Fiji

Fiji. Just the name conjures images of turquoise waters, swaying palms, and an abundance of underwater life. Among sailors, it almost sounds like a promise: “It’s even more beautiful than the Tuamotus,” they whisper to us, with sparkling eyes and a hint of longing in their voices. And so, when we hoisted the sails for the crossing to Fiji, our expectations were high. After nearly a year in enchanting French Polynesia, could this paradise really be surpassed?

But the ocean is a master at adjusting dreams. Our first glimpse of Fiji was… brown, green, and yet another shade of green. There was no turquoise in sight. Off the coast of Nadi, our anchor lay in water that looked more like a river mouth than a tropical fairytale. Not what we had envisioned. But sometimes, the journey doesn’t lead you to idyllic bays, but to other anchorages in life that matter just as much.

We sailed to Nadi because we had to say goodbye to Barbara. For a year and a half, we sailed side by side with Lille Venn. Where they were, we were. We met Barbara and Ralph in Panama, and since then we’ve shared stories, adventures, meals, tears, and countless moments of beauty and frustration, from grand ocean passages to quiet afternoons at anchor.

In the world of sailors, that is rare. How often do you find people who not only share your course but also your pace, your dreams, and your way of seeing the world? And not just that, Barbara and I even share the same hobby: dot art. While she creates her art on stones, I do it on canvas. That makes it all the more special and fun to share between the waves, the conversations, and the everyday life on board.

And now that moment comes: saying goodbye. Barbara steps ashore to taste life on land again. Family, friends, theatres, museums, a supermarket with everything you could wish for, each a small delight that we at sea have learned to approach in a different way. We wish her the best, even as there is a soft ache around this farewell.

Because maybe letting go is also a form of loving. Knowing you can’t hold on to someone’s path, that you can only sail along until the point where your routes diverge. That you give someone the space to choose something else, knowing the bond remains, even if the ocean lies between you.

We will miss her: her laughter, her tears, her dotted stones, her curiosity, and her cooking skills. And Ralph… we will wave him off later. But first, we explore Fiji together, celebrate life, and walk the path we still share for now.

Perhaps that is what sailing keeps teaching us: letting go is not an ending, but a sign of trust. Trust that the ocean is vast, but the bond you share is stronger. That letting go doesn’t break, but bends, and that the deepest proof of love sometimes lies in being able to say: farewell, see you later.

After the farewell, we decide to handle some practical matters. Rajesh needs to renew his passport, and that can only be done in Suva. So we rent a car and drive four hours through the lush, mountainous interior of Viti Levu. At the High Commission of India, everything goes surprisingly smoothly: within ten minutes, Rajesh is back outside with proof of his application. Then we wander through the city searching for boat parts, but don’t find much. What we do find is an Indian restaurant that comforts us with fragrant spices and hearty plates. With full bellies and a bag of fishing gear, we drive the four hours back to Nadi.

Now that all the practical obligations are checked off, the turquoise blue beckons again. Time to find the Fiji of the stories ourselves. We hoist the sails and set course for a small island that, according to the charts, has everything we’re looking for. Only the weather forecast isn’t right. It was supposed to be calm today and tomorrow, but the wind is up, and it wouldn’t be safe to stay there. So: plan B.

Musket Cove then? We’ve heard good things. But when we arrive, we count 48 boats at anchor. Forty-eight! For some, that’s cosy. For us: too much. We love peace, space, and a bay where the night is dark and quiet. So we sail on, to a bay a bit further north. But even the Mamanuca island doesn’t offer the tropical vibe and crystal-clear waters we had hoped for. Most of the coral is dead, and the underwater visibility is poor. So we continue north, toward Navadra Island. There, we are greeted by a group of blacktip reef sharks, circling the boat with curiosity. The water is deep, and the ocean swell makes the bay a bit rolly, but the presence of sharks is often a sign of healthy coral.

We stay a few days and snorkel near the beach, where it’s shallower and the turquoise water finally appears. Here we find vibrant coral and fairly large schools of fish. The sharks remain in the deeper water, clearly used to tourist boats feeding them, something we have mixed feelings about.

After three days of constant rolling, we have had enough and decide to sail on to Drawaqa Island, famous for Manta Alley. Between May and October, manta rays swim here, and we don’t want to miss them. Every day, we search for these magnificent rays. In the first days, the water is murky, but then the current shifts, and the visibility improves, revealing them. Not one, not two, but three manta rays. For the first time, Fiji also feels magical: the little islands around us, hiking opportunities, and two resorts that welcome cruisers. On the coral side, the water is crystal clear, and we again see colourful tropical fish—even clownfish!

We arrived just in time, because not even a day later, a tropical storm sweeps over large parts of Fiji, with winds up to 62 knots. On the islands just north and south of us, the weather is wild, but we are tucked away in the lee, with sunshine and calm. It feels bizarre, but we’re mainly grateful to have dodged the storm.

Every afternoon at Barefoot Resort, there’s volleyball, and Rajesh, Ralph, and Jeroen are often there. Rajesh clearly enjoys connecting with other young people and backpackers.

And there is another reason to celebrate: Jeroen and I have been married for 30 years! Thirty years. Sometimes it just sounds like a number, a statistic, a row of calendars on a shelf. But anyone who has really lived thirty years together knows there’s a story behind every year. A chapter full of decisions, dreams, fights, victories, disappointments, and moments when you hold each other because the world seems to fall apart.

Thirty years of marriage have not been only a bed of roses.. It’s also hard work, finding your way through deep valleys, admitting that the grass sometimes looks greener elsewhere, and still choosing each other again and again. It’s continuing to talk, even when silence would be easier. It’s laughing together at the chaos, and sharing tears over the things you couldn’t foresee.

This year, we decided to really celebrate just the two of us. Jeroen surprised me with a night at Paradise Cove Resort. A paradise, where we reminisced about our adventures, reflected on the hard moments, and, between champagne, a beautifully decorated room, and perfect peace, simply enjoyed. Just us two.

Thirty years together, and when we look at the photos of all those years, we can only smile. “Did we really do all that?” I say. “Yes, we really did,” says Jeroen. And yes, we want to keep doing it. Another thirty years, and maybe more.

We decided to stay here for a few more days before slowly making our way south. Soon it will be time to sail into Vuda Marina, help Ralph with the final projects before he hauls Lille Venn out for six months and flies to Switzerland, and welcome Albert aboard. We’re looking forward to showing him the beautiful places of Fiji, not just the bays and islands, but especially the people here. Because if there’s one thing we’ve noticed so far, it’s the warmth, the genuine friendliness, and the open-hearted nature of the Fijians. In French Polynesia, we were enchanted by the nature and culture, but here, perhaps the magic lies in the smiles of the people, the greetings from passersby, the willingness to help, and the feeling that you are welcome, always and everywhere. That is perhaps the greatest strength of Fiji.