Lessons in Hop-hop

As another week begins it is all too easy to get caught up in the Fijian way of life; munching on coconuts on the long walk home from school is definitely one of the nicer Monday evening commutes I personally have had to do and there is nothing quite so refreshing on this planet as the first icy bucket of water in the shower after a long day on project. The skies in the Pacific are definitely of the Fern Britton variety – big and beautiful. Whether its star littered inky black or huge swathes of red and amber daubed on a perfect blue canvas the views here would have even the most strident Cubist reaching for his watercolours. Yanuca Island, Lomaiviti is fast becoming as much of a home as the rainy north of England.

Projects are all flying along. Watching the community hall take shape over the last few weeks has been fantastic and racing against the elements to try and nail down the last piece of roofing before the whole thing got wet and became slippier than Alastair Campbell learning to ice-skate was a particular highlight for me. School and Kindi remain a mystery at the moment but seeing the exhausted, frustrated and occasionally elated faces of the volunteers at school tells its own story. Huge respect goes to Emilie and Andy especially who’ve been single handedly taking the lessons for class 5 for nearly a fortnight.

Now it may be the case that since packing your loved one off to Fiji and avidly following their exploits online the phrase ‘hop-hop’ has entered your personal lexicon. And it may seem as though we’re doing it quite a lot. What is not so clear is what exactly a hop-hop entails, so what follows is an effort to make that grey area a little more monochrome.

Hop-hop, simply put, is dancing. Usually quite gently. Usually to one of the same ten or twelve Fijian songs that everybody in the village knows. And very often it is done against one’s will. Usually a hop-hop will start as a peaceful grog session but as soon as the ladies of the village appear it’s time to put on your dancing flip-flops. Probably best described by Tomos as “like Dad dancing at a wedding”, Hop-hop is a chance to bust some old school moves – the cheesier the better. More is more seems to be the general rule of thumb in Fijian life and this applies double on the dance floor. There’s no shame in copying something you’ve seen on TV, the Fijians probably won’t have seen it but they will find it hilarious all the same. There is a much gentler option to the standard ‘freestyle’ which involves two partners walking backwards and forwards with their arms round one another’s waist, roughly in time with the music, the plus side of course is you’ll conserve energy but sadly nobody gets away with doing this one for very long. You can’t escape it, you can’t hide from it by sitting near the grog bowl, the ladies won’t take no for an answer, and in the end the rhythm is going to get you.

I’d like to finish with something that should be familiar to Daily Mail readers everywhere: a full retraction and apology. In a previous blog post it was implied that a Miss Jones and a Miss Hobbiss were romantically entwined. I am assured by both parties that this is not the case and that they are just good friends.

Moce, Tomo