Jean Michele Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

Therse's a story about Polynesians. This sort of illustrates how it is with islanders.

The story goes like this:

A Mexican and a Polynesian are talking about thier countries, about The differences.

"Bruddah, you know how in Mexico, you say, when people ask about when things will happen, you say, "Manana, Manana?"

"Si, we say this"

"On my island, we don't have this sense of urgency."

So far though, to a one, the Fijians are just incredibly friendly. So helpful and eager to please. ANd they laugh constantly. I've never met such happy people.

So to start with arrival -- we deplaned from the puddle-jumper to have this conversation:

ME (To the kids): "Look! There's the airport!"

ME: "No honey, it is the shack!

I've been to little airports before. This one's the third-worldiest though. Pretty damned cool, but my kids were alarmed.

We were greeted with typical Fijian hospitality and loaded into a van with our gear and another couple (who turned out to be fellow Silicon Valley-ites, he working for EBay and she a school teacher. She was a full-figured blond with a pierced nose, so of course I fell in love with her a little right off the bat.

We were driving through idylic jungle mixed with weird bananna-republic towns (Or was it town?); there's really almost nothing here in the way of town, a one-road burg of a few odd stores mixing tourist trade with general-store. After the town (Savu-Savu), we went from roughly paved road to un-paved road for what seemed miles (though wasn't really); it was perhaps 20 minutes from airport to resort but given the road it seemed much longer.

And then -- the resort. Jean-Michel Cousteau's Fiji Resort.

Now, this is difficult to explain. If you've been to Kona Village, you get this, but I don't know anywhere else like that.

Imagine the most exclusive sort of luxury resort. The sort of place that defines "beck and call". The kind of place where this seem to have researched you in advance to find out how you take your coffee and what you drink.

Now cross this over with Gilligan's Island. Thatched tiki huts. No phones no clocks no locks on the doors. That only halfway gets it.

We were greeted by a hang of staff and musicians playing and singing and chanting, and then all shouting in unison "BULA!" They handed us tropical drinks and sat us down to register while whisking our gear off to our "bure" (bungalow).

Wow, is all I can say about this place. Wow. Truly, truly beautiful.

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

"Bula!"

The fijian greeting. Akin to 'aloha' I guess, but not the same thing. It's pronounced "mBOO-lah!", sort of, though the m isn't really an m; I've forgotten the linguistic term for it. Lips presses together, an under-the-breath sort of humming sound for a brief instant before you bark out the first syllable. Where has my knowledge of linguistics gone?

Literally, it means 'health'. But it seems to be an aggressive demand for your health. It's not just said, it's barked, or shouted, or exclaimed. It's a loud, emphatic greeting. Sometimes it's repeated -- "mBOO-lah-mBOOO-LAH!, wich seems to mean "even more health" or in effect, even more hello than before.

It's taking me a little time to get used to this. I tend to nod or greet people with a minimal 'hey' or an under-the-breath 'hello'. So this shouted greeting is hard for me to get used to. It's incredibly welcoming though.

So far though, to a one, the Fijians are just incredibly friendly. So helpful and eager to please. ANd they laugh constantly. I've never met such happy people.

So to start with arrival -- we deplaned from the puddle-jumper to have this conversation:

ME (To the kids): "Look! There's the airport!"

ME: "No honey, it is the shack!

I've been to little airports before. This one's the third-worldiest though. Pretty damned cool, but my kids were alarmed.

We were greeted with typical Fijian hospitality and loaded into a van with our gear and another couple (who turned out to be fellow Silicon Valley-ites, he working for EBay and she a school teacher. She was a full-figured blond with a pierced nose, so of course I fell in love with her a little right off the bat.

We were driving through idylic jungle mixed with weird bananna-republic towns (Or was it town?); there's really almost nothing here in the way of town, a one-road burg of a few odd stores mixing tourist trade with general-store. After the town (Savu-Savu), we went from roughly paved road to un-paved road for what seemed miles (though wasn't really); it was perhaps 20 minutes from airport to resort but given the road it seemed much longer.

And then -- the resort. Jean-Michel Cousteau's Fiji Resort.

Now, this is difficult to explain. If you've been to Kona Village, you get this, but I don't know anywhere else like that.

Imagine the most exclusive sort of luxury resort. The sort of place that defines "beck and call". The kind of place where this seem to have researched you in advance to find out how you take your coffee and what you drink.

Now cross this over with Gilligan's Island. Thatched tiki huts. No phones no clocks no locks on the doors. That only halfway gets it.

We were greeted by a hang of staff and musicians playing and singing and chanting, and then all shouting in unison "BULA!" They handed us tropical drinks and sat us down to register while whisking our gear off to our "bure" (bungalow).

Wow, is all I can say about this place. Wow. Truly, truly beautiful.

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

So first, I'm a little out of it today. That first, and then I'll cover diving.

The usual traveler's complaint. Let's not talk about it.

On the other hand, last night it started with a fever, and the fever brought with it a delightful dream featuring my dear friend Andie. And that was some good kissing, I tell you. Normally fever means nightmares for me, so this was a happy change. VERY happy.

