different world.
Under a million people live in the whole Fijian archipelago, and life outside the cities carries on much as it always has; communities live in villages, each village has a chief, and all sorts of ceremonies and traditions are still observed (thankfully the eating English people one seems to have gone by the wayside).
As has been the way with every leg of this trip, an astonishing amount has been packed into my first 24 hours. My first night was at the kind of resort I'd normally swerve; a kind of theme park version of Fiji (although it does look lovely in the pic),
although watching the local dancers give a performance was fun (although I could have done without the part where one of the dancers mock-charged me with a spear, oh how we laughed).
But one of the best things about this trip is the people I've met. Today was no exception; at 9.30am this morning I found myself glass-blowing in the outdoor studio of the lovely Alice, from Devon, who has lived in Fiji with her husband and family for nine years, and is a professional glass blower. Really, you couldn't make it up. (there would have been a pic, but just discovered I've left my camera in the taxi, grrr).
Today's resort is more upscale and tucked away, and although it's not actually billed as a wildlife adventure hotel, I appear to be sharing my room with a mongoose and a lizard. Actually, the mongoose is currently hanging out with me by the pool, God knows what the lizard's up to. Finding my camera,, hopefully.
All this was written before I got a note under my door inviting me to a 'surprise' at 6pm, which turned out to be a traditional 'Cava' ceremony, which basically involved me sitting cross legged in front of quite a scary bunch of chaps,
while they made 'cava' - a drink of powdered roots which is a staple part of village life. By the time he'd finished wringing out the roots, and mopping round the bowl, it looked like muddy water. Which is exactly what it tasted like.
There comes a point when nothing can surprise you any more. So the frog pinging past us at dinner didn't raise an eyebrow, nor did the mud crab, skittering across the drive when I parked up my swanky transport for the evening.
I am, lets face it, the new Bear Grylls. Just off to double lock the patio doors.
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