Yasawa / Wakaya Resorts - Fiji
Written by Amanda Jones for San Francisco Chronicle
The year was 1980 and Brooke Shields, the precocious ingenue, was marooned on a tropical island with nothing but a scanty loin cloth and the prematurely-muscular Christopher Atkins. The movie was Blue Lagoon and people around the world wanted to know one thing: Where was that paradise?
I knew it well, even before Brooke did. And I have an egg-sized lump on my head to prove it. That paradise was the Yasawa Islands of Fiji, and my family had vacationed there in 1974. The small string of islands was clichéd in its flawlessness: sugary beaches, swaying coconut palms, bathwater-warm ocean and the occasional bure—the native thatched huts.
As any eleven-year-old would, I had dumped my flares as soon as we arrived and headed for the water, setting out for a set of caves I’d heard were “far out.” There was an underwater tunnel which you had to dive through to get to a maze of interior caves. I filled my lungs, ducked into the submerged tunnel and swam. Halfway through I panicked and came up too soon, slamming my cranium into the limestone ceiling. My vision went black. I started to sink. Then, miraculously, I felt a hand grab my hair and pull me through the tunnel, dragging me up into an eerie cathedral cavern. As I gasped for air, all I could see in the dim light were giant white teeth smiling from glistening brown skin. The Fijian boy’s name was Moses (there seems to be some significance to that), and I never did figure out how he knew I was in the tunnel.
That was my introduction to paradise.
So, when my husband suggested Fiji for a vacation, I knew there could be no going back without facing that tunnel again. In the ensuing twenty-four years, several high-end, luxury resorts have sprung up on the Yasawa island chain, one of which is the Yasawa Island Resort. We would go there first, lounge at the resort, I could re-conquer the cave, and then we would head to the eastern side of the Fiji islands, to Wakaya, Fiji’s most exclusive hotel.
Yasawa Island Resort
The light aircraft skimmed over sparkling waters, taking us northwest, away from Fiji’s capital, Nadi, towards the Yasawa chain of islands. I tried to dampen all expectations. As we all know, returning to the location of a childhood memory is typically a bad idea. The hordes have a way of discovering a paradise that’s been in a movie, and then it’s hard to locate the beauty through all the hamburger stands and souvenir stalls that spring up on the “virgin beaches.” But as we circled the Yasawa Island Resort’s private runway I knew that, hallelujah, this place had survived the temptation of mass tourism. All I could see was tropical jungle, pristine beaches, a cluster of village bures and the tastefully spread out hotel.
There are only sixteen bures (cottages) at the resort; all gigantic, impeccably private and sparingly decorated with Pacific and Indonesian artifacts, native timber beams, stone floors and vaulted ceilings. Ours had a sunken living room area with a day-bed and kitchenette, a bedroom with king-sized bed a dressing room, walk-in closet, a large bathroom with open-sided double shower, a verandah and our own beachside thatched shelter with two-person hammock. The sea lapped not more than fifty feet away, and there was enough foliage in between that we could see it, but anyone in it could not see us. Perfect. And for those requiring ultimate isolation, there is the Lomalagi bure (heavenly place in Fijian), which is removed from the resort, has its own beach and a deck the size of a New York apartment.
Erin Suzuki, the resort manager, greeted us at lunch around the pool. A widely-traveled Canadian, she radiated what I came to realize was the signature of this resort, razor-sharp professionalism bathed in an aura of casual warmth. The Fijian people are known for their gentleness, and I challenge anyone to suggest a race of people more genuinely welcoming and amiable. The staff at Yasawa struck the right balance between island-easy and discreet, quality service.
“So, what would you like to do?” Erin asked. “We have scuba diving, snorkeling, bush-hiking, tennis, sailing, game fishing, croquet, or we can arrange a visit to the local village.” (These activities are all included in the price).
“Well, actually,” I said, “Have you heard of these caves...?”
“Sure,” she said. “You mean the Sawa-I-Lau caves. The ones in the Blue Lagoon. They’re about 30 minutes by boat. We’ll take you out there tomorrow. But you’ve gotta swim through an underwater tunnel to get to them.”
“Oh yes,” I replied, “I know.”
That evening we swam during sunset, and then I slipped into my sexy little black rumple-free dress for “pinkie-drinkies” at the bar. Dinner was in the open-sided restaurant with the local Fijian band crooning native songs in the background. The food was wonderful. I ordered kakoda (raw fish marinated in coconut milk) and, of course, lobster. My plan was to be sick of eating lobster by the time I left Fiji. A noble vacation goal.
The following morning we sped across the aqua water and shallow reefs in a large motorized dinghy, passing jagged cliffs and dozens of empty beaches. As we approached the caves my mouth went dry, my stomach tightened and my pulse raced. “Get a grip.” I muttered to myself, “You were eleven then. You’re a trained diver now, you’ve been to depths of 160 feet, you’ve explored wrecks. It’s just a shallow tunnel.”