We dove a site named 'Golden Nuggets' (Which I keep wanting to make 'golden arches'), which was a beautiful place for a night dive, a couple of small pinnacles with a narrow canyon between. We say a number of lion fish and a smallish scorpion fish, and generally had a very nice dive. And yes, I had no trouble getting in the water even though it's been a year since my last dive. I was right, O do know how to do this. Ten years of diving will do that.

I think I managed to stay awake til 9pm. And that was a struggle.

---

Next day. I've forgotten the dates. Whatever.

I woke up early with a headache. I'd planned not to dive this day, but conditions were right to dive Namena Island, a long-day trip. So when the dive shop guys came and found me and let me know, I decided to go.

I didn't feel right all day. I didn't really enjoy the dives but couldn't really say why; energy level was low, head kind of hurt even though I'd taken several ibuprophen. I didn't have a bad time but wasn't particularly happy. The dives were nice though, the crew incredibly professional, and the people I was diving with, even though several of them were raw beginners, were all good folks.

I normally feel a little ragged after a dive, but usually good and either caffeine or sleep fixes this. But I never broke out of the fatigue and grogginess; after dinner my stomach turned on me, the fever started, and I had rather an ugly night (aside from that dream about Andie (Andie baby, you were the high point in that day, no doubt!)

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

Um. I'm not sure what day this is anymore. Saturday, I think.

Fever gone. I was going to dive but was still faintly dizzy so opted to go into town with the family instead.

Savu-Savu. What you might call you basic third-world town, and a fairly nice one at that. No obvious signs of squalor and poverty, pretty clean, pretty well maintained. My gut tells me that if you come back here in ten years this will look like Poipu on Kauai. Resorts and houses are getting built here, and money will be following them into town, and soon there will be tourist boutiques and then starbucks will follow. Now, though, it's a mixture of Fijians and Indo-Fijians, and a the business are all a mixture of general store and tourist boutique.

We started at a very cool farmer's market; obviously market day, the ship had just come in with fresh stuff from off-island plus the local produce. Then we went shopping up and down the street, stopping for water and sundries.

My kids were deeply lost.

So they did not know what to make of a hot, dusty shopping street populated entirely with coffee-brown Fijians and Indo-Fijians. They didn't know what to make of the stores full of packages they could not read; the dogs with no collars bothered them.

It was disturbing and educational for them. It tells me they need to be exposed to it more; we'll be making an effort to get this to happen.

The trip was a success for me though; I bought a Fijian Sulu, which is not the helmsman on the Enterprise, but is in this case, a MUG (Men's Unbifurcated Garment), i.e., a man-skirt. This is what the Fijians wear for fancy dress, and is also daily wear for many of them. It had thought it was just a sarong/pareau, but in fact, it's a tailored garment, usually plain fabric, with pockets and a belt and fastener. The plain color works very well with patterned tropical shirts. I found one in dark blue in my size and snapped it up, already planning to buy more to take home later.

My system sort of crashed when I got back; headache, fatigue. I actually go very depressed (And I think I wrote a couple of emails to people, but fortunately can't send them since I'm not on the network here, which is good since I sounded miserable). This was compounded by my reading short stories all day yesterday by Raymond Carver and Bukowski. May, reading the ramblings of a crazy drunk (Buk) and a depressed but brilliant writer tormented by alcohol;ism (Carver) is not the thing to do when you're already sick and in a bad mood. But it made me want to write.

The day improved when we got massages though; two wonderful Fijian women doing a traditional Fijian massage with nutty tropical oils. First professional massage I've ever had. I have to admit though, I've never been touched like that by someone who I wasn't having sex with, and it felt like something was missing. Where's my Happy Ending, ladies?

By dinner, I was starting to feel human; I dressed in my new Sulu and a purple aloha shirt and went to the bar, where we drank beer, listened to the wonderful Fijian band and played Hand and Foot (Link in the rules here). Still though, by 9pm I was sleeping.

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

What a difference a day makes, as they say.

Yesterday's gloom is behind me. Which is funny given the weather.

It rained all night last night. If I could have a world I designed, it would rain all night every night so I could smell the rain smell and listen to the rain on tropical foliage, and then the sun would come up in the morning, every morning. I think PJ Farmer's 'Riverworld' worked this way and I would be pretty damned happy if this place was just like that every day.

The sun didn't come up this morning, or rather it did but it was hiding behind a high overcast. But this place is so beautiful it doesn't matter, it just provides a dove-gray background instead of crystal blue, and makes for a world of muted greens and floral colors instead of brilliant ones.

The family slept long and hard (They need it), so I had breakfast with a couple from Berkeley (It's funny, other than Jonathan, to a one, everyone I've met here has been a west-coaster, and most from the bay area); the woman, who's never I didn't get, is French and we talked about travel with kids, a favorite topic of mine.

After checking with the family, who were just waking up as I was leaving, I went to the boat. There was a plan for Barb and Olivia to hook up with a dive instructor and go out, but I lost track of the logistics and went off without hearing the plan.

We had a very good dive at a site called 'Barracuda point' even with the dark skies; usually the lack of sun is a problem because you lose color and visibility when you lose the sun. But the dark skies brought out some nocturnal predators, and I saw the biggest lion fish I've ever seen, as well as several others, all out on the reef in full glory, hunting. I've never seen this before and it made for a very nice dive, even though we didn't see any big pelagic (open-ocean) fish, which we'd hoped to see. Actually, there was a manta sighting but I missed it, it was off in the distance and I clearly need to update the prescription in my mask.

