Fiji Vacation

By Tony Ryan, the Clark Griswold of Thirroul

After a week of iso starting NYE (due to a close contact at work) a group of us were ready to dust off our passports and catch our flights to Fiji.

Our Covid test 48 hours before we were due to leave had two of our group of eight knocked out with a positive result. Then there were just six.

The holiday started fairly well: drinks by the pool, a couple of nice dinners, a round of golf for the lads and a spot of shopping for the lady folk.

On day three another Covid test. Bad news for one of the lads with a positive test and so it was straight into iso for him and his lovely bride.

Then the rains came. After a few hours we were informed that Cyclone Cody was going to hit that evening. All hotel facilities would be closed and we’d be confined to our rooms for at least 24 hours.

The wind bent huge palm trees at 75-degree angles, the rain was coming in sideways, debris was flying everywhere and the BBQ in front of our room was broken into more pieces than Humpty Dumpty. The power was cutting in and out and windows were shaking like a man walking on death row. Water came into our room so we moved any belongings that were on the floor (mainly mine) to higher ground, and we used towels to soak it up.

The cyclone damaged our air conditioner but the staff were on ‘Fiji time’ so it was not seen to. The water in our room had a certain odour (which, for the first time, I couldn’t be blamed for) and the only way we could freshen up the smell was to leave the sliding doors open. Unfortunately, the room had no fly-screens so every mosquito in the surrounding area had a place to stay. No air con meant it was impossible to sleep with covers on, making us a smorgasbord for all the mozzies.

I was waiting for Jonathan LaPaglia to appear as this trip was now more Survivor Fiji than a holiday.

The next day our last remaining couple was struck down with gastro and they didn’t want to venture too far from their room or the porcelain, which became their second home.

My wife was starting to feel ill and I was starting to feel like the sole survivor.

All of the resort’s shops were closed, but we had confirmation that the supermarket at the marina was open. I gathered a list of supplies and set off.

The rains and wind had abated somewhat, but no taxis or buses were operating. The 25-minute hike was marred with falling branches and ankle-high water, but it was something for me to do after being locked in a hotel for 36 hours.

As I approached the marina on dusk, the light of the supermarket shone like a lighthouse beacon for a lost ship. With a mild sense of accomplishment I quickened my stride. When I reached the front door, however, I remembered what many people have said about me: “The lights are on but there’s no one home.” There was a big sign stating that the shop was closed until further notice.

So, after a week of ‘not really that much’, it was time to get home to the kids and the puppy dog.

Arriving at the airport well before time and armed with all of the required paperwork, our spirits were high despite having to leave one of our companions behind to fulfil his Covid obligations.

At the Jetstar desk we were informed that we had been bumped off the Sydney flight and were on the next Melbourne flight, a three-hour delay. We were assured that a representative would meet us outside customs in Melbourne to take us to our connecting flight. We calculated we wouldn’t be out of customs before 11pm and there’d be no flights to Sydney at that time. Staff assured us it would be okay.

You guessed it. When we got to Melbourne there was no Jetstar rep. Customs wanted to put us in quarantine hotels, but we were having none of that. We went to domestic and found a bloke who was about to go home. Thankfully, he sorted us out. Five minutes later and we would have been up a well-known creek without a paddle.

We got home around lunch-time the next day, did a rapid antigen test and were negative, but my mate who I sat next to on the plane was positive,
so we did a PCR and, yeah, we were positive.

So as I write this, we’re approaching the end of seven-day iso and thinking we might send this story to Chevy Chase so he can write his next Vacation movie.