Nowadays there are steps leading to the entrance of the fist cave. Twenty-four years ago we just scrambled up the cliffside. Once inside, I slid into the green-lit water. By this point adrenaline was making it hard to breathe, but I did the best I could to hide my fear. I let the others go first so they would be ready to pull me through by the hair should that be necessary. I took a deep breath, ducked under, found the mouth of the tunnel and headed through. It was dark, although not as dark as I remembered, and (although I hate to admit it), only about five feet in length. Still, I felt ridiculously triumphant when I surfaced on the other side.
We spent the next few days swinging in the hammock, eating gourmet food and exercising when the sun mellowed. The resort was as paradisical as any earthbound paradise can be, and it seemed organic, unforced, not the giant man-made “Shangri-La’s” so commonly advertised in travel brochures these days.
Wakaya
We flew back to Nadi to head east for Wakaya, located on a lush, five-square-mile private island, complete with wild horses and deer. Recently purchased in part by Abercrombie and Kent, the American bastion of luxury adventure travel, Wakaya is an arcadia with all the trappings of the Ritz Carlton. Its setting is more formal than Yasawa, and thus they tend to attract the very rich, the very famous and the very elite. It’s one of those places where the Michelle Pfeiffer’s and Jim Carey’s of the world go to slop around in a pair of cut-offs with unbrushed hair, knowing there are no paparazzi to bust them.
The price includes all food and alcohol, meaning that theoretically you could drink Veuve Clicquot from sun-up ’til sun-down and no-one would flinch. Indeed, a chilled bottle in a hibiscus covered champagne bucket was in our room on arrival. We sat outside our bure, (the size of a ranch bungalow in California), eating caviar and watching the sun sizzle into the horizon.
The bungalows each have polished wood floors, a separate living room with bar, stereo, and bamboo furniture, and a huge bedroom with four-poster bed made up with D. Porthault sheets. If you book early enough, ask for the newest bungalow (number 9), which is larger, prettier and has a spectacular Garden of Eden bathroom.
Wakaya has spectacular Pacific Rim-inspired food which used mainly indigenous ingredients. Fresh fish and lobster are caught daily and most of the vegetables are grown on the island. On our second day, a note was slipped under the door informing us that the evening meal would be a meke, the traditional Fijian feast where meats, fish and root vegetables are wrapped in leaves, buried in a pit atop hot stones and left to cook for a full day. While we waited for the ovens, the local villagers danced. Then we were asked to try kava, the Fijian fermented root drink with a trippy, gum-numbing quality. The best description of the effect of this foul-tasting substance came from one of the other guests (a young investment banker). “If you swallow enough of it, you’re left feeling like you went to the dentist and then dropped acid.”
Wakaya has some of Fiji’s best scuba diving and deep sea fishing. There are also tennis courts, a nine hole golf-course, boules, massage and hiking. Our preferred outing, however, was to let the hotel pack a picnic hamper and drop us off at a deserted beach with a walkie-talkie, which we were instructed to use when we got bored with lying about in a hammock, reading, eating lobster, drinking Veuve Clicquot and swimming in the nude. Needless to say, we were late for dinner.
On the last day, I snuck up to Vale O, the “House in the Clouds,” vacation home of the founder of Wakaya, David Gilmour. The house, which is available to rent, is a 12,000 square-foot estate with jaw-dropping views, private pool and spa (complete with remote control waterfall), tennis and boules courts, and three humungous bedrooms decorated with priceless Asian antiques. If you are in the market to pay the $3,500 per evening for two people ($5,500 for a full house), the house comes with personal chef, hostess, housekeeper and on-call driver.
If you know you’re due for a solo mental health break, or need to elope, seduce someone, hide, honeymoon or simply chill out — I highly recommend that you get yourself a loin cloth and try a little Fijian paradise.
Details:
Yasawa Island Resort
Phone: (800) 441-6880 in the USA or (831) 335-4954
Fax: (831) 335-5239
Prices: * Duplex: $445 Deluxe: $499 Lomalagi: $672 - per night, double
Includes all meals (except beverages) and all sporting activities with the exception of game fishing, scuba diving). Air transfers between Nadi and the resort $175 round trip per person.
*Rates for Yasawa are subject to conversion from Fijian dollars.
Wakaya and Vale O
Phone: (800) 828-FIJI (3454), (630) 9542944
Fax: (630) 954-3324
Prices: $1,275 - per night, double
Includes all meals, alcohol, sporting activities with the exception of game fishing, scuba diving and massage. Air transfers between Nadi and Wakaya $390 round trip per person.
Air Pacific has flights to Fiji from Los Angeles four times a week. 800-227-4446 (A very reputable airline, part-owned by Quantas). Round trip ticket in coach class is approximately $1048.