The water outside the barrier reef that shelters this cove was rough (by Fiji standards, though to me, it was nothing, I'm used to Monterey and Kauai), so we returned to the resort to do our surface interval here, since the second dive would be at a very close site. As luck would have it, Barb and Olivia were just boarding the little boat with an instructor (Dan), and another student, a teenage boy named Devin. They talked me into jumping ship to their boat.

This was technically their second open water dive -- though how exactly they count them I'm not sure, it's been a long while since I got my certification and it's a different certifying agency and the details have changed. This was their first dive off of a boat.

It was so charming to see. I've done this so many times; so many hundred times. There are not many things that seem more natural to me than getting into scuba gear on a boat and falling off the boat.

They were so nervous; trying so hard to do it all right and to remember all the rules, the buddy check stuff. And then they had to back-roll in and it scared the hell out of them. Back-roll is my favorite entry, I'd do it all day.

They got to see my own favorite stupid-scuba-trick, jumping in with my air off. I think this was the tenth time I've done it. It's because I'm so self-sufficient that I don't buddy dive; I manage my own gear. But sometimes I forget to check the air. So when I'm boat diving, I hit the water with no air in my BCD and I use the entry momentum to keep going down. I don't come back to the surface unless there''s a reason to, as with some drift dives.

See, when you hook up your gear, you normally turn the air on to check the pressure and pressurize the hoses, and then you turn it back off. So the pressurized hoses will hold two or three breaths at the surface, but not much at depth. So I take a hit when I put the gear on and fall in. But I'm a good fifteen, twenty feet down when I take another breath. Clunk. Nothing. And I've exhaled to sink. So my lungs are empty.

You'd think this would be scary. Other people do. Maybe I don't have a survival instinct. But it never has scared me. I just turn around, kick up, come back to the boat and say something like "I forgot something -- Air!" or "I just realized this works much better with my AIR ON!" It gets a laugh every time, particularly when I do it twice in the same day like I did last year with Dive Makai. I seem to pull all my best clown moves with them, they're also the ones who got to see me fall off a boat one day, including hitting the screw and cutting myself. Actually they missed it, they were all looking the other way, so they asked me to do it again. I said I would have but the screw part was just too painful.

In any case, Barb and Olivia got to see 'what not to do'.

It was funny diving with them. They're both absolutely natural in the water, both just damned fish. But scuba isn't like swimming, so you need to re-learn some things. They're going to be great divers, but it's funny to watch raw beginners in the water, all flapping arms and random kicking, visibly nervous. So long, so incredibly long ago, that I felt like that. Now, I'm the one people point to and say "he's incredibly still in the water". Hell, I'm never that still on land, but it's what one has to do diving to save air and stay calm and be in control.

It was a very, very happy moment. Olivia diving - I've waited for years. Since she was born, almost. She's waited for it since she was four or so. Somehow it seems an eye-blink, but still, it's a long, long time and a lot of dives on my log (if I kept a log). Barb though, I never thought I'd see this, and I'm incredibly proud of her. I see a world of travel opportunity opening; soon, four more years, we'll be a whole family of divers. Meantime, places like Cozumel and Bonaire where there's nothing to do but dive are open to us. In a lot of ways my life just got easier.

More importantly though, now, when I talk about a dive, they will know what I mean. It's difficult to describe how it feels. I can tell you where I was, what I saw, what it looked like, but being there is completely different. Completely. Now, when I describe it, there's a reference point for them. That's incredibly important to me given that it's such an important thing in my life.

My laptop battery is just about to go, so I might as well end this here. Besides, it's 3:30pm Fiji-time, and that sounds kind like the cocktail hour to me.

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

So it's nice to see a guy can get arrested in this town.

Ok that's an over-statement. Not arrested. But in an incredibly low-key way, hassled by The Man.

The security at the resort is like that. You know they're security just because their tee-shirts say 'Security' on the sleeves.

I'd been drinking. Brown nipples -- yeah, silly tropical drinks but how can you resist ordering "two brown nipples please!" Now, I wasn't drunk. But you have to understand -- the Fijians are conservative. They don't wear tank tops. They think shoulders and knees should be covered. They also -- I've mentioned before -- have an issue with sunglasses.

So I'm on my way back to the bure from the pool. I had brown nipple all over my shirt. Party foul, a mis-aimed hug in my direction turned into a drink swept over next to me. I'm in shades, and a tank top that says 'Bubba's'. I'm tattooed from wrist to shoulder on both arms, and have quite a few on my legs as well. I'm in shorts, not long shorts past the knees but an old pair of madras cotton shorts. So security guy takes a look at me and it's clear from the first look that this guy has taken a cop interest in me. He knows right off that I'm riff-raff. He knows I'm a bad man.

Yeah, officer, you're right. I was indeed thinking bad, bad thoughts about the teenage sisters at the pool. Throw the cuffs on me. Do your worst, man, because I'm going to HELL for what I was thinking.

So this guy, a short, burly Fijian who may be wearing shorts and a resort staff tee-shirt, but is still all cop with cop eyes, he slows and lets me catch up.

