You may have heard – Fiji is currently experiencing a coup d’etat.

Well, you probably haven’t heard.
In fact, I’m willing to bet that many of you don’t even know where Fiji is.

Because your military leaders haven’t invaded it yet, in the name of preserving Democracy.
Because Fiji isn’t known for its oil.
There. I’ve said it.

It is known for its coconuts, but you can get those in a lot of places, and they aren’t really all that essential for the running of engines. They do make sexy island-girl bras, but that’s beside the point.

The military commander there recently overthrew the publicly-elected government, because he was unhappy that his troops had to mow their barrack lawns with a machete.

The prime minister ignored his requests for a lawnmower, thus infuriating Commander Bananarama, so he took action.

Our government was going to step in, but then they remembered that our soldiers don’t have any guns.

So then they thought about instead sending in our national rugby team, the All Blacks. But then they realised that some of the key players that have made our side the best in the world are actually Fijian, and we really don’t want to piss them off. Not with the Rugby World Cup coming up next year.

Which means Commander Bananarama is still illegally running the country.

It’s Fiji’s 6,000th coup in about 15 years.
There’s nothing much else to do there, I guess, except drink kava (a tranquilizing drink that numbs the tongue and lips), and overthrow the government.

I was in Fiji just before their last coup.

The two are unrelated.

I wrote a 1000-word travel feature following my trip, but it never got published.

I like to blame the coup for that.

Not the fact that I graphically talk about puking my guts out in front of tribal chiefs, and that I was trying to get it published in a “family-orientated” paper…

Here is that story:

Kava kid gets his comeuppance.

IT'S TIME to come clean about my secret kava shame.

I had gone out in search of a ground pepper-root high, but instead ended the night feeling so, so low.

Throughout Fiji's remote Yasawa Islands, I am now shamefully known as one of the few white men to be sick on their beloved narcotic potion.

A brew resembling (and tasting like) muddy water, wasted in the sand; stifled chuckles from the bunch of Fijian onlookers who politely pretended not to notice; my kava days over before they had even begun.

Things started out promising enough.

I'd only experienced one bitter mouthful of kava previously, at a formal village welcome a couple of days earlier, but it was nowhere near enough to hit that mellow buzz experienced drinkers talk about.

And so, in the interests of investigative journalism, a colleague and I decided to join in a serious kava ceremony.

There had been similar madness days earlier when we were caught chasing cane toads around the grounds of the Sheraton Fiji in Nandi, after being told that they had hallucinogenic properties.

I had chickened out after realizing that it would be hard to explain to the travel insurance people back home that I got ill after licking a toad's back.

Kava is formally known as yaqona, and is made from the roots of a native pepper tree. It numbs the mouth and limbs when swallowed.

Fijians used to make it by chewing the root into a soft, pulpy mass, then spitting it into a bowl.

Thankfully, it is made these days by pounding or grating the root before mixing it with water, although during some formal ceremonies you can hear villagers clearing their throats as a symbolic reminder of the past.

In Fiji's cannibal days, an enemy's skull was used as the drinking cup, or "bilo". Warriors had special weapons which would enable them to pierce their enemy's brains without destroying what would become fine kava bowls.

These days, the skull is substituted for half a coconut shell.

It's easy enough to find places to try kava, either at resorts, on village visits, or in quiet shopping centres. There are even special yaqona saloons.

On this occasion I was drinking with the crew of the Mystique Princess on Nanuya Lailai. They had heard of our plans and sat waiting with bowls ready.

I was careful to remember the kava etiquette taught to us before our Malikati village visit: clap once before receiving the bowl and say "bula" before sculling back the contents.

Clap three times after you've drained the bilo and then execute the most important, and most difficult, part: smile as you hand the bowl back.

It has a slight aniseed taste… sort of medicinal.

Perhaps that's why some companies have been quick to market it as a health drink to combat depression. About 50 tonnes of dried kava root is shipped overseas each week.

Fiji psychologists have, however, blamed kava for destroying some marriages, because the men drink so much of it, so often, that they are, allegedly, unable to satisfy their women.

I couldn't detect any effects at all following the first full bilo.

I went through about four more coconut shells, still without any real impact except for a bad taste in my mouth.

I thought kava would be like Guinness - the first one takes a bit of getting used to, but your taste buds quickly adjust.

I was wrong. Kava did not get any better. My suggestion that perhaps they could mix it with a little tonic water, or some Coke, did not go down too well.

I decided it was time to get some food in my stomach and take a dinner break.

That's when my mind started swirling.

Eating was like a flashback to early childhood, with the aeroplane fork going into the hanger.

I felt relaxed and happy. This is what I was after. It was time to get back to the kava circle.

Little did I know that while I was a way, the crew had made a much stronger brew. And as I sat down, they handed me a giant bilo, which seemed like the size of a bucket.

I knew I was out of my depth, but did not want to offend anyone by refusing, so down it went.

It seemed to take an eternity to drain the contents and my lips found it painfully hard to form a smile as I handed back the cup.

Then there was 10 minutes of strangeness. The Fijians kept staring at my head and I started to get paranoid that perhaps they had plans of turning it into a kava bowl.

I wasn't seeing any strange swirling colours, but my fellow travellers sure were.

They were watching with rising fascination as my skin turned greener and greener.

I felt rather ill and knew it was time to take a beach walk and "catch some fresh air".

But I had barely turned my head to the beach as the kava hit the sand.

My downfall, as analysed later by my tour guide: "too much kava, too soon."

Apparently it is not such a great insult to insist on a smaller serving.

I spent the rest of my Fiji trip cowering in corners at resorts and avoiding all offers of kava. I stuck to Guinness.

But kava is a must for travellers. You can't really say you've experienced Fiji until you've tried it. Just beware Fijians who use the kava bowl to teach foolish foreigners a lesson.

Well, there you go. I guess you can technically call that being published. Does this mean I have to pay myself for it now? Fuck it was long. If I’d know that, I would have cut it back by a good 800 words.