Where are the vegies??
Here is something that has really surprised me. I went to the market and realized there are hardly any vegetables here. Most are importetd (that is, when the boat shows up…very unreliable). I bought tomatoes and carrots; but no lettuce, green peppers, all the regulars. A great deal of fruit, however. Bananas, avacados, mangos, bread fruit, papayas, etc. I’m craving veggies! Roberta says it is because the climate is too hot, and the soil is not good for vegetables…gets too warm. Although you can do it, with extra care & attention. But the Fajiian diet consists of fruit, root vegetables (taro, which explains why their teeth are so white; supposedly contains natural fluoride, we are told) and meat (pork-wild pigs, chicken, and my favorite, fish). So we are eating a lot of rice and fish. I go wild at fresh vegetable markets, which will be plentiful when we get to California, Feb. 1.
Today Kent dove at Magic Mountain and Shangri-la. Divers like to name their good spots, and he’s diving with a local, who knows where they are. His divemaster's name is Gio, which means "shark" in Fijiian. Who knew? In the afternoon, we hiked an old horse trail, though still sweating hot, the shadows and sun falling behind us, and soft breezes higher up in the mountains helped. Wild horses grazed, framed by gigantic broad leafed foliage, coconut trees and bush. It looks prehistoric. Plenty for horses to eat. Took some pictures of gigantic spiders weaving their webs between the trees.
Later, sitting with Roberta (everyone calls her Auntie), watching the family play volleyball while men worked constructing the new bure, we realized that we were staying in a village right here; chickens pecking and birds squawking, children running about, imitating the men; Kent learned to weave split palm to add to the pile that will be placed on the roof tomorrow. That is then covered with a tarp, which is then covered with long grasses…all to keep the rain out (but open on the sides to let breezes slide through). We returned to our bure amidst the clamor of insect sounds and crashing waves. Moce.
Here is something that has really surprised me. I went to the market and realized there are hardly any vegetables here. Most are importetd (that is, when the boat shows up…very unreliable). I bought tomatoes and carrots; but no lettuce, green peppers, all the regulars. A great deal of fruit, however. Bananas, avacados, mangos, bread fruit, papayas, etc. I’m craving veggies! Roberta says it is because the climate is too hot, and the soil is not good for vegetables…gets too warm. Although you can do it, with extra care & attention. But the Fajiian diet consists of fruit, root vegetables (taro, which explains why their teeth are so white; supposedly contains natural fluoride, we are told) and meat (pork-wild pigs, chicken, and my favorite, fish). So we are eating a lot of rice and fish. I go wild at fresh vegetable markets, which will be plentiful when we get to California, Feb. 1.
Today Kent dove at Magic Mountain and Shangri-la. Divers like to name their good spots, and he’s diving with a local, who knows where they are. His divemaster's name is Gio, which means "shark" in Fijiian. Who knew? In the afternoon, we hiked an old horse trail, though still sweating hot, the shadows and sun falling behind us, and soft breezes higher up in the mountains helped. Wild horses grazed, framed by gigantic broad leafed foliage, coconut trees and bush. It looks prehistoric. Plenty for horses to eat. Took some pictures of gigantic spiders weaving their webs between the trees.
Later, sitting with Roberta (everyone calls her Auntie), watching the family play volleyball while men worked constructing the new bure, we realized that we were staying in a village right here; chickens pecking and birds squawking, children running about, imitating the men; Kent learned to weave split palm to add to the pile that will be placed on the roof tomorrow. That is then covered with a tarp, which is then covered with long grasses…all to keep the rain out (but open on the sides to let breezes slide through). We returned to our bure amidst the clamor of insect sounds and crashing waves. Moce.
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