So Much More Than a Surf Trip

Location:
Fiji, Singatoka

surfing, locals, friendship

By Dylan Natale

So Much More Than a Surf Trip The taxi driver pointed to a gate blocking the dirt road and explained the surf was just past the hillside. Behind the gate a few horses grazed lazily, thankful of the small birds perched on their backs helping fight off swarming flies. “Vinaka naka levu,” the driver said, thanking me for a modest tip before driving off, leaving me alone and bewildered in the quiet dirt road. The small village of Kulukulu stood to my left, almost hidden by coconut groves and bright flowers. “Bula!” a grey-haired villager exclaimed, walking out to meet me. He extending his worn hand, greeting me with the friendliness and kindness Fijians are known for. A smile crept over his face when I told him I wanted to rent a surfboard and he explained many of the villagers surf and there were always extra boards for visitors. Before showing me any surfboards we stopped at a makeshift-bure (thatched hut) for a few shells of grog (kava). We finished the bowl, and with my mouth and head numb from the slight narcotic effect of the root, I stood up carefully, knowing my legs would be wobbly as well. After paying $10 for a beat up board two villagers walked me out to the rusted gate, pointed me in the direction of the surf, and told me to bring the board back whenever I wanted. I hopped the gate and walked for a mile or so until I came to small sign with the word “beach” painted on it. This narrow path led up a hill and once on top the scrawny vegetation gave way to a dark, fine 60-foot sand dune. The Sigatoka River lay below, flowing peacefully until meeting the mighty swells of the Pacific. Bilibilis (bamboo rafts/boats) meandered through the calm river, the locals steering them oblivious to the twenty or so surfers littering the water and beach. To the right mounds of sand rolled endlessly, baking in the sun, making up the eastern end of Sigatoka Sand Dunes National Park. I made my way down to the waterfront, watching surfers ride head-high swells. I walked towards what I thought to be a shaded surf shack made from bamboo, twine, raggedy tarps, and coconut tree leaves and poked my head in to inquire about conditions. Two locals sat on a makeshift bed made of sand and woven mats sharing a bottle of beer. Surfboards leaned against a wall and two wetsuits hung from a wood banister. They smiled and introduced themselves as Paul and Jonah. Jonah, darker and heavier set than Paul, rested his weathered back against a bamboo bedpost, his muscular legs stretched out towards the entrance. Paul, scrawny but athletic looking, took a pull off a hand-rolled cigarette, rubbed his sun-scorched afro heartily and offered me the bottle of beer. We began talking and I learned both grew up in Kulukulu village, fell in love with surfing and recently built this improvised beach-bungalow to be closer to the surf. The two lived a simple, yet somewhat idealistic life. If the surf was good they surfed, if not, they relaxed, worked on their “house,” or visited their village. The floor of the house was shaded sand, the bed made up of sandy tarps and blankets, the oven a circle of rocks filled with driftwood, the roof just leaky tarps and palm leaves and the drinking water was salvaged rainwater; however, the surf was 50 feet away, the food was waiting to be caught in the river or growing on trees, and money was basically unnecessary. It was a perfectly sustainable, simple world the two lived in. To my surprise they offered to let me stay on the beach with them so for the next few days I experienced the stories we shared earlier first hand. Low tide was when we surfed and when we weren’t on our boards we relaxed, played soccer, volleyball, and gathered food when needed. One afternoon I jogged on the beach, running toward the National Park. I must have run 2 miles, and didn’t see another person, just driftwood, crashing waves and rugged sand dunes. The days went quickly, and then the morning came when it was time for me to pack my bag, thank my new friends and catch a rickety bus back to Suva, Fiji’s capitol. I retraced my steps up a hot sand dune, down the narrow dirt path, past the same lazy horses and back to the village. The same worn, cheery man greeted me again, a litter of noisy but friendly puppies yipped at our heels as I spoke of the kindness of Paul and Jonah and the memories that would last a lifetime. Thinking back as I write this story I can’t help but smile, sit back and relax remembering their carefree, uncomplicated lifestyle and thank them for the opportunity to leave Kulukulu beach with much more than just a few good rides on a surfboard.

Further Information

Other helpful information: This place is somewhat off the beaten path and I did not intend for it to ever happen like that. It is impossible to plan something like this, but it is possible to stay in Kulukulu village in pivate bure's (I think). It is a bit of a trek to the beach. Also, if you make it to the beach, be sure to bring food and water, there is no where to buy it. If you hope to camp on the beach you must ask the village permission and be sure to bring the chief plenty of kava (unground root if possible). Club Mesa, a hotel close to Kulukulu village was closed when I was there, but I have heard plans of it re-opening if you don't want to stay in Sigatoka (about 8 miles away)0

Must see/do at this place: It's worth renting a surfboard and trying your luck in Fiji's only beach break, although the boards you rent are a bit wobbly and old. Also, check out the National Park, I never officially entered it but during my explorations around Kulukulu beach I saw plenty of it.

You should avoid here: Be weary of local theft as with many places in less-develeped countries, but compared to other places around Fiji this is one of the safest I've seen (probably because there is so little tourist traffic).