It's called a "Bula Bus", "Bula" meaning
"welcome" in Fijian. And a number of them provide transportation on a
circular route picking up and dropping off at each of the eight or so resort
hotels and the Port of Denarau (actually, more of a marina with a small
shopping center adjacent). Denarau is one of the 332 islands comprising Fiji.
The Bus normally took about a half an hour to do a complete circuit. It was
dark, though not yet 9 PM, when I finished my steak dinner, with fries, at
Cardo’s Steak House at the port/marina, strolled past shops that were closing,
and stopped to listen to musicians playing in various restaurants along the
wharf. It struck me repeatedly that, after having a fairly regimented schedule
for the past nine weeks, I was now rather aimless. Other than boarding the
plane for Los Angeles on Saturday, I had very little on my mind. Boarding the
Bus, I asked to be dropped off at the golf club restaurant (which I had been
told was good food at a reasonable price - Fiji being quite expensive).
After being dropped off it took about five minutes to verify
that there were no bargains, and I stood waiting for the next Bus to take me
back to my temporary home (1200 ft.², two-bedroom second-floor apartment, with
a large deck, all more than adequate for my needs). Although warm during the
days, it was cool on the Bus as it hurried along making its various mandatory stops
on the way. After 20 minutes it became apparent, even to me as a novice Bus
rider, that we were doing a circular route that did not include my hotel.
Jumping off at the next stop, I asked one of the friendly Fijians I met how to
get the right bus. Pointing to a certain location adjacent to the road I
assumed it was there that I should catch the next Bus (although I must admit I
didn't understand most of what he said). The next Bus I got on seemed to be the
correct one, however, it also seemed to be heading in exactly the wrong
direction. After a short discussion with another passenger, I disembarked at
the next stop and again sought directions, which were less intelligible than
before. Instead of trying to understand I simply took matters into my own hands,
stood in the road and waived the next Bus down, surely breaching the rules governing
the pickup of passengers, and got on. Unfortunately, that particular Bus was none
other than the first one I had caught, and was now heading to coffee break.
After receiving directions again (repeated to the point of embarrassment), using
similar tactics as I did on Bus three, I caught Bus number four, which
deposited me on the doorstep of the lobby of my hotel, a shaky, frustrated and
embarrassed person obviously caught in the clutches of Parkinson's.
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