The Story of My Biggest Life Crisis in Paradise Fiji

When you hear the word Fiji, you probably think of a tropical resort, right? I visited a remote island seeking a holiday where I could relax and soothe my fatigue while listening to the sound of the waves on the beach, but I ended up having a vacation that was nothing like what I had imagined.

The story goes back to when I was in my fourth year of working. After quitting the company I joined right out of college, I spent a year in New Zealand on a working holiday. As my trip was nearing its end and my stay was about to expire, I decided to take a trip to Fiji. I intended to spend a week on a remote island, just taking it easy.

The backpacker lodge on the southern island was just pillars and a roof built on the sand. There were no walls, and bunk beds were lined up in plain sight under the roof. The island was small, and it was surrounded by the sea. There was nothing to do.

A bar opened at night, so I was chatting while eating dinner with an Australian woman I met at the lodge. After a while, the woman said, "I'm going to go drink with the hotel staff later, want to come?" I answered that I was bored anyway, so I went with her to the back entrance of the lodge.

When we went to the back entrance, the staff were sitting in a circle on the sand. The Aussie woman said, "They are very strict about etiquette," and began to explain the rules of the party. The etiquette was as follows.

Names are called in order, and the cup is passed around. When it comes to you, first clap your hands once, say "Bula" in a loud voice, and accept it. Before drinking, bow to the people on both sides of you. After drinking, pass the cup to the next person. This is the routine.

The party began, and the oldest-looking man called everyone's name in order. My name was called: "Tako (pseudonym)." It was my turn. I clapped my hands as I was taught, "Bula," accepted the small cup, bowed to the person next to me, and drank. I heard a whisper in the distance, "She is very polite."

The drink, called Kava, was brown and murky, and it didn't make me drunk at all. It had no taste, just like water...

Gradually, I opened up to those around me, and we started making small talk. "I watched the All Blacks match before coming here. The Samoa game." Oh, it's my turn. Clap, Bula, bow, gulp. "Oh, how was it?" Clap, Bula, bow, gulp. "Well, it was raining so hard..." Clap, Bula, (and so on).

The party continued until dawn while being blown by the sea breeze, and a large moon set on the horizon as the sky began to brighten. The party was finally coming to an end. We dispersed, and I returned to my bed. Huh, I didn't get drunk at all.

The crisis arrived the moment I woke up.

"My body... won't move."

Cold sweat broke out. Even though I put all my strength into trying to move my body, only my fingertips moved slightly. It wasn't a hangover. My body felt like it had turned to stone, and I couldn't move it at all. Oh no, I've been set up. Am I going to be sold off somewhere like this?

The female staff member who was with us last night came over.

"Morning, how are you feeling?"
"Can't move."

I pleaded with my eyes desperately. Then the woman suddenly clapped her hands loudly.

"Hahaha!!"

She called the other staff members over, and they all surrounded my bed, pointing and laughing out loud.

"...Help."

The staff were overjoyed. Wait, what is this?

In the end, it seems the liquid I drank called kava was not alcohol, but a drink that acts like a mild anesthetic for those unaccustomed to it. I was supposed to be relaxing, but I ended up completely unable to move. I recovered by the evening, but I had learned my lesson, so I told them I would check out the next morning and fled the country as if escaping. A full-on retreat.

It was certainly a story about a trip to Fiji that ended with me doing nothing but sleeping. My mother's teaching, "You must not put things you don't know into your mouth," really hits home.
Ah, that was a shock.