It took 24 hours for us to leave Vancouver and arrive in Fiji, which meant a total of two sleep-deprived nights. Add to that a quasi-ripoff at an airport travel agency and a 21-hour time zone difference.

It was a shock to the system, one that made my first steps on Fiji’s ivory sands seem unreal. My body had arrived at one of the most spectacular tropical paradises it ever set foot on. But my head was still in a cloud of fatigue and confusion.

But, little by little, harmony prevailed.

There was the welcome serenade by the staff of Bounty Island as we stepped off the boat. There were the flowers that adorned the head of men and women. More flowers on the tables, the sinks, the trees. Being greeted with a sunny “Bula!” by each and every Fijian. The turquoise sea, the purple starfish, the rainbow sea creatures, swimming among manta rays. We were treated to bountiful meals and enjoyed a sun was in no rush to leave. The men wore sarongs, the women wide smiles and maternal attitudes.

The night ended with the drinking of kava, a ceremonial root that has become vestigial in Fijian life, consumed ritualistically mostly by village elders. Mathew, who prepared our drink, said its psychoactive effect would be like alcohol: relaxation, lowered inhibitions, and, in case of excessive use, difficulty walking and partial paralysis.

I don’t know if it was the kava, the sapphire ocean, the miserable nights that preceded, or a mix of it all. But I slept like a child among the other tourists in our windowless 24-bed dorm.