January 26th, 2019. My girlfriend and I arrived to our hotel called Smuggler's Cove outside the main city of Nadi on the west coast of the main island, Viti Levu. Smuggler's Cove was situated on a somewhat dirty but eventful beach. Local smiles cursing the tourists, fresh fish filtering from the sea for guests to eat. Local beer and cocktails run amok like wildfires in the hands of inexperienced travellers. We spent the days prior blistering in the sun and getting to know the bartenders, locals on the beach, an old man who whittled coconuts fresh from the trees. My personally major mistake was drinking too heavily and mistaking the mosquito spray for sunblock. I burned like an egg in a full metal frying pan. After a few days of being served by most lovely people, such as a new friend, Leah, we decided we'd venture into town to the local markets to pick up fresh produce. We took a taxi from the hotel to town. We drove down Queens Rd, passed some industrial sites where car lots and mechanic shops loomed like foreign investment. We got the taxi drivers name, Steve. Or, so he said his name was and he told us that if we every needed anything to call his number. He handed me a small business card. Nothing but name and number on it. We left him and went to the market. Local produce. The freshest watermelon ever to drip from a bite. Local fruits and vegetables were available at incredibly cheap prices. The patrons sold everything from asparagus to lychee fruit. Sugar cane, dried fish. Anything you would wish for from a local market. After the market we got another taxi from there back to the hotel, set our purchases in the fridge and made our way to the bar. There we met our Australian friend, Wayne who had been sitting on the beach tanning, drinking tequila and Fiji Gold. We had decided our night was to be more than expected of a regular island party so I decided to give Steve a call. He agreed to pick me up at 11:30am outside the hotel. I waited at the bar for the call and smoked my cigarettes. I walked to the front of the hotel and hopped into the cab. Local island music was blasting from the stereo and we drove off into town to a McDonald’s. We stopped there. I expected his connection to show up to meet us so we went inside and I bought us some sundae’s. The weather was extreme. Forty-plus degrees Celsius. Steve sat reading his newspaper and I sat on my phone. A few minutes passed by and we went to his car. We pulled out onto the street down the way from McDonald’s when a large cargo van pulled up. He told me to get in. Nervously, I wondered if it was really worth it but I had a story in mind. I hopped in the van and met two locals. We’ll call them Tom and John. Tom was the driver and very kind. Dark skinned, wearing a tropical shirt and broken sandals. John had long dreads and sweat profusely. We drove on into a neighbouring town. Where there was an ATM I could take out from cash for the uplifting white powder. It was more expensive than I had thought but it made sense considering Fiji is such an isolated island nation. As we drove on, the driver, Tom, made a stop and John went, grabbed one gram of cocaine from a small house nearby. He came back, I gave him the money and he told me we had to drive further to get more for the money I had. It was now 12:30pm. We drove into the back bush of Fiji. Twisted through mountains and vines, where after five hours of running around I found myself at a Fijian trap house. Missed called from Wayne and my girlfriend, the taxi driver that was supposed to pick me back up at McDonald’s. The driver of the van thought they were getting too nervous, constantly calling and whatnot. Tom eventually joked, “What? Do they think we’re cannibals?”. Both of them laughed and I nervously did, too. The two men went into the house and left me in the van to sample the product. It was now 4:30 pm. Still receiving calls. The two men came back and began our drive back to the hotel. We had deep talks about the culture of Fiji, the people, the rituals and love for the island. Another four hours of dipping in and out of tree filled roads, mountains and waterfalls abundant. We arrived back, I paid the drivers and never heard from the taxi man again. I found my girlfriend and Wayne on the patio smoking and drinking. Should I have run to the jungle for cocaine? Probably not, but at least it was a grand story I could joke about for the rest of my life. .