Vanuatu & Fiji

Day 1: Three flights to paradise

Getting to Vanuatu from Seattle is not a casual undertaking. We flew from Seattle to Los Angeles to Nadi (Fiji) to Port Vila (Vanuatu), then drove to our resort in Port Havannah — a journey that involved three flights, multiple time zones, and the kind of sleep deprivation that makes airport carpet look like a viable bed option. But the moment we arrived and caught our first glimpse of the turquoise water, every hour of travel instantly felt worth it. The resort is stunning — lush tropical gardens, a pristine white beach, and the kind of quiet that city dwellers forget exists. We barely managed to stay awake through dinner before collapsing into the deepest sleep of our lives.

• Accommodation: The Havannah

Day 2: White sand, warm water, and the art of doing nothing

After yesterday’s marathon of travel, today was dedicated entirely to the noble pursuit of doing absolutely nothing — and doing it well. We spent the morning wandering the resort’s white sand beach, where the water is that impossible shade of aquamarine that you assume is Photoshopped until you’re standing in it. The pool was lovely too, but honestly, when you have the South Pacific ten steps away, a pool feels a bit redundant.

We explored the resort’s tropical gardens, which were bursting with flowers and plants we thoroughly appreciated. The whole place has a quiet, unhurried feel — no crowds, no noise, just the sound of waves and the occasional bird doing something dramatic in a palm tree. We rounded out the day with a candlelit dinner by the waterfront, already wondering how we’d ever go back to eating meals indoors like normal people.

Day 3: Survivor

Not far from our resort is the island of Lelepa, where the “Survivor” TV series was filmed. We took a boat over to explore, half expecting to find Survivor cast members peeking out from behind palm trees. No such luck, but what we did find was even better — pristine beaches with not another soul in sight, and superb snorkeling. The coral was vibrant and teeming with fish, and the water was so clear that it felt less like swimming and more like floating through an aquarium.

We roamed the beaches for hours, fully embracing the castaway fantasy (without the hunger and interpersonal drama). The one downside: we played by Survivor rules and didn’t bring a camera along, so you’ll just have to take our word for it. Trust us — it was gorgeous.

Day 4: The local village

This morning, as we were having breakfast overlooking the beach, we noticed two dugongs swimming in the shallow water — a mother and a baby. A dugong is a sea mammal with a tail like a dolphin’s and a face sort of like a dog’s, and they are absolutely enchanting to watch. They drifted through the transparent water just meters from shore, surfacing occasionally with a gentle exhale, completely unbothered by the two humans on the jetty who had abandoned their breakfast to stare.

In the afternoon, we ventured beyond the resort to visit a nearby village. As beautiful as the resort is, we were curious about the people and culture of Vanuatu, and the best way to learn is to walk around and say hello. Friendly locals pointed us in the right direction, and before long we met Edna and her uncle Tosong, who chatted with us for a while and then invited us to walk with them through the village. They showed us the school, the church, the bar, the market — a full tour from people who genuinely