"The doctor is in"

We chose to land in Los Angeles for little other reason than for its proximity to Mexico. But part of us was a little curious to see what it was like, beyond the trips to Disneyland and Hollywood we'd each taken as kids.

We settled on Venice Beach, for sheer novelty value, figuring it would rate the highest in the people watching stakes. And we could neither fit in at nor afford Beverley Hills!

Strolling along the palm-fringed beachfront promenade, it quickly became clear that Venice was no ordinary beachside borough. Washed up wannabe rappers handed out CDs, and if you accepted quickly whipped a set of headphones over their ears to showcase their tunes. Spaced out dudes cooed "the doctor is in..." while attempting to usher us into medicinal marijuana clinics.

The concrete-encircled beach seemed to have been frozen in time. It must be one of the only places in the world where rollerbladers still frequent.

But the tourist troupe riding on Segways - those stand-up electric scooters - eclipsed the rollerbladers with the most hilarious form of transport.

There was hardly a surfer in sight among an eccentric crowd buzzing around the flea-market, where vendors pushed tacky souvenirs and clip on sunglasses. Venice is not your typical well-off beachside suburb a la Sydney. Street performers like the one playing piano below exemplify its washed-up quality. Parking spots on the promenade were dotted with vans that looked like they were bunkering down for longer than a day.

“Mr & Mrs Adam"

25-28 November 2010

Nadi, Fiji

With jobs resigned from, family & friends farewelled and bags packed, it was time to head to the airport, but one small thing was missing. We were awaiting the birth of my brother’s baby. Due on the 18^th,  there was ample time for him to arrive and for us to get acquainted, or so we thought.

After a horrendous four-day labour, Max eventually arrived on the eve of our departure, at 1:33am. There was just time to swing into hospital for a quick visit the next morning before we were due at the airport – Max was just a few hours old.

After saying goodbye to our parents and turning into the corridor that leads to immigration, I felt a big rush of excitement – it was the moment we had been waiting for for months if not years. Free at last!

We had deliberately intended for the first leg of our journey to be easygoing, after a hectic year, months of planning and two solid weeks of getting organised, packing and farewell parties, lunches and dinners. Our flight happened to stop in at Fiji and we decided it was not a bad place to do absolutely nothing for a few days.

Touching down in Nadi, the first thing I noticed about the touts outside the airport was that they were not trying to get you in their cab so they could take you to their friend’s hotel or souvenir shop – something we encountered a lot in Asia.

They would ask the standard questions, “where you from, where you staying, how long in Fiji,” etc but I soon realised they were not trying to push anything on you, they were just stopping for a chat.

Fijians have a penchant for small talk. One guy in his mid-20s asked us the standard questions and when Adam told him his name, he then looked at me and said “Mrs Adam.” He then asked if we were here for a holiday or honeymoon. Adam replied it was for a holiday and the guy smiled knowingly and said “practice a few times, make good honeymoon.”

One of my favourite things to do in different countries is to check out what’s available at the markets and in the supermarkets. Adam and I have a long tradition of eating tuna sandwiches in exotic locations. And Fiji’s establishments did not disappoint. Thanks to its sizeable Indian population our sandwich was on roti bread with tamarind chutney, and accompanied by delicious spicy bhuja mix.

Our “Beachside Resort” did not exactly connect to the beach; it was more an estuarine swamp with dull grey sand. But further up the road, the more expensive Club Fiji was more scenically situated, and had a bigger bar and seating area. 

But Club Fiji’s best feature was its bartender, Kooki, an enormous Fijian who made the floor shake when he stomped from one end of the bar to the other. He may or may not have been named after the Cookie Monster, and seemed only capable of bellowing, rather than speaking. But he was a gentleman. When we rocked up he offered his giant hand, and immediately offered us a discount on our first drinks.

An island boat cruise the following day was equally unstressful – we managed to jump on an early boat, beating the tourist hoardes, out to South Sea Island – a miniscule hamlet no more than 20 metres long and a few metres wide. We explored the surrounding coral reef, spotting reef sharks, luminescent squid and tropical fish. A surprising amount of marine life considering the bulk of the coral had been destroyed – presumably by dynamite fishing.

Compared to other tropical destinations though, Fiji seems well preserved – although we did notice that a lot of the islands had been completely razed of any vegetation. But the water is drinkable and the beaches and streets are virtually rubbish free – a point of difference from beachside resorts in Thailand, Vietnam and Malaysia.