TRAVERSE 193
TRAVEL- FIJI
LEIGH WILKINS
WELCOMED IN!
The sun had barely made its full climb above the sugarcane fields outside Nadi when I stepped into the heart of something unmistakably alive. Not bustling in the tourist sense, this was not a strip of souvenir shops peddling shell necklaces and printed sulu wraps. No, this was the Nadi Produce Market, where Fijian life unfolds in colour, scent, and soul.
A place of transactions, yes, but also a theatre of humanity. A living, breathing pulse of the town.
There was no fanfare at the entrance. No gate, no ticket, no slick branding. Just rows of tin-roofed sheds and canvas awnings loosely tied to whatever anchor they could find; fence posts, light poles, or, in one case, an old wheelbarrow loaded with taro. I hesitated at first. For a moment, I felt like I might be intruding on something too real, too rooted in local rhythms. But that feeling dissolved the second I made eye contact with the first stallholder.
“ Bula vinaka!” came the booming welcome from a man standing behind a leaning stack of papayas. His name was Misi, and before I could respond, he had already sliced open a fruit and handed me a wedge. It was warm from the morning sun and sweet beyond belief, dripping orange nectar onto my wrist as I bit in. No transaction expected, just hospitality.
“ That one’ s free,” Misi chuckled.“ But if you want the good fire, go three stalls down. Ask for Laisa.”
Laisa’ s stall was unassuming: a tattered umbrella covered her displays of eggplants, bitter melon, and bundles of coriander tied with banana twine. But off to the side was the real attraction, small plastic tubs filled with oily red paste. She grinned when I asked about it.“ Hot?” she asked, eyebrows raised.“ Let’ s say... curious,” I replied, too proud to back down.
TRAVERSE 193