A perfect day.

Many Americans will remember every detail of where they were when they first learned Barack Obama had defeated John McCain to become president-elect of the United States.

As I'm writing from a cubicle in an Internet cafe in Suva, I thought I'd share details of the day my pride was restored as a U.S. citizen living overseas.

Day began at 5 am watching the sun rise from my bure's hollow window on Caqalai Island. A pending early departure enticed me to snorkel a reef marked on a hand-drawn map in the tiny resort's dining hall as 'TOP'. Swam 30 or 40 metres from the island's strip of white sand and was enveloped by sublime schools of vividly painted fish, gardens of spiky coral and clumps of soft, swaying coral. Imagine if Rembrandt, Cezanne or Monet had been able to don headgear and fins and experience firsthand water bluer than the bluest sky; fish more brilliant and varied than any paintbox; coral more magnificent than anything sculpted by human hand? Their palettes would have exploded infinitely.

But I digress. After breakfast me and a pair of globe-hopping Americans named Dave & Cathy boarded a boat with Dive Master George (looking very Lenny Kravitz-like with dark shades and coral shells in his dreadlocks) for a 40-minute trip back to Viti Levu, Fiji's largest island. Our boat skimmed over flawless Koro Sea aquamarine and past miles of mangroves along the Waidalice River. We disembarked at a nub of concrete and waited for transport in the shade of a battered shack along Princes Road. I was determined to catch a bus direct to Suva so said goodbye to my Caqalai companions as they grabbed the first rides to Naisori. Five minutes later a smiling Sikh named Mr Singh stopped and said he'd take me to Naisori for only $3 -- most taxi drivers ask for $10 and up. I tossed my backpack in the rear of his lorry (which held 100 or so freshly picked pineapples from his farm that he was delivering to Naisori's market) and we chatted during a 20-minute ride past overgrown bush and farmland. His hard work has produced three grown children who are all educated and working overseas. He dropped me at a bus depot along Naisori's bustling commercial strip and said to ask for him the next time I was in town. I'm not one to pass up an invitation to a feast of Indian food. I'll see Mr Singh again.

That wasn't the end of my good fortune. It's common for buses to idle for long stretches before pulling out of depots in Fiji, so locals often drop their things on a seat and run off to grab a cold drink or snack. I learned yesterday that I'm not nearly as clever as the locals. Returning to the depot from a quick run to an ANZ ATM and an Indian shop for a Sprite, I found my bus had gone. And with it, my backpack. The Suva depot is a maelstrom of buses belching black smoke and Fijian men & boys pushing red wheelbarrows up to each new arrival, all vying to be first and earn 50 cents for transporting travelers' possessions. It was impossible to imagine getting to Suva in time to locate and/or claim my bag.

The resultant one-two of sadness and humiliation for being so foolish didn't last long. An elderly Fijian woman in a bright blue-&-white dress who'd been on the departed bus suddenly appeared. She was pointing to a battered mango tree, beneath which lay my backpack.

"God told me to take your bag off the bus when the driver wouldn't wait," she said. She asked me to hold her water bottle while she attended to something in the depot. I gladly paid for her $1.80 bus fare and thanked her throughout the 30-minute ride to Suva. "Don't thank me, thank God," was her reply.

I thanked her anyway as monsoon rain splattered the massive windshield of our wiper-less bus.

Next up was locating the office of Suilven Shipping in Suva. Aradhna told me long ago that addresses are of little concern in Fiji. Need to find a place? Get within its vicinity and ask a local. I assumed this practice was more common in rural areas, but yesterday learned it's also standard in Fiji's capital. After a few false starts and doused in a combination of sweat and rain I located Bligh Water Shipping's office beside Suva Harbour. Tricky, no? Booked a 10-hour overnight boat trip to Savusavu for Friday, followed by a 4-hour trip to Taveuni next Tuesday and back to Suva on Thursday on a 16-hour overnight trip. All for under $200. Could fly but this trip is about doing what Fijians do. Also gives me time to write.

Spoke Hindi to a taxi driver named Aar (he spelled it for me) who gave me a lift to South Pacific Private Hotel in South Suva. I checked in and walked around Suva a bit, replenishing supplies for the next & final leg of island-hopping. I'd befriended a University of South Pacific student named Zulfikar on Caqilai and he'd recommended Singh's Curry House in Suva for authentic Indian food. Just as the skies reopened I ducked into Singh's and encountered a dozen curries steaming behind glass. Hunger took a backseat to a more pressing concern, however, as the sonorous voice of Ted Koppel drifted from a TV set perched near the ceiling in the rear of Singh's.

I froze. The Election. Checked my watch: 3:30 pm Fiji time. Polls would have closed in the States. Nervous, fearful, hopeful, I walked around a booth and approached the TV. A huge Fijian security guard stood before it. On his broad face shone a smile as wide as his shoulders.

That's my moment. That's when I knew Obama had won.

Shook hands with the guard and watched the BBC broadcast from a booth below the set. Twenty minutes went by before I remembered to order food. Tucked into a victory feast of jackfruit, okra, spicy aloo, pumpkin and chicken curries with 5 exquisite rotis as McCain gave a dignified concession speech and Sarah Palin hopefully disappeared from national politics. BBC anchor said Obama's speech would be at midnight in Chicago, which gave me a few minutes to walk to a place I knew I'd find traveling Americans and ex-pats, Suva's Holiday Inn. I wasn't disappointed. Hotel bar was chock-a-block with Caucasian men and women staring at a flat screen near the ceiling. Bought a cold Fiji Bitter and took a seat for the most important acceptance speech of my lifetime.

Ironic aside: The network broadcasting the speech at the Holiday Inn was Al Jazeera, the Arabic news network.

When Obama appeared applause erupted but everyone -- Americans, Europeans, Fijians, Asians -- went silent as he strode to the podium. Like all sentient beings who haven't given into craven cynicism I was moved and inspired by the first African-American president-elect in U.S. history. More applause followed the speech and normal hotel activity resumed. Me and a group of U.S. Peace Corps volunteers remained transfixed as the TV showed the Obamas and Bidens hugging and waving and we all agreed that we FINALLY, FINALLY felt proud of our homeland. I spoke with a woman from D.C. named Carla who'd spent a year as a Corps volunteer in Levuka -- I spent 3 days there and wanted to move on; unfortunately for her, she wished she could have done the same -- and we both luxuriated in the reality of being from a nation with the BALLS to elect the more qualified presidential candidate in this election, regardless of race or Republican fear-mongering. She invited me to celebrate with friends at another bar but I knew my day would soon end on a soft pillow.

Walked out of the Holiday Inn to a refreshed, clearing sky. Half a rainbow painted a stripe over Suva's gloomy government buildings. Back at my hostel I sat on my bed, looked up, and discovered my room had a ceiling fan. Walked down a high-ceilinged hallway to the hostel's showers, turned a faucet, and felt hot -- HOT! -- water splashing on my tired face.

A perfect end to a perfect day.