"BULA!"

"Bula."

"How are you today SIR!"

"I'm fine, man." I'm smiling. But not taking off my shades. I know he's eyeballing me but I'm not making it easier for him by dropping the shades.

He sticks out a hand. The Fijians are big on hand-shaking. I take his big meaty paw and shake.

We fall into step.

"Your name, sir?"

"Karl"

"BULA, Karl! You staying in the resort?"

"Yep."

"Which bure?"

"Eight."

He's still in step. He's smiling like a fucking jack-in-the-box. He doesn't trust me at all.

"Where are you from?"

"San Francisco."

"Ah!"

Pause.

"You here with -- Your family?"

"Yes. Wife and kids."

Brow furrowed. Some Fijians have trouble with gays. I'm wondering if he's decided I'm gay, or if he's just trying to decide if he needs to take me down. I give him something.

"Yeah, they just did their certification dives today -- they're having a great time."

He clearly hasn't decided what to do. But we're now at my bure. "Have a nice day," I say, and head up the walk. I can feel cop eyes on the back of my neck the whole way.

You let me get away, man, Don't you know who I am? Don't you know I'm pure evil?

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

Shout, push, hammerheads

Yes, yes, hammerheads

     --Shriekback, Hammerheads

I can't seem to sleep past five am here, but that's ok. It means I crash hard and early. And getting up early when no one's up but me, the staff, and the resort cat is pretty cool.

It was still raining when I got up, though the weather's gotten nicer since. I made my like-I-like-my-women French press coffee and sat in peace for half an hour and drank and enjoyed the rain easing off and the sky starting to clear.

We had another trip out to Namena Island Preserve today, and boy, was it better this time. My head was so not in it last Saturday. Today, I was rested and fed and ready to dive, and the sun came out for us on the trip out. The first site, same one as Saturday, was a beautiful sheer-drop wall that fades into the inky depths. I had one of those jaque Cousteau moments (where better than here, his son's resort) where I could hear the deep abyss calling to me. I was diving nitrox 32, so I had a depth limit of between 111 and (I think it is, I don't have a chart handy) 127 feet (If you want to know what nitrox is, go google it, but in short it's air with extra oxygen in it, so 32% rather than 21% like regular air; what this means is that you can't go as deep, but you can stay longer inside the depth limits). If I'd been on air, I'd have bounced down to at least 130, though it would have meant shortening my dive a bit. If I head out there again before I leave, I'm taking air and doing that as a deep bounce, just once.

I wound up shortening my dive anyway, because we encountered a beautiful six-foot gray reef shark, and I decided I wanted to get close to it. So I gave chase. It burns lots of air sprinting under water, and I had a short tank (only 2800psi) to start with. But then I decided, since we had a video guy on that dive, that I wanted to get in the shot with the shark. I chased him long and hard, but I don't think I ever got in frame. I did eat a good third of my tank though, and I got almost close enough to touch the gray.

I spent the rest of this dive in shallower depths and was, unusually, one of the first people back on the boat. Normally I'm one of the last. My god though, the reefs here are beautiful; millions of tiny, brightly colored fish, purple and blue and green and orange corals. It's quite spectacular, even though I don't think I've yet seen the best of it.

Lunch was a buffet spread on the boat (Best lunch I've ever had on a dive boat, I must say, other than a live-aboard; cold roast chicken, ham and cheese and salad and fruit, cookies and fruit). The island (Namena) is beautiful, basically a jungle-covered rock with one tiny resort on it. The resort looks like it's all tree-houses. There's no airport, you get there by sea plane, there's no fresh water on the island (the boat in drinking water and use a rain collection system for everything else), and there's power only two or three hours of the evening when they run generators. It sounds great, I'd stay there in a minute, though it's supposed to be a bit spendy.

Second dive was a set of pinnacles called 'chimneys' that was nice, though a bit difficult due to some strong current; but it was all made worthwhile when a hammerhead shark showed up.

Now, the hammerhead is my favorite shark, and is one of my favorite creatures in the ocean. They're beautiful animals, and I've only seen one before, on Kona. I almost burned another tank chasing this shark but left that to John, the video guy. I got a really good look at the shark's flank and tail, but not a good look at his head. Still, I was one of the few on the dive who got a good look at him. I can't wait to see the footage tonight.

(Damn, the mosquitos just came out. I have to move or find bug spray)

In other news, Barb and Olivia finished their scuba certification class today. Three cheers! (Come on, out loud now.) They had two really good dives, say a gray reef shark, octopus, lion fish, all sorts of good things. That's it, they're done, no more classes. Paperwork and they're scuba divers. I am so goddamned proud of them.

I don't know when we will do our first dive as a family, a lot of the diving here is pretty advanced. We'll figure that out tomorrow. But it's just the first of what I expect will be many, many dives.

Addendum to this -- we saw the edited footage from today's dives, and it was truly odd to see myself diving on video. It's clear that I'm mister does-it-his-own-way, I was way way deeper than anyone else for part of the dive, and then away from the pack most of the rest of it so the shots that had me mostly had no one else, where the rest of the group were in a pack. But it just seemed odd; diving is such an internal experience for me, such a zen state. I'm hovering, watching, trying to stay completely in the moment and not think; I'm not self-conscious in any way, just there. Almost an invisable observer in a dream. So to see a me in the dive on which I was an invisable observer is deeply wrong and vaguely confusing.

