Ride To Remember

A Suva Bus Ride Is A

By Lema Low, Author of “Family in Fiji ”

Visitors to Fiji, expatriates and permanent residents, should not, under any circumstances, fail to enjoy the experience of riding in a local bus. Any route will suffice to give you an unforgettable memory, but the most exhilarating are the quick trips around Suva and environs.

PH ERE is no better way to see the city and surroundings, tcept by hiking (and that is a azardous undertaking in Suva once 3u leave the region of footpaths).

The first essential is to catch the as. The rest is reasonably simple.

Timetables being rather vague, you in wait for half an hour, half a ay, or walk straight on to a bus.

From dawn until 7.30 a.m. a joy der should not try to get on a >wn-wards bus, because they’re ready crammed tight. Nine-fifteen m. is a good time, as the last Dgering civil servant has gone to is day’s toil and the only pas mgers are harried housewives with lopping baskets, and budgets to alance. From 12.30 to 2 p.m. it’s bit of a rat-race, both ways; at .30 p.m. school-children are going ome, and from 4,30 p.m. until lidnight, especially on pay-days, you ften have to run the gauntlet of eery breaths.

Not Temperamental

The driver is usually an Indian, aurteous, and phlegmatically inured > any kind of passenger or cargo, [e seldom gets temperamental. The >ace beside his seat is cluttered r ith taro, bananas, cabbage and shell sh. At each stop, he waits afiently while the disembarking assenger fumbles for his pennies nd disentagles his cabbage from ameone else’s shellfish.

His radio blares programmes in tindi, Fijian and English, providing n exciting accompaniment as the us speeds along Suva’s narrow :reets. You get a lovely view into colourful garden.

Another bus surges towards yours rith no visible slackening of speed,

and you close your eyes in fearful anticipation. There’s no more than a sheet of paper between buses as they pass, but your driver never stops chewing gum. You must be nervy.

The bus passengers present a fascinating study; expressive faces and mellow voices reflect their thoughts and emotions. You receive an impression of grace and relaxa tion, Two Indian men will start a conversation in their own language and finish it in perfect English.

Cosmopolitan

There will be a Fijian chatting with a Chinese, a Tongan with a Gilbertese, a Samoan with a Rotuman, a European with a Fijian —indicative of the surface amity in which the people live, although underneath there are dissensions which all are trying to solve.

The bus has an intoxicating perfume of coconut oil, hair pomade, face cream, soap and shoe polish, mingling with the fish, fruit and vegetables. The thought occurs to you that if this highly concentrated aroma could be bottled, it would cure anything.

The passengers are attired in a kaleidoscope of colour, ranging from muu-muus to matador pants, from sulus to saris. And the buses them selves, apparently not to be outdone, wear all sorts of intriguing insignia, such as leaping greyhounds, bloom ing water-lilies, jet aircraft, sleepy lagoons, hearts and arrows—and rude remarks in several languages.

So—you pay your money and you take your choice. It’s all the fun of the fair, costs only a few pence and will be an experience that you will long remember.