It's 0515. We're bundled into the back of an old van under the cover of darkness.
The foreign driver says 'Not long' in his broken English. He's wearing a sand coloured uniform, with a badge stating only his name and rank.
I can see the Toyota badge on the steering wheel. That's all I know.
There's no sign of other vehicles on the road.
We've had very little sleep. We're a little disorientated. I can't figure out which way we are going. Is this the right way? I'm not sure.
Every time the van turns a corner, the clapped out powered steering squeals in pain. The brakes sound like they're 500 miles past replacement.
I can't see much out of the front window but it feels like we've just turned off the main road, right, and it sounds like we're slowing down. We come to a complete stop and there's silence.
The front passenger door opens and someone gets in. It's a comrade of the driver. They say no more than two words to each other. The passenger looks back at us. Not a word is exchanged.
We drive about five minutes more. I work out that it's about a mile and a third.
We come to a stop again, this time outside a building. I hear footsteps coming towards the van. The doors open and a silhouette figure pulls our bags out and walks away with them. There's more people. They get in the van and sit down, they looked dazed.
The silouhette figure comes back and this time he's smiling.
“BULA!' “Welcome to FIJI”
We've arrived at our accommodation.