Our travel day to Fiji started off on every wrong foot imaginable. The driver of our shuttle from Waikiki to Honolulu was unaware of road closures that affected his route, our bags were over the carry-on weight limit (because the carry-on weight limit was .00002 ounces), and due to mass amounts of rain in Hawaii, my hair was frizzing. Real life problems, you guys.
To top it all off, as we boarded our near-empty flight to Nadi, an attendant gleefully told us that most had cancelled because it had started to rain a few days earlier and there was no end in sight.
True to tropical island forecasts, the weather just showed a bland mix of sun and rain. We asked if he meant it was raining throughout Fiji’s 300+ islands or just on the main island, but he was dodgy and kept saying “oooohh, you’ll have fun…” in a tone that very much implied we were going to drown.
Since there was clearly nothing we could do, we spread out in our row and settled in for the seven-hour flight. The hubs zonked out almost immediately, while I decided to be a good little blogger and get started on my Hawaii coverage… when, what to our wondering ears should we hear?
OH just an out of tune ukulele accompanied by the sounds of a warbling pirate. What else?
We started laughing, but after a solid ten minutes of this nonsense, the hubs indignantly declared (to only me because, remember: near-empty flight) that something must be done.
If you are reading this and know us, you are assuming that I was the one who declared that something must be done. I know. The hubs is diplomatic and non-confrontational, I am a sassy sassball with a penchant for keeping bitches in line.
Despite all the facts, I solemnly swear that this was 100% the hubs’s personal mission.
In fact, as soon as I placed the culprit five rows in front of us, I advised him to destroy the cease and desist letter he was crafting in his mind. The crooner in question was a real-life pirate, who I am assuming had already fashioned a shiv out of his metal seatbelt, ready to thwart any anti-ukulelists who may have boarded the flight unwittingly.
Rain or not: I wanted to make it to Fiji sans shivving.
Unfortunately, there was no talking the hubs down from this—especially because the chorus of the swashbuckler’s latest song had just started and it involved a lot of extra long notes.
To give you a better vision, I later snapped a secret photo of this musical wonder for your viewing:
Not pictured: the impressively long ponytail gracing his back, the ukulele, and his face… to protect me and the hubs from being murdered. PLEASE DO NOTE the dog tags, which I assume once belong to former Green Berets who also politely asked him to stop playing his ukulele. RIP, brave soldiers.
The hubs wobbled his way up to the songstress (not because he was nervous, but because of turbulence), and BAM.
“Sir, can you please stop playing the ukulele and singing? I’m trying to sleep and my wife is trying to write.”
He roped me into his dangerous games, came back to his seat and PASSED OUT.
Thus, I spent the rest of the flight sitting in terror as the Bob Dylan of the South Pacific loudly asked anyone and everyone around him (so, like, three people) if his musical talents were offending them. They also happened to be traveling with him, so of course they said no. He alternated his political surveys with shooting me the ULTIMATE DEATH STARE, and flirting with a flight attendant who, in his words, “smelled like a dream.”
Paired with the fact that it was, in fact, raining when we finally landed in Nadi (and made it off the plane, praise you Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and also Pele), and our start to Fiji was unconventional to say the least.
What could possibly turn this trip around, you ask? STAY TUNED.