I should really start this by saying "Bula", which means "hello", if only to be the same as every other person who's ever been to Fiji. Upon arrival at Nadi airport I was greeted by the usual three blokes with guitars, who are employed by the tourist board. They work in shifts, sleeping on benches in the airport until a flight comes in, even if it's at 3am, then they start singing.

Fijians are extremely friendly, possibly beating the previous "friendliest people" award taken by Laos. They also seem to share a dry, sarcastic sense of humour... I asked the receptionist at the hotel if she had a map of Nadi, and she looked blankly at me and told me it was one street and I wouldn't get lost. I started to say that if I wasn't back by midnight, and she finished the sentence for me by saying that she'd call the police and get a helicopter search going. When I returned to the hotel two hours later, she shouted "thank God you're OK!"

I was due to start the Feejee Experience on my second day, so I was free to wander the street of Nadi with a few other folk from the hotel. Not a huge amount to see and do - some shops and markets, some friendly locals standing on the streets offering taxis/marijuana/sexual favours (usually all 3). Nadi Bay Hotel is quite far out of town, so that evening we went to the nearby hostelries - the oddly-themed Hamburg Bar, which has a German flag fluttering above it, and Ed's Bar, which is tiny but lively.

Not much time to recover the next day, as I was picked up by the Feejee Experience bus. Our guide, Bola, apologised for only having a small bus since someone else had taken the usual big green bus, but assured us that we'd be getting the proper transport the next day. Feejee Experience operates with a guide and a driver, so we had the double act of Bola and Junior to entertain us. Thankfully there was also a good crowd of people on the bus, so hello (in no particular order) to Mika, Akiko, Christine, Doug, Steph, Melina, Valentin, Stephen and Sarah. Our first stop was at a beach, upon which we alternately lay down, jumped in the sea, and played football. After a barbecue lunch eaten the Fiji way (no cutlery) we had an international 6-a-side match, made more interesting by the goalposts being sticks in the ground and the pitch sloping into the sea.

Everyone had to buy sarongs for the village visit, which was a glimpse of a traditional Fijian settlement which has no influence from the outside world (except for at least four bus-loads of tourists wandering around every week, naturally). The local children and dogs greeted us enthusiastically, and Bola explained some of the intricacies of the traditional village societies.

Once we'd got the culture bit out of the way, we went sandboarding. Unlike Ninety-Mile Beach in New Zealand (where they provide sledges rather than boards for sliding down the sand dunes, on the grounds that it's dangerous), health & safety regulations in Fiji seem to allow for backpackers to injure themselves. At least the chances are minimised by the fact that climbing up the dune in the first place is so bloomin' hard. My first slide down the hill was enlivened by Bola coming up fast behind me and losing his board, ending up on mine as well.

Our first night's accommodation was in Mango Bay, which is a stunning place full of lofty palm trees (with signs warning people to keep to the paths and watch for falling coconuts), frogs and mosquitos. After dumping our bags in the dorm we went straight to the bar area to be welcomed with the traditional kava ceremony. We sat around a mat in a large group - men with legs crossed, women with legs to one side - and the role of the chief and the spokesman was explained to us. The chief sits with the rope tail of the kava bowl pointing towards them, so Melina was decided to be the chief with Valentin as the spokesman. I won't bore you too much with the ceremony, it involves clapping your hands once, saying "bula", downing a half-coconut shell cup full of kava, and clapping three more times.

Kava, incidentally, is a root crop which is powdered and mixed with water. It produces a numbing, tingling sensation in the mouth, mild and short-lived euphoria, and (if enough of it is taken) drowsiness. There have been some reports of people taking supplements which contain kava developing liver problems, but the traditional users seem to be OK. Aberdeen University recently published a paper suggesting that it might be useful in treating various types of cancers.

All this is by-the-by. All you really need to know about kava is that it tastes like muddy water and the Fijians love it. After we were had been welcomed and plied with several bowls of the stuff, we retired to the bar to get some food and drink and prepare for the next traditional entertainment - racing locally collected animals...

Mango Bay's animal population is numerous, if lacking in variety. Since mosquito racing has never really been practical, we had to use the frogs. Seven frogs were allocated different countries, and were marked with a numbered tag attached to them by an elastic band around their middles. Bids were placed on the frogs, mostly by one drunk Kiwi who pledged over $100 on five of the seven frogs - the look on his face as it dawned on him that they wanted him to hand over the money was priceless. One of his frogs won, but because of the second prize given to the sixth-slowest frog, he got back slightly less than he'd put in. After this, the evening of the 24th wound down, and everyone wandered off to bed to recover.

