Mana Island

I'm sitting on a beach of white sand. If I stand and begin to walk down the beach, in two and a half hours I will once again find myself at this spot.

This thought astounds me - but it's too hot to test it out. I dare not leave the square patch of shade the thatched umbrella above my head casts on the sand. I reposition myself throughout the day to remain under its protection. Below Fiji's sun, my skin has turned a shade of brown I now longer recognize as my own, and in an effort to both avoid the disgustingly painful looking skin blisters the white tourist seem to develop in hours and respect the local culture, I - like native Fijians - now swim fully clothed.

Mana island in one of the larger islands of Fiji's Mamanuca Island Group and a 90 minute boat ride from Nadi. It supports a village, a resort, two backpacker hostels, a church, and the set of the first Survivor. I went to see it Tuesday, my first full day, and found it eerie and irresponsible.

The tribal council "temple" stands abandoned and someone has decapitated one of the polystyrene statues that guard the entrance. A noose hangs from the base of her neck. The building, which is obviously fake, looks spectacular on my camera and made me remember with sadness the deception inherent in every television program.

The beach, however, is beautiful and has no need for alteration to look untouched and isolated, something to be "survived". From brochures in my hostel, I've learned that one can also visit the island where Tom Hanks filmed Castaway and the one on which the Robinson Crusoe stayed.

I arrived on Monday, December 22nd, and will stay until the 27th, tomorrow. Yesterday, Christmas Day, I stepped onto the beach in front of the hostel and saw a fish so huge I mistook it for the large pig the villagers had bathed with flip flops at high tide Christmas Eve anchored to shore with a rope tied round its tail. I should have known better about the pig - its dying squeals woke me and everyone else in the dormitory just after sunrise that morning. We all lay there quiet, praying simultaneously that it would stop, but for the pig's sake that it wouldn't. It did, and I fell mournfully back to sleep in the dead quiet.

We ate the fish for Christmas dinner. Suli stood behind the table and carved, serving us light or dark meat to preference and then drenching our selection with coconut milk curry. It was delicious. Christmas seemed doubly long, however, as Fiji is four hours behind, but a day ahead of the time in Washington. Crazy right? I called by family at 7am the day after Christmas and they had just finished opening their presents Christmas morning.

The day before Christmas, I snorkeled for the second time in my life. The first time had been the day before with Adam from Alaska oddly enough just off the hostel's shore.

The Fiji islands are encircled by coral reefs that break the Pacific waves and allow the water that reaches the sand to stretch seemingly unbroken toward the horizon and perfectly mirror the sky in the absence of wind.

Adam and I swam to the edge of Mana's innermost reef and spent hours gazing face down at the world below. I was in search of live coral - rare - which I eventually spotted, purple and beautiful. At one point Adam dove and returned holding a starfish that he handed me with pride. I took it with both hands and we bobbed differing on whether it was blue or purple. I say brilliant purple, but the truth as usually lies somewhere in the middle. I let it go and we watched it drift back down to the sea floor where it landed belly up. Adam dove to right it, for which I was glad - after our debate over its color identity, I felt it only right to leave the starfish as unconfused as possible.

My second snorkel outing was a boat trip to sandbank island the following morning. Our guide, Sam, spearfished without success apart from the conch that spit and hissed angrily at him when he finally managed to get it ashore.

Not much live coral there either, and while snorkeling I thought worriedly about how hot the water felt until some new devastatingly beautiful fish passed under me: small schools of brilliant blue, forearm-length puffer fish, stripped parrot fish, and dozens more I can't adequately describe.

Today is Friday, my last full day. It's hot. Throughout the village, families lie dozing together on woven mats full from yesterday's feasting. The tourist lie equally full on towels and sarongs along the beach. By the head of my beach towel lie Complications: A Surgeon's Notes on an Imperfect Science and The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts both of which I would highly recommend to the strong-stomached, but for varying reasons. I have no plans but to peruse their pages for the remainder of the day.