But wow, great footage of what I saw. That was very cool, so see exactly what I saw up on the screen. I liked it. I've never wanted to shoot video on dives, but I wouldn't at all mind if someone else shot video of it all that I could have later.

Still. Odd to see that guy up there on screen with my tattoos.

Jean Michel Cousteau Resort, Vanua Levu, Fiji Islands

I'm in too deep

I've opened up my eyes now

'Cause now I understand how

It's easy when the fear is real with the fear

I cannot sleep

Walking in a dreamland

Wishing I could feel shame

'Cause there's nobody else to blame nobody else

     --Mathew Sweet, In Too Deep

Imagine a sudden wave of disorientation. Faint numbness in the ears, face, the extremities.

You suddenly lose a significant portion of your judgment, your ability to reason. Your IQ, in effect, drops many points.

You're dizzy. You're confused.

Now imagine you're deep underwater. You're in a dangerous situation. Water is a hostile environment; it will kill you.

You're supposed to be paying attention. You're supposed to be careful. You're supposed to be serious.

And you're high as a fucking kite and you're grinning like a fool. You have a wicked buzz on and you're no longer quite sure how to do the things you need to do to survive and be safe.

This is Nitrogen Narcosis.

'Rapture of the Deep' they used to call it.

I like it.

Dangerous? Yeah. A little.

But the thing is, once you know you're there, that you're a moron, you can compensate. It's like when you know you're a little too drunk to drive, legally; you can go into a super-careful mode and get home. When I'm narced, I go to pure technical basics. It's gauge in front of my eyes and complete awareness of where I am, and complete awareness that I have to err to the caution side in every case.

I know I'm stupid -- so I follow the rules.

And here's the really cool thing; narcosis too much for you? Go up a few feet, nice and slow, and ping , it's gone. Your head is completely clear. Completely. No after-effects whatsoever. So I know when I get that buzzing, numbing, con fused feeling that I can make it go away with only a few feet of depth.

People who used drugs when they were younger seem to have an easier time with the narcosis. Being stoned and then doing things makes sense to these people. People who've used Nitrous Oxide (Laughing gas) recreationally know even better. They know the buzz, and understand the idea of recognizing one's own chemically limited faculties.

So today, I went deep. And yes, I enjoyed a few moments of mild narcosis. I've gone deeper -- I've been more narced. But I had a very, very nice dive.

I woke, as usual, early, and went to get coffee and breakfast. But the dive master told me I was the only one scheduled to go out; many people were leaving today or tomorrow. I had the whole boat to myself (The boat can take twelve divers.)

Figuring that was boring, I managed to collect one additional diver as I was heading to the boat, so it was two of us. I told the dive master I wanted a deep wall today, and he suggested a sire called "Hole in the Wall".

It is indeed a beautiful spot; a sheer drop wall, with infinite blue below. After my drop to 140' and my short bout of narcosis, we worked slowly up the wall; pushing my computer to it's limits the whole way by staying deep and long; 45 minutes with that max depth.

Possibly the best dive I've had since I'm been here.

The second was less memorable; a site called 'Lighthouse'. An average dive. We'll leave it at that. But a very good morning, a quiet, nearly empty boat and some very nice conditions.

Allow me a moment to be an utter pig.

I think women in wet-suits are completely hot. I don't have any idea why. But it so works for me.

But it's not just that.

I live for this stuff.

I fall in love with women dive-masters all the time. Beautiful, fantastic women; Kendra Choquette of Dive Makai on Kona. Pauline Severns, Mike Severns wife, on Maui. Linda Bail/Marsh, who owns Bubbles Below on Kauai, and a woman named Debbie who used to dive master for her a few years back. And more whose names I've forgotten, two lovely lovely ladies who worked for Flamingo Divers on Provo, TCI, a couple of other hotties who used to work for Dive Makai. I regret that there seem to be no women dive masters working here.

Let me add that, as an almost absolute rule, women are better dive masters. So this isn't in any way disrespect; these women are good at the job, and that, frankly, is part of why I love them. And when I say love them, let me just say 'Kendra' again, because... Well, if you've met her, you know, she's a keeper, and I will admit the sin of envy when I think of her new husband. Lucky man, Matthew.

So today, I spent the day admiring a truly beautiful woman on our dive boat who, I'm reasonably sure, had no idea she was being admired, and who I suspect has no idea she's startlingly pretty.

What is it with women who don't know they're pretty? It seems to make them even prettier. I know a few like this; they are absolute eye candy and don't know it.

This woman -- whose name I for some reason can't recall -- is of that category. She's a tallish girl with a large nose and full, luscious hips. What I'd call you ideal figure. Lovely ass, lovely swell of belly, breasts that are a hand-full and a little more, but nothing wasted. She has tan, full, beautiful legs. In a bikini, in a rashie and sarong skirt, in a wetsuit, she was an absolute delight to behold, and I spent much of the day picturing the nasty, nasty things I wanted to do to her. But honestly, what I really wanted was to sit next to her and just say "You are gorgeous, absolutely fucking gorgeous". But as usual, I fear it will come across as a pickup line or just as weird and creepy, when all I want to do is share a heartfelt compliment. I bet she thinks her nose is too big. I'm sure she doesn't like her belly, she kept covering it. I bet she thinks she's fat, that her hips are too full, her thighs too large, her butt fat. She's wrong; she's fantastic. Completely fantastic. She doesn't know it.

