Last summer, my friend Kim and I, traveling through the South Pacific, had just arrived at Waya Island in Fiji. Waya Island is right on the famous Blue Lagoon, where the movie of the same named was filmed. We were instantly caught into conversation with a couple we recognized from the ferry, Ben and Kara.
“Have you had any kava yet?” inquired Ben. “We’ve had a sh*tload,” he added.
Seriously. Those were the first words out of his mouth after we introduced ourselves. Combine Californian surfer dude with an Australian accent, and you’ve got Ben.
Kara, his other half, quickly explained in her cute, crisp fashion, “I’m part Fijian. We’re here visiting my family. Every new house we visit, we have kava. I have a lot of aunties, so we’ve had LOTS of kava.”
“A sh*tload,” echoed Ben.
“Nope, we haven’t had any kava yet,” I responded.
“Well, you really should before you leave Fiji. It’s part of the experience. We’ll do it with you one night when they pull out the mat,” Kara promised.
Kava is a narcotic made from the root of a pepper plant. The root is ground up, placed in cloth that acts as a strainer, and then mixed with water in a ceremonial mixing bowl; the finished product tastes a bit like cough syrup. Visually it brings to mind muddy pond water. Fijian kava is pretty weak. With one or two drinks, your lips and tongue go a little numb. More than that and you start to feel pleasantly relaxed and floaty.
My friend, Kim, and I, travel buddies extraordinaire, decided to travel to Fiji last summer because the dollar was still worth something there. We knew about kava through pre-trip reading and planning, but we didn’t really know about kava. As Americans, it was difficult for us to wrap our minds around the idea of a drug being culturally accepted and having such ceremony attached. For example, in Fiji whenever you visit a village, you are expected to bring a gift of kava so you can enjoy a kava ceremony with the chief. Kava ceremonies are not restricted to villages; most resorts have kava ceremonies a few nights a week.
A couple nights later, the resort rolled out the kava mat while Ben, Kara, Kim, and I were enjoying some pre-dinner drinks and conversation. One of the locals invited us to the mat, and Kara, with a grin, said, “Okay, girls, are you ready?” The local let us know he could fill our coconut-shell bowl to very low tide, low tide, medium tide, high tide, or tsunami. Kim picked very-low tide; I chose medium tide. (Hey, if I was going to do kava, I wanted to do kava.)
While he got our kava ready, Kara quickly filled us in on kava ceremony protocol. “Before he gives you the bowl, you need to look at him, clap your hands, and say bula. Then, take the bowl and drink the kava in one go. We all clap while you’re drinking. When you finish, clap three times.”
Two medium-tide bowls later, I could still feel my lips and tongue; Kim, with just her single bowl, was saying, “That’s so weird—it’s like I just licked Novocain.”
I was a little put out. I wanted to feel something, too.
On the adjacent deck the staff started to take orders for supper, so Kim and I headed into the dining area. I requested a glass of wine. I think I may have had another, but I’m not sure, because everything got a little fuzzy. Evidently, I needed that bit of alcohol to kick start the kava. Dinner was a delightfully relaxed haze; I think Kim was absolutely transfixed by my stimulating conversation.
“Kim, have you ever looked at your fingers? I mean really looked at them? Like how they wiggle?”
(I actually didn’t say that. Or maybe I did. I can’t remember. But, I’m sure Kim was hanging onto my every word.)
After supper after I went on a post-supper nature hike through the coconut palms, giggling madly. The trees, the moon, the lagoon. . . I was overcome. Kim, fabulous friend that she was (and wise one who had stopped at one bowl), gently herded me back to the bungalow and made sure I was tucked in for the night.
Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, lagoon. Goodnight kava that makes my brain feel like mush. Goodnight, Kim--stop telling me to hush.
