Rank resorts ruin Fiji reef experience

BY ALISON BELL

Fiji has always been synonymous with sun, fun, warm and friendly people and, in recent years, the odd military coup.

It is also known as the soft coral capital of the diving world.

Having dived at resorts in Tahiti, the Maldives, Mauritius, Bali, New Caledonia, Australia, and elsewhere in Fiji, it was with high hopes that I returned to the country after 12 years for eight days of diving.

After my initial travel plans were scuttled by Queensland's cyclone, a search on www.divetheworld.com and www.fiji.pacific-resorts.com–iving.html for guaranteed sun and 30 degree plus temperatures at the end of March soon led me to a boutique resort on the south-west tip of Fiji's garden island of Taveuni, lying south of Vanua Levu.

Promising world class diving at Rainbow Reef, Paradise Taveuni (www.paradiseinfiji.com) is marketed as an international four-star resort lying in a plantation style setting at the south-west tip of Taveuni Island.

Previously a backpackers' hostel, the resort was purchased by its current owner-operators in 2006, renovated in 2007 and now houses 10 bures for a maximum of 20 guests on two hectares of grounds bordered by a rocky oceanfront drop into the reef.

But despite a tariff exceeding those of the five-star Fiji Sheraton and Westin resorts – around NZ$380 a night – and comparable resorts in the Yasawa Islands, the omens for a very two-star holiday were there from the start.

An email from the resort one day before my departure said my bure would not be available when I checked in because a "big" group of eight was departing that morning, leaving the cleaning staff without sufficient time to prepare for incoming guests.

The Australian owners-operators suggested I pay F$J100 (NZ$78) to take a tour of the island's iconic Bouma Waterfalls once I arrived on the island after my overnight international flight to fill in the time until they were ready to receive me. I declined.

Once on Taveuni, the 90-minute drive from Matei Airport to the resort along unsealed roads was a surprise. But I was confident the rough ride past poverty-stricken hamlets, farmland, and fenced-off expatriate golf courses would be rewarded with a stunning resort just like in the website pictures.

Lisa and Erin (not their real names), two of the remaining four Australians at the resort – all of whom won their holiday in competitions – shared the land cruiser ride and my optimism.

Our dusk arrival was punctuated by a heavy rain shower that rapidly cleared to unveil a serene setting of bures, palms, and emerald grass leading to a steep, attractive volcanic cliff-face overlooking the ocean. But there were signs of things to come.

The small pool had just one umbrella by the wooden deck chairs, and in the days ahead guests would jostle with each other for a small slice of shade.

The only beach on offer was a volcanic, black beach, one metre wide and accessible by a 30-minute walk through jungle adjacent to the resort.

The spartan, thatched Wedding Bure sat only eight guests at its table, and the roof of the tiny, massage shelter overlooking the ocean was corrugated iron.

Hens were running wild throughout the property, along with two cats and a couple of dogs.

The combined reception and restaurant area came complete with snakes in a cage.

And before I was shown to my bure, I was asked to sign an Indemnity form as a condition of my stay, releasing the owner-operators from all risks and liability associated with every activity at the resort, including the return transfer to Matei Airport. Being more than a little risk-averse myself, I made an excuse and 'forgot' to sign.

Scuba diving with the resort's PADI dive-shop came with some unwelcome surprises.

The scuba indemnity form was the first I had seen to omit the medical checklist. No health-related questions were asked. And instead of the usual vigilant check of my log book, one glance of the last dive in it was enough to give me the all-clear.

Once on the boat, it was clear divers were best to bring wads of cash, their own gear and tanks. Dodgy O-rings caused two of my tanks to leak. Thankfully this was rectified before I jumped in the water.

But life under the ocean's surface was truly rewarding. Fiji's signature dive, the Great White Wall, is pure diver eye candy that left me wanting more air.

One of 22 dive sites set in the 32-kilometre Rainbow Reef, a descent to 24 metres for advanced divers is rewarded with two light passageways leading to the Wall. A hard left turn reveals the Wall in all its glory – white, soft corals dropping beyond 60 metres deep and as far as the eye can see. Blue and purple corals line the top of the Wall, punctuated by the occasional lion-fish, moray eel and manta ray.

The Rainbow's End site is a worthy second-place, with its gold, green and red corals, wrasse and bluetail fish.

Back on dry land, guests faced a series of surprises unbefitting of a four-star resort.

The owners' children used the pool every afternoon. My bure that looked so attractive in website pictures had doors that didn't fit properly, mosquito nets that were too small to offer coverage directly over the king-sized bed, and dirty bed sheets every day (including bird poop).

Used bathroom towels were re-hung rather than replaced – and I'm sure this was not a "Green" measure. And requests for fresh towels were ignored.

And late one night I paid the price for my bure's unsealed thatched roof. A nocturnal bird that looked half-bat, half-bird, circled the internal light at speed as if in a trance.

The resort's unsealed and unlit paths, and restricted restaurant opening hours, meant total darkness after 9pm each night and I couldn't find my way to reception for help so my only option was to stand outside my bure, yell for help and hope.

Two Fijian security guards immediately ran to my aid but couldn't persuade the bird to leave, so I had to move into another bure that night.

The restaurant in daylight was staffed by Fijians who, as always, were a pleasure to be around. Unfortunately the food they delivered wasn't.

Bacon was missing from the carbonara, fishcakes were not cooked inside, and when I sent them back to the kitchen they arrived back virtually untouched. Items listed on the menu were frequently unavailable including the lovo-baked fish dish listed on the Fiji night menu. Waiters announced that this was because someone had forgotten to go fishing that day.

And it was the only resort I have encountered anywhere in the world without a coffee machine. Instant coffee came for free; while weak, one-scoop, three-cup, plunger coffee came for F$J10 (NZ$7.85). A coffee machine would cost F$J7,000 (NZ$5475), the Australian owner explained in resignation. Her tone was quickly superseded by indignation when a buffet continental breakfast was suggested by Erin, prompted by an extra F$J15 (NZ$11.74) charge for a bowl of muesli if guests wanted to pass up the rice bubbles and wheatbix.

So while the fish and coral delivered, the half-camping ground experience of the resort rendered it paradise in name only.

Back at Nadi Airport, a 90-minute power blackout left me dazed in the humidity and itching to get on the plane. Once on board, I kissed the incoming arrival card to Australia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- AAP