I have this whole poem I want to write about women who don't know they're beautiful. I can't quite find the words though. Still, poetry escapes me.

But it's not just this one. I sat next to, and admired, a small, slight blond the last two trips, and spent time enjoying her form in a wetsuit; and even an older too-rich-too-thin type with bad fake boobs who looks almost old enough to be a granny; still, I like her in a wet suit. Dammit, I don't care what shape or size, you put a girl in a wet-suit, I'm going to like it.

Ladies, I'll warn you in advance. If I dive with you, I will be looking at you. I'll be trying to catch a peek when you're getting in and out, I'll be looking at your cleavage when you bend over, I'll be looking at your ass.

But I'll love you, every inch of you. I'll love the parts you don't like. I'll love the parts you think are your flaws. And when I admire you, in your wet suit or out of it, it'll be with a sort of respect I can't possibly explain, but still, it is with respect. Just because I'm picturing doing evil things to you, does not mean I don't respect you. Just, you know, take my word for it. And do you need some help with that zipper?

I like the kava.

It tastes a little like wood and a little like dirt. It's an earthy, bitter flavor, with a peppery edge.

Yes it numbs the tongue.

Yes I got a very very slight buzz. Not as good as being narced, but better than near beer.

An odd experience. It ain't disney. But it ain't exactly real either.

Oh, it's a real viliage. Real people live there. Much of the resort staff live there. And you can tell these people are poor.

BUt there's still something weirdly staged about the deal.

A couple of the older staffers from the resort took us out to the villiage in a bus. A lovely drive down dirt roads through semi-jungle. When we got there, we were lined up -- men first, women behind. They chose the eldest man to be our 'chief' and lined us up by 'rank' on either side. How they chose rank I don't know. But we needed an evan number so they chose a boy of maybe nine. He seems vaguely proud to be a man, but also utterly confused by the whole deal.

We were given a detailed description of what was going to happen, whith notes on courtesy and what the ritual meant. We were reminded that we needed to remove hats and sunglasses.

Then we were trooped in to meet the chief.

Only the chief wasn't there. No one ever said where he was.

YOu hope to find teh viliage is all traditional huts and all, but it's more modern than that; the only people who can afford traditional huts with palm thatch now are the resorts, so the locals mostly live in typical shacks. It's a clean, neat place, not by any means squalor, but very, very simple.

We went through a complicated set of introductions and ritual, all in fijian. A gift of kava root was presented to whomever the senior man was (He was never introduced by name). There was a call and response deal between our guy and the head villager, and then a bowl of kava was mixed.

There's a hand-clapping thing; they dip a coconut shell bowl of kava, the highest ranked man claps once to show he wants some. They pass the bowl, you drink it off, and clap three times (Everyone claps) to show it's good. And then begin again for the next man.

Two rounds. I wanted more but it wasn't clear if it was polite to ask.

As said, it's wood, and dirt, and pepper. A bitter, mild flavor. The numbness was mild, also, and short-lived, but the buzz, which was faint but noticable, came quickly. It didn't last long though.

After drinking, music started and the village's pretty girls (Many of whom work at teh resort) grabbed us two by two, men, women and children, and led us through several dances.

Then there was a presentation of woemn's dances, very hula-like, and then a men's warrior dance; I realized that several of these warriors were in fact our dive masters from the resort.

After this, there was more ceremony. Still incomprehensible. And then -- shopping!

I bought a tapa-print sulu; it seemed to be a mix of locally made crafts and and a imported jewelry. An odd mixture of things, beautiful, locally made tapa next to some obviously cheap jewelry that had to have been made in india or pakistan or someplace.

But the sulu I bought is beautiful, and inexpensive.

After this, we were served refeshments (cookies and lemonade), more cermony, this one translated, basically an exchange of invitations and thanks and offers of frinedship, and all back on the bus to head home.

Odd. Much less moving that I'd hoped, but still, interesting.

And I liked the kava. Note to self -- buy more.

This is where it starts to blur.

I lose track of which dives I've done, what I saw on which dive, who I was with, what else I did.

I know my gear hasn't been dry. I know I have that salty feeling that doesn't go away with one shower. And I know I'm tired.

In other words, I feel pretty damned good.

Let's see if I can re-create some of it.

Wednesday, we dove a site near the resort called 'dreadlocks'. Just a couple of us on the boat. As usual when the dives are close in, they came back to the resort of surface interval so people can use a comfortable restroom, get coffee, and we can pick up divers if any want to jump on for second dive.

I collected Barb at the dock; didn't give her a chance to think about it, just said "Come with us"; her gear was already on the boat so it was easy.

We dove a site called 'Alice'; it became obvious why it was called this when I looked at the many mushroom-shaped coral heads, some of which and simply huge and many of which look like they need a hookah-smoking catterpillar.

And I kept thinking 'Mmmm. Shrooms."

