@page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } WHY FIJI? CRAIG CORMICK ‘I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach …’ A boat arrives at the island just after lunch, and we all look up from the dining table to see who it’s brought. We’re sitting in the main hut there, Rosie and me and the two Austrians we’ve met, Kurt and Ingrid, just talking and waiting for the temperature to drop a little. Losana, the resort hostess, waddles down to the wharf to welcome the newcomers. Well, it’s called a resort, but really it’s more of a backpackers’ place. Budget accommodation and lots of young people. And to my embarrassment I’m the only person I’ve seen with a carry bag, not a backpack. The new arrivals step awkwardly from the small boat onto the rickety wooden pier. There are four of them. All with backpacks. Two guys and two girls. ‘Whadya reckon?’ I ask Rosie. ‘Americans?’ ‘They look it,’ she says. ‘No,’ says Kurt. ‘They’re Germans.’ I tell you, he’s a mastermind at this, and if he ever goes on one of those TV quiz shows, his topic will be picking German backpackers by sight.