I'm sure the 25th of October was significant for some reason... Our bus carried on in the morning, with a slight change of passengers - Sarah (the slightly moody English one) stayed in Mango Bay, to be replaced by another Sarah (the insane, neurotic Kiwi one) and also Shannon and Marcy, bringing us up to two Canadians, a Kiwi, two Japanese, two Germans, four English (and me, although I had ended up supporting the English frog in the race). First order of business was a trek through the jungle. This was made even more entertaining by some of the path being through a stream which varied in depth from ankle to thigh. Bola subtly called me to the back of the group and shouted at Doug to "spread the message", tipping me off slightly that some sort of birthday surprise was going to happen later.

Once we'd negotiated the jungle (except Christine, who took the lazy option of going by boat) we were able to engage in a bit of river tubing - similar to the black-water rafting in Waitomo Caves, this involves sitting in a giant tyre and floating down the rapids. After nearly being run over by a couple of boats, we arrived at a waterfall with a deep pool underneath which provided plenty of scope for jumping in. Our guides climbed up the rocks and flew into the pool from frankly insane heights. Doug, Steve and I jumped from part of the way up the rocks, but it was too hairy to go further unless you're mad. Luckily, Bola and Junior are mad.

(I should also add that I've seen a few swastikas around - these are used in their original meaning as a symbol of peace, before the Nazis co-opted it. When Bola was jumping in the waterfall I spotted one tattooed on his back - you have to love the irony of a black man with a swastika on him, Hitler must be spinning in his bunker...)

Once we'd all unintentionally drunk too much water, we were taken back to the bus by riverboat (in the rain) and headed straight for Suva, the capital of Fiji, to stay in Rain Tree Lodge (it's nae a lodge, but fit a bloody lot o' rain). Our dinner that evening was in the Mad Dog restaurant, and I was presented with a cake which everyone had contributed towards. Then it was next door to the nightclub to dance to the some familiar music (more on that later). The evening fizzled out when Sarah, sick of not being the centre of attention, threw a major strop about having her picture taken (she doesn't like it).

Next day on the bus we had a village visit for a proper kava ceremony, a visit to a school, some bamboo rafting and some driving along nonexistent roads (still not as bad as Cambodia, mind you). The on-board entertainment was starting to grate, though - while Bola was a fantastic guide and great fun to be around, his choice in music was making my brain itch. He had a book of CDs, and he routinely flicked through it to play one or two songs (always the same songs) before changing CDs to play some more overly familiar tunes. While I could just about cope with hearing Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" and the Bloodhound Gang's "Fire Water Burn" sixteen times a day, I drew the line at being repeatedly subjected to the Pussycat Dolls and the sodding Black Eyed Peas over and over again. I managed to put my MP3 player on the bus speakers for a short time on my birthday, but it randomly selected Radiohead, who don't really fit in with the Fijian way of life.

I drew up a sweepstake for what the first song we'd hear after the village visit would be, and got my fellow passengers to choose their nomination. Shannon won by cannily choosing "unidentifiable". Still, at least I was distracted from the music by being sat next to Sarah, who proceeded to drive me up the wall. Aside from her ignorance of the concept of personal space, she liked her breathtakingly stupid questions - on passing the women's prison, she said "oh, so you have a court system in Fiji!" I told her that they didn't, they just randomly threw people in prison.

Before I wander off on a tangent (there's more Sarah stories to come) I'd better get back to the point. For the kava ceremony Bola decided I would be the chief and Doug would be the spokesman. Doug had the hardest job, he had to crawl forward and touch the bowl and speak a few words in Fijian, all I had to do was drink loads of the stuff. Afterwards we went to the school, armed with our gifts of stationery. The kids were very enthusiastic and welcoming, even though they get at least four bus-loads of tourists every week etc. Rules on the wall included "always speak in English at all times", "always be in the classroom at 7:45am every day" and "show respect to your class teacher and other teachers" - can't see any of that ever catching on in Wallace High School.

After that we had some bamboo rafting, during which most people ended up in the river. We didn't actually go far down the river, we were split between three rafts and alternately tried to punt them with the long bamboo poles and throw water over other rafts. This got us nice and damp for the bus journey to Volivoli, where the weather miraculously dried up and the sun reappeared. The entertainment that night was provided by Sarah going absolutely off her head (storming off in the huff for no reason, throwing water balloons with extreme prejudice at Bola and hitting the computer behind the bar) and a few games, including crab racing (Junior placed the crabs in the circle, and his crab won...) Later there was a bonfire on the beach, Bola vanished into the night looking for everyone and Junior shared his Fiji rum (58% alcohol, apparently - it didn't taste too bad, but I had trouble standing up afterwards).

The next day most people stayed in Volivoli, leaving me, Doug and Steph (who recently got engaged - congratulations and all that) to be joined by Guillame and Stephane, two fairly quiet French guys. Our only major stop was the natural mud baths near Nadi - interesting sensation, even if I still had mud under my toenails a week later. I'm sure it was probably good for the skin or something.

You may have had to wait two weeks for an update to this damn thing, but guess what!  There's another one as well!  Click on the "SOUTH SEA ISLAND" on your right to read the next exciting instalment...