Barb did great. Good on air, comfortable in the water. A little trouble understanding the under-water pantomime divers use to communicate underwater, but that's second nature to me, I forget the signs may not be obvious.

A good, very easy, very satisfying dive. I was proud of her.

Thursday, I had intended to sit out and not dive in the morning. We had a vague plan to do a dive with all three of us at some point, but nothing firm. Also there was a vague plan to do a small-boat trip to hole-in-thge-wall.

But when I got up, the weather was so beautiful I couldn't stay off the boat.

We dove a site called big blue; another of the wall dives I love so much.

I hit 151 feet on this one. I think I scared the people I was diving with.

Nitrogen Narcosis. It's my drug. Well, one of them.

Long decompression on this dive. It's what I do anyway, but I add extra steps and extra minutes when I go deep. I'm crazy, I'm not stupid.

Later, we did a shore dive -- all three of us. Only time we all dove together on this trip, other than the training dive. But this was significant in several ways. It was Olivia's first post-certification dive, it was both of their first time in the water without a divemaster (I'm not a divemaster; I could be, I chose not to do it for a host of reasons). And it was interesting in that they both were clearly getting better. It was a short, shallow dive (35 feet/30 minutes), because I had been deep that morning and was going deep again that afternoon.

Olivia's still a goofball in the water, but she's going to be a lot better. Barb's already a lot better. We're going to have to dive again soon.

That afternoon, another run at Hole in the Wall. A decent, but not great dive. The most interesting sighting of the dive turned out to be not a fish at all, but a yummy little 20-somthing girl in a very small bikini. Her name was 'Kellen', and she was all cute smiles and baby-fat. So now I've got both a Helen and a Kellen on my dive-babe list for this trip. Yes, I'm a pig. But I love them all.

You can't see much in this picture, but yeah, I'm standing behind her. That's not by accident.

Also note that the man in that picture is our divemaster, whose name, I'm not kidding, is 'Bait'.

Somehow after writing about nitrogen narcosis and women in neoprene, I've completely lost the will to blog.

Near as I can tell, I actually got completely on vacation a couple days ago and stopped knowing what day it was, what time it was, stopped caring what was happening later. All I really cared about was when I needed to be on the dive boat and if it was late enough in the afternoon to get a cocktail, and if I had time before dinner for a nap in the hammock.

I've been mostly wearing a fijian sulu for several days now.

I'm thinking how I should not come home.

Ok. So I need to write about what's happened the last few days before it slips away.

Concentrate now. Concentrate.

Ah. Nevermind. The bar makes a damn good margarita with kafir limes. And it's huge. Ok, it's $15 fijian, but that looks like play money so who cares.

Or maybe the band are playing which means I can go drink kava with them. Mmmm. Kava...

So I managed to set some sort of record for the most trips out to Namena.

Three in one trip.

I dunno why. It's not a hard run or a long day. Hour out. maybe a little more back. Only a little choppy, not serious stuff if you've been out in Monterey or on Kauai. Nothing, or so they tell me, like the Niihau trip from Kauai.

Still.

Of the three, this was the best. This was good. Best diving of the whole trip.

So this started a beautiful, sunny day. Blue sky, flat sea. Perfect. The boat left a little early.

An easy run out. Talking with the crew.

We did teh same first site as teh other days, 'grand central', but we ran it a different direction due to current; it made it a long, beautiful drift dive along the deep wall. I stayed at reasonable depth this time to make the dive longer.

Sharks aplenty. A grey and a white-tip side by side, then a pair of white-tips down sleeping in a hole; almost close enough to touch. I love sharks, I always want to take off and swim with them as far as I can but that burns my air. Still, I got a good un for a minute with one of these guys.

The wall dive was great; we covered parts of the wall I hadn't seen and had the bluest water of the trip. Good, good dive.

We surfaced and pulled in close to ths island for our surface interval. It's a stunning place, home to Moody's Resort; teh island is small and fringed with a barrier reef, and it was all blue sky and blue sea and sun and birds overhead. Truly beautiful.

Second dive was a site I'd done before called Blue Ribbon, and I spent much of it watching small fish schooling and big fish (Which I think of by their Hawaiian name, 'ulua', but are know here as trevally jacks) eating them. High current, but here that's a plus becase the corals all open and it's almost like flowers.

A great day.

The wind picked up on the run in; not so bad, but wet so we huddled in the cabin most of the way. But by the time we were back in Savu-Savu bay, the winds had spun around to a wierd northeasterly direction and the water inside the bay, normally flat, were so choppy we couldn't land at the dock. We had to run all teh way into town and climb off at the funky little yacht harbor and find taxies to get home.

Man, how the weather here changes. From spectacular blue sky to what looked like it was going to turn into a full-blown tropical storm. In fact there was a cyclone just south of the islands but we never got it. But the dinner we'd booked for the table they set on the end of the jetty had to be canned, it was raining and storming by dinner time. It rained all night but typically, was clear by morning.

They gave me a crew t-shirt. Only guy who's ever done three runs out to namena in one trip. It's like I'm tribe now.

The trip is almost over. I'm not happy about that. But there are people back home who I miss, and I just read about a hurricane in Florida that's headed directly for some frineds of mine. I'm trying not to think about it. Trying really hard. And willing really hard for it to turn away and pass them by.

