After waiting for hours in a hammock, staring intently in the direction of Napoleon’s village, I successfully willed him back to The Beachouse.
Okay, so he really just woke up from his nap and decided to wander back. But I’d LIKE to pretend that it was my sheer concentration and my focus alone that swayed him to teach me how to make jewelry out of coconuts. Continue reading
Fun. blared over the restaurant stereo. Motivated surfers paddled out to the reef break to catch morning waves. Other backpackers yawned over their morning coffee, hiding their hangovers behind their sunglasses.
As for me, I was on a mission.
I’d finally said goodbye to my Fijian family and made my way down the Coral Coast. I set up camp at a beachfront hostel appropriately (but none too creatively) called The Beachouse.
The boat engine revved, pushing us with great difficulty over the waves and choppy current. D’Tui sat in Ro Mereani’s lap. Sala and I squealed, huddled together on the floor as we hit each wave with a loud thwack. Water poured over the metal siding, filling the bottom of the boat with a thin layer of water.
Mereani wouldn’t let us sit on the bench and gave us a tarp to share. “You’ll bounce right out of the boat if you sit up there,” she cautioned. Continue reading
Sala offered to take me down to the village pig pens. I happily obliged, loving any chance to play with animals.
“Each family has a pen,” she explained as we greeted the oinkers. “The pens are on stilts so they don’t get wet at high-tide.”
Mereani looked up from her paper as I walked through the front door. “Well? How did it go?”
I plopped down on the couch. “I’m not quite sure,” I said hesitantly.
She handed me a cup of coffee. “Tell me about it.”
I sighed, thinking back to the morning’s events. Continue reading
We walked into the elders’ house. I was sweating. Like everywhere.
The men were already gathered around the the tanoa, discussing news from the main island. The bundle of waka roots felt heavy in my hands. I knew it had more to do with its symbolic weight than its actual consistency (after all, it was just a plant).
Then seated villagers craned their necks to look at me and I froze.
Holy hell, why couldn’t I stop sweating? Continue reading
D’Tui and her village friends wasted no time paddling out in the water on a handmade raft. They giggled and squealed and splashed water on each other. The village goat brayed pleadingly, wanting them to come back and play. He circled the bush he was tied to in frustration.
Ro Mereani paid the cab driver. I stepped out of the vehicle and stretched. It took longer than expected to get to the village of Vanua— the port for all the boats leaving to Beqa— but we had finally arrived. We were one step closer to our destination, to the home of Talei’s people, and her final resting place.
I looked out past the shoreline to the ocean. There, only a few miles offshore lay Beqa- the island shaped like a sleeping dragon. Even on a sunny day like today it stood shrouded in mist. I had to laugh at nature’s ability to make its own metaphors. Continue reading
I am a much better writer than director or editor. But in an effort to become multifaceted, I’m working on adding video content to Nomad Grad. Let’s call this progress. =)
I’ve got adventures, spiritual experiences, and a very important visit to the village of the Firewalkers still yet to share with you. But first, I bring you a video that captures the spirit of this adventure. Let’s call it a teaser trailer. Or the musical number right before intermission. Or that thing I did just for funsies. Maybe you’ll love it and possibly call it Oscar worthy. Or maybe you’ll give it a 12% on Rotten Tomatoes… Continue reading
It’s hard to believe that 2012 is drawing to a close, especially after it being so eventful for myself, as well as most of the world.
The Nomad Grad 