Integritus Prime

Today is the last day of my writing retreat. The intention was to reflect on 2021, set goals for 2022, and otherwise unplug from my usual life. I chose a resort at which I’d previously had pleasant experiences as a facilitator and with my family on vacation. It is a gorgeous place with gentle thunder of ocean, friendly people who seem to really care, and what I consider a down-to-earth vibe.

Little did I know my third visit to this piece of paradise would be so tainted. I’ve boycotted tourist destinations before, and will be boycotting this one. Here’s why.

I booked by phone and paid a deposit online, as requested. Then, a day before I was to depart for the resort, I received a call asking whether I was still interested. I mentioned I had already paid a deposit and my booking had been confirmed by the lady on the phone. The person calling me now had no record of it, despite the proof of payment I had sent. I sent it again, at which point they accepted my booking. Today, I found out that my parents, when they arranged to send me flowers as a surprise, had learned from the resort reception that there was no booking under my name. That was when they called me; they had forgotten or overlooked my booking, despite the deposit.

When I checked in, I was told sassily that my massage therapist was waiting. I had previously been given the run around about the timing and type of massages, despite a few phone calls and emails. I had wanted to book two massages over the three days I would spend at the resort. I was happy to hear that I could have my massage at my chosen time, and eagerly went to the spa. While rubbing oil onto my upper back, the massage therapist mentioned that a lot of Indian people were coming to stay at the resort the next day. As a Fijian-American of Indian ethnicity, I didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

I tried to enjoy my massage, and heaven knows it was sorely needed. However, I couldn’t help but notice the overpowering smell of fake passionfruit. It seemed to be part of the ventilation system and was everywhere. The massage at this4-star resort didn’t compare to what I would typically receive from my talented massage therapist and acupressurist in California, but after two years of no massages thanks to the pandemic, it was wonderful. I took a walk on the beach afterwards, allowing the ocean waves to caress my feet. Poetry began to flow incessantly, because finally I was slowing down, alone, and in Nature. I was grateful.

At my first dinner, I ordered a fried rice that was white rice with some tiny flecks of vegetables in it, despite having asked for lots of veggies. I was not shown the menu and told I could only order either the fried rice or chow mein, but they didn’t have rice noodles. I’m vegan and gluten-free and they know that. I had given plenty of notice about my needs, and they knew me from my previous visits.

When I tried to order a tofu dish to go with the rice, I was told it came with chicken, and then told not to order it, or to order it tomorrow. I didn’t quite know what to make of that, especially given that the person at the table next to me was ordering exactly that tofu dish sans chicken from the Asian menu, which I had still not been shown. I mentioned that it might be good to show me the menu next time so I could decide properly what to order based on the ingredients available. I received no reply.

I was not happy. I did manage to order the the tofu dish to complement the rice, once the waitress noticed I was miserably moving rice around on my plate. Don’t get me wrong, some of the staff were nice to me…one waiter in particular was genuine and kind – thanks to him, I was able to take my leftovers to my room, because the portions were big, and because I don’t waste food if I can help it.

Back in my room, I tried to take a shower but there was no hot water. I do take cold showers occasionally, but this was not one of those occasions. I called reception and they said they would fix it – which they did within several minutes and I proceeded to take a hot shower.

The next day, after some negotiation, I was pleased to be able to eat gluten-free bread with peanut butter and some fruit for breakfast. After more walks and lots more poetry oozing out of me, I ate my leftovers for lunch and took a nap. I proceeded to do my goal setting and reflections, and then went for another beach walk before dinner. I had been told it would be a full house and to reserve my spot, so I had.

My reservation was for 7pm and I was on time. I ordered a vegetable curry with rice and dal, and some sparkling water. I ate my meal and was enjoying my sparkling water when a waitress came up to me and told me that my table had been booked for 8pm and the people were here. I looked at my phone: 7.40pm. I told her I would drink my beverage and leave, but I ended up leaving before I had finished it – I couldn’t help but feel I wasn’t wanted.

Lo and behold – the hot water wasn’t working again. I called reception, and was told someone would fix it. I waited about 20 minutes, calling twice more, and was told the person was in the kitchen so he hadn’t fixed it yet. It sounded like it was my fault for calling so many times. Meanwhile, I’d spent two evenings out of two standing around naked with wet feet and hands, waiting for the hot water to come on so I could take a shower.

Thanks to my walks on the beach, I was tired and slept well. At breakfast, there was soy milk so I had some corn flakes with that, and my usual gluten-free bread with fruit. I spent some hours walking and writing poetry. When I went to lunch, I was given the lunch menu (my first time seeing a menu) and told that there was a garden salad I could have.

After some thinking, I ordered the salad but with tofu on top, so it would be filling enough. While waiting for my meal and enjoying a view of the ocean, I was approached by the receptionist, who casually asked me if I could come 1.5 hours later than planned for my second massage. I said no, because I had booked it two days ago based on the time the massage therapist had preferred. The receptionist muttered something about all the bookings being messed up, and then left, seeing that I held my ground.

My salad came and it looked good. The tofu was breaded, so I asked if the coating contained gluten. I was told, “It’s cornflour, are you allergic to that too?” and I couldn’t tell if this waitress was being sarcastic or not. I said, “No, I’m good, thank you,” and proceeded to enjoy my salad.

