The last big hurdle of the trip, the thing that oddly had me more nervous than anything else I have done here, was the seminar on environmental journalism that Shalen Singh of the University of the South Pacific Journalism Department has been putting together while I have been hopping around other islands.

It was quite a nice affair that featured three scientists from USP (a conservation biologist, a chemist who works with plastics and a marine biologist), four speakers from local NGOs and myself. After lunch, I gave a little talk about what I think environmental journalism is, how I think there are a lot of great opportunities for stories in the islands and what I found on my trips to Nauru and Tuvalu. It is not a subject given a lot of thought throughout the region, although I think the South Pacific attracts its fair share of western journalists. I think the talk went rather well aside from my talking too fast and sweating like I was running a marathon. It was a full house by the time I went on--maybe 50 people altogether, mostly students, but also some representatives of the local media. It may show some results, as already there was a rare story about climate change in the Fiji Times this morning, written by Ashwini Prabha, the communications rep for the regional WWF office. Shalen has promised to let me know what kinds of stories might come from it; there were a lot of good story ideas in the presentations the stidents were given and I hope I gave them something they can use.

For my last night in Fiji, Shalen took me out for a couple of drinks with some of his former students. And aware that I had yet to try Fijian kava, we gave that a whirl as well. You might remember me writing about the kava experience from Vanuatu, where people mocked Fijian kava as watered down, weak and pointless.

So we pulled up to a kind of social club in the economically diverse area of Suva called Toorak. This social club is made of many guys that Shalen grew up with in the area (even though he lives in an expansive suburb now), mostly reformed criminals, led by a guy who sounds like he was once one of Suva's great break-in artists and spent a great deal of time in prison. Apparently, when there is a break-in even now, the police some to see him first.

Here, kava is often called "grog," and I love the idea of a "grog session." This social club gets together just about every night for kava I think, drinking from the same two shells dipped in a communal bowl. According to Shalen, 10 shells of kava every night for two weeks and you'll be hooked for life. I don't know I could ver get that far.

While one of the club members was preparing the kava, I asked him about Vanuatu kava. "That stuff'll kill you," he said. And sure enough, Fijian grog is quite mild compared with the Vanuatu stuff, which can knock you on your ass with just a couple of shells. This stuff--you could probably have 5-10 in the course of a night with few untoward effects. The spittoons and chasers that are essential in Vanuatu are unnecessary here, and Fijian kava will only make your tongue numb, rather than the entire lower half of your face. A slightly more social experience, I think because the grog sessions can go on much longer. So we stuck around for a few shells, as the break-in artist mused wistfully about gaining access to an American market for kava so he can make enough money to build a block of flats for the club. I'm not sure it's going to take.

So I'm off today. I'll be about 28 hours in transit.

I never saw the musical South Pacific, but I read the James Michener book before I left and I think in the last couple of weeks I've started to understand some of it. One of Michener's themes was that, aside from war, being in the South Pacific, with its combination of beauty, unsettling heat and sun, waiting, isolation, scarcity and generally allowing the world to go by while you are fixed in an unchanging landscape, does really funny things to people. Model soldiers, who would have earned medals or died with valor in Europe became petty thugs in this languorous hothouse, while the most slovenly, ill kempt and insolent guys were the most resourceful and heroic soldiers. It is a matter of pace, of constancy, of inactivity. It takes a mindset, another way of thinking about the world that much more different than my experience than I thought it would be. The distance to here is much more than geographical.

I think a few would take to it right away, never want to leave. I don't think I ever fully adjusted, but I think I may have come to understand it a little. I suppose it is all I could have asked.