Once more I found myself bound for an airport. I left Wellington in the early morning. There was a promise of sun in the sky, but as yet no direct light had entered the bowl of the harbour. All was quiet, with no-one on the streets and only an occasional passing car. I walked down the hill to Courtney Place and found the bus stop for the airport bus. My flight was due to leave at seven, and the first bus of the day was just early enough (5.50am) to get me there in time.

I checked in in trepidation: I had both my big bags with me, this being the last time I would be in Wellington for the foreseeable future, and I was way over the weight limit. But I got away with it, and went swiftly to my plane to Auckland.

At Auckland I once again walked between terminals, this time making my way to the International building instead of from it. Bizarrely for my experience of the city, it wasn't raining; in fact it was rather warm. I rushed with my bags to check in for my next flight, there being only an hour to spare. Once I had checked in my rucksack, I made my way upstairs to meet Gayle (my cousin's daughter) who conveniently works in the airport. I left my other bag with her - the bag that contains things I won't need until I go to Hong Kong, like my suit and smart shoes - but didn't have time for a coffee. I had to go straight to departures.

And then, after an inordinately long queue for all passengers to pass through only two working X-ray machines, I found myself on the plane bound for the South Seas!

Arriving in Fiji was for me as exotic as was arriving in Madagascar or in Laos. I was greeted off the plane by a rush of heat, a visual explosion of greenery, and the sounds of a three-piece island band singing and playing lilting melodies. It was quite something! I, a world-weary traveller for whom airports seem mostly to blend into one, found myself grinning in anticipation of a good time. The grin didn't even wear off after over an hour of queueing to pass through immigration (the hastily-printed A4 posters at the passport desk said "we have installed a new IT system and apologise for any delays"; they might wear louder shirts in Fiji but they're only human after all).

Then I was through, and had to work out how to find the guy who was to meet me from the hotel Dan L had booked for us. Did I mention I was due to meet my mate Dan from uni? He has been working in a hospital in Gizo in the Solomon Islands, doing his ten weeks of elective for his medical studies in London. Well, on the other side of customs there was the normal developing-world rush of unlicenced taxis eager to relieve me of my bags. I politely fought my way through and eventually found Philip from Nadi Bay Hotel. He took me out to his waiting minivan and then went back in to fetch his other pickups. Meanwhile I got chatting with the people already in the van.

Soon we were off to the hotel, some ten minutes' drive away along dusty but reasonably well-kept tarmac roads. The level of development visible along the road was on a par with Thailand. Buildings were a bit shoddy looking but fairly sturdy; there was plenty of advertising hoardings and a surprising number of phone boxes. Fijian phone boxes are cool! They sport long diagonals in the form of some traditional spear with a two-pronged, crescent-shaped business end. And most of them carry adverts for competing brands of corned beef, a local staple.

The hotel was much nicer than I was expecting. There was a big pool with a lovely shady poolside bar, a separate big restaurant area and lots of dorms & rooms. I was taken to my room by a female member of staff in her typical flowing flowery dress.

It took a while to get used to the overtly friendly greetings from every passing Fijian - even outside on the street towards the shops, I was spoken to by almost everyone I passed. Everyone here is smiling, and after a while you're smiling too.

A slight cloud passed over me when I learned that Dan's flight from the Solomons had been cancelled, and he wouldn't be joining me that evening as planned. He had to fly instead via Brisbane and wouldn't arrive for another day & a half. This gave me Wednesday to myself, and I arranged to go diving. Then I just relaxed, read my book (Bernard has lent me "Atlas Shrugged", the novel that outlines novelist Ayn Rand's philosophy of Objectivism which is basically that profit is morally good and is the motor of human civilisation), and chilled out.

I had dinner with an Aussie girl who I met while booking the diving; she was on the same trip the next day. We had a few drinks and dinner, then I retired to my room and had an early night. The room was nice but hot; it was a typical tropical evening with humidity and a brief rainstorm from the clouds that had built up over the hills all day.

On Wednesday I met Anna for breakfast, then we headed off to the dive shop. There was a bit of fun & games when the taxi that was supposed to take us turned up already carrying three passengers; the driver wanted one of us to jump in the boot, but the woman from the hotel who had booked our trip for us was adamant that we should do no such thing. I'm glad she took a stand on our behalf because the boot was pretty uninviting, especially with the half-hour journey we had ahead of us. Eventually a second taxi was arranged and we left.

The dive shop - Aquacadabra - was run by a Scots guy who seemed nice enough. We got our gear and headed over to the boat, which was moored alongside a replica Viking longship that looked pretty out of place in the sweltering heat of the marina. Once we were all aboard we sped across the shallow waters for ten minutes to your textbook tropical island idyll: palm trees swaying, golden sands fringing a little hummock of heaven set in the green-blue expanse of coral reefs.

I didn't get off here; this was where the one-day scuba experience people were to spend their morning. We dropped most people off and then it was only me and three crew who shot off to another island. We picked up two Aussie guys and then sailed round the other side of the island to our first dive site, a rocky pinnacle with all sorts of hard & soft corals, and fish aplenty.

The second dive was spectacular: before we went down I jokingly requested of our divemaster that he find me a shark and an octopus, and blow me if he didn't then proceed to come up with the goods! It was a sizeable white-tip reef shark that swung past us after a bit, and then just before we had to surface we found a pretty big octopus hiding in a hole and slowly changing colour to mesmerise us or make us think he wasn't really there. How pleased was I!!

We dropped off the Aussie guys back on their holiday island, then cruised back to the other island. The seas by this time had become a bit more swelly, and it was a rollercoaster ride back. I had to stand up - there was no way I could stay sat down when I was being bounced into the air with each trough of a wave - and hold on for dear life as we surged forward, both motors giving it large and even the salty sea dog crew having to hold themselves steady on various bits of boat.

I didn't have time for lunch with the others on the tropical paradise island, but it was okay because I'd stuffed my face on the chocolate chip biscuits we'd had after the dive. We went back to the mainland and to the dive shop, only for Steve the Scots guy to discover that he'd locked himself out of his office! In the end I left my dive log book with him to stamp and then drop off at the hotel later, and Anna & I went back to the hotel.

I spent the afternoon doing absolutely bugger all. It was great! I read my book in my room, I read my book by the pool, I read my book in the bar, I read my book on the street outside to watch the sun set behind the sugar cane plantation, I read my book over dinner, I read my book back in my room.