I couldn’t help but think that I was being treated like a problem to contain, or a sore thumb. Maybe it was because of my dietary needs, or my ethnicity, or perhaps the fact that I was there alone, breaking social norms. I told myself it was okay to continue to take up space. I refused to take meals in my room. I wanted to spend time in my own company and with the ocean – after all, this was my retreat. I asked to see the manager, with whom I felt a connection and who had ensured very pleasant stays before. I was told he was not around.

I went in for my second massage, and this time I asked if the aggressive fake passionfruit smell could be paused for the duration of my massage, because it was getting into my eyes and nostrils and making me uncomfortable. The massage therapist denied there was any air freshener, despite my repeated requests. I gave up and lay down for my massage, using the sheet as a covering for my nose.

The massage was good, and when it was over, I noticed that the massage therapist had started 15 minutes late and finished on time, so I got a 45-minute massage, not the hour I was paying for. Still, I thanked her, and went out for another walk on the beach, allowing the waves to soothe me.

On my way to dinner, I stopped by reception to ask them to fix the hot water before I went back to my room, so I could have a hot shower without having to call and wait, for a change. The receptionist apologized this time, maybe because the resort owner (or at least the person who had been introduced to me as the owner) happened to be close by at that moment. This show of concern was not genuine, I felt, so I turned away and went to the dining area.

I sat down at my reserved table and the waitress came to take my order. This was the same waitress who had told me not to order tofu on my first night. She gave me the lunch menu. I asked for the Asian menu, which I had yet to see but had heard about and noticed others ordering from previously. She mentioned I could not order from that menu, because the chef was very busy, and that he would make items on the Asian menu only after 7.30pm. It was now 6.30pm (I had booked a table early in the hopes of not being asked to leave, as I had been last night)…

Something in me snapped, and I guess this was the straw that broke my camel’s back. I stood up slowly and walked back to the reception. I asked for the owner, and explained to him all the little things that had been said and done over the past couple of days, and how I felt I was being treated like I didn’t matter, or worse, like I didn’t belong here.

He immediately walked with me, fixed my hot water, then asked if I wanted food sent to my room. I said no, I would not be eating here again, and I would not be returning to this resort. He said it was my prerogative – and yes, it is. I refuse, on principle, to return to a place where I am treated this way.

I mentioned to the owner that during my previous two visits, I was made to feel very welcome. It was thanks to the manager, who, I was then told, was having a weekend off. According to the owner, it shouldn’t matter if that manager was here or not, I should have been treated better. I agree.

And then it hit me. I don’t like to think this way, but this thought came anyway…You see, that manager is of Indian ethnicity. Without him, my experience was very different here. Majority of the staff here are iTaukei (indigenous Fijian), and they seem to carry an anti-Indian vibe that has plagued our nation for decades, ever since the first military coup in 1987.

Coming back to the manager: it’s not his Indian-ness that had created my beautiful previous experiences. It was his huge heart, his tendency to go over and beyond and make my family and me feel welcomed and special. I had brought my family here for a milestone birthday, and had felt so happy and grateful to finally be treated right. You see, this manager embodies the true Fijian hospitality that is apparently world-famous. There is one iTaukei waiter here with the same heart: the one who packed me my leftovers.

Despite these two beautiful examples of true hospitality, racism, I am sad to say, is still alive and well here. It’s especially sad because Fiji is about to open its borders. If we can’t treat our own citizens with care, how will we fare with foreigners? Or, is this our old flavor of neo-colonialism, where it’s imperative to treat white-skinned people with all the respect, while locals, especially ethnically Indian Fijians, get treated like they are unimportant, unwanted, and unwelcome?

As a Fijian, I am hurt. As a Fijian-American, I am mortified that the same racial microaggressions happening to people of color in the United State are happening here too in paradise. As a human being, I feel sad. Clearly, we have a lot more work to do to change how we treat one another.

Racial microaggressions are defined as:

“brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial slights and insults…”

Ruth Terry, Racial Microaggressions Are Real. Here’s How to Navigate Them

I think the word indignities really struck a chord with me, because inadvertently I had started chanting a mantra in my head about dignity whenever I went to the dining area. Now I know why.

At the very least, I hope no one else is treated the way I was at this resort or anywhere else for that matter, but I know that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon. Sea change takes time. We must keep working to end racism and other forms of prejudice. Hope is important, but it isn’t enough. We must act.

It’s not the first time for me to encounter such treatment, so I know not to attach any self-worth to the way I was treated. But yes, it hurts. I used meditation to clean away the hurt last night, then looked up racial microaggressions, which I had been reading about recently. Then I wrote this post.

I didn’t eat dinner and I won’t be eating breakfast here. On principle, I will not support an establishment that allows unjust behavior. Thankfully, I brought trail mix, so that was my dinner and will be my breakfast.

The birds are still singing this morning. I am grateful for many things: the ocean, alone time, poetry, and massages, even though I woke up with itchy skin from the fake passionfruit smell and the flavored massage oil. I’m allergic to fake fragrances. In any case, those were my positives. And, I got a powerful refresher on what it’s like to be on the receiving end of racial microaggressions. The best way to learn anything, as they say, is the hard way.

My response was to speak up and bring awareness to the issue, refuse to tolerate any more of the injustice, and to stop eating meals here by way of peaceful protest. I aim to be a peaceful person, and feel that racism is violence against the heart, which violates the essence of humanity. I will never be okay with that…never. There is a better way, and we must keep working towards it. We must challenge our beliefs, and find kinder ways of living together as one.