One more day of diving, then it's all done and it's all about the long, long ride home.

This is about a short day I don't recall and a long, long day I remember too well.

Saturday first. Last dives. Then we'll talk about Sunday.

The only thing really memorable about them was that I got to dive with Dean one last time, and Dean's a good guy (He's local, Berkely, I'm hoping to stay in touch), and another dive with that yummy little teenager Kellen.

Yesterday's storms blew most everything out; the dives with ok. But I can't leave off.

I didn't run deep, but still, flying the day after, I did a very long deco, partly because the last dive was The Last Dive , always a sad moment on each trip. I want to hear Jaque Cousteau's voice intoning something about bidding goodbye (Or was it adieu) to the depths until next time.

I honestly don't recall the rest of the day. Relaxation, too many drinks. I wanted to write but couldn't.

Sunday. This day will go on for a long time.

Packing. How'd we wind up with twice as much to take home? It's not like we shopped. There's no shopping to speak of here. I bought a couple of sulus, I was given a t-shirt and we traded a dive slate for a hat. That's about it. But still, packing, packing, packing.

And then it was goodbyes.

God. I'll miss the damned staff here. Nemiah, Vani, Bait, Zim, Pete (That's Pet-Ay), Jope, Simi. So many more Fijians with names I can't recall now. These people are so damned nice.

We left after lunch, to music and hugs from the staff. Incredibly warm people, I want to stay.

And we catch the puddle-jumper again. Not happy about it.

We had a long layover in Nadi. It's a funny town. Almost everything closed down on sunday but the tour company had arrached a driver to take us shopping and give us a tour of the town, which was another third-world adventure for my kids.

We bought a few things - a kava bowl, a couple other local handicrafts. Not much. I almost lost my head and spent way too much on a beautiful carving of a mermaid, sea turtle and octopus in a a tangled embrace that might have been sexual and might have been a battle. Now, I wish I'd bought it but it was too much money, too heavy to carry, and too much to ship. Still, I should have bought it. I got another sulu, I like these things

Five hours to kill. The shopping helped. So did a trip to McDonald's which the driver described as "The American embassy"; the signs said "Bula!" and "Vinaka!" instead of "Welcome" and "Thanks" or whatever they have here.

And then back to the airport, where we were able to use the tour company's loung to kill three hours instead of waiting in teh terminal, and were we had an incredibly surreal time playing cards with a pretty, pretty Indo-Fijian girl names Nisha, a 22 year old middle child of nine who seemed to decide she was my kids big sister and we were surrogate parents, and who teashed my girls mercilessly, which they seemed to love; "Why you so stupid? Mom got to tell you everything three times! You so stupid! But I love you."

I wish we'd taken her picture. She was so odd, and so pretty.

Ten and a half hours. That's a long time. Travel time so far -- nine hours. Now the plane. It's full, and I'm seated in a row with an entire sick family. It's ten pm.

I slept. Again, more than usual. But it was a long, long, uncomfortable ride, more so for having people coughing and sneezing next to me the whole way.

Man, 'Cat in the Hat' is a horrible movie. Who the hell was responsible for green-lighting this thing?

I wanted to drink. I try not to it always makes flying worse.

LAX. Travel time so far -- almost twenty hours. And I won't hear anyone say "Bula" anymore.

Immigrations and customs went by pretty easily. Hell, don't they know I'm a menace? Just because I have cute kids doesn't mean you should slack off.

We tried to get an earlier flight home; but it's business travel sunday LAX - SJC. No go. But there's a starbucks here, and damn, do I need coffee.

I turn on my phone and have voice mail. The soap opera that awaits me. I'm everyone's daddy. Which is ok.

Our flight's been delayed. Travel time so far: Hell, I don't know. About twenty-three hours and another couple to go.

And home. Flight almost an hour late, but it's not bad at the SJC. Back where this started. My back -- this never happens -- is first off the carousel. The in-laws here to pick us up, typically having trouble with following the instructions for where to meet us, but bless them anyway, they don't mind stopping for chinese on the way home. It's been a while since we've had decent food.

Travel time - I think we're over twenty-six hours now. The kids are still smiling.

I'm tired and can't sleep. I don't want to check my email. I don't want to log into orkut. I don't want to know about the soap opera yet. There's time for that tomorrow.

But you know, it's nice to have people back home waiting to talk to me.

It was a great trip.

My kids had an incredibly good time. They got along, they traveled well. They were independent and easy going.

No one fought. No one got seriously sick. No one got hurt.

The weather was fine, if varied and dramatic.

Fiji is stunning, the people are great and the resort was spectacular.

There were minor issues. Eco-friendly means mosquito-friendly. We're all still covered in bites. The bar could have been better, and while the food was great, I get tired of not being able to cook.

I didn't post many pictures. Don't worry I'll add more later. Lots more.

The diving. Let's see.

The diving was very, very good. Possibly a little less great than I'd expected, but diving's like that. Like fishing; you should have been here yesterday. The weather, the time of year, who you're with, how you feel that day, what happened to swim by; it all changes things. I don't think I've seen Fiji's very best diving yet; would I go back again? In a second.

I don't want to be home. And I'm already planning for my next trip. So many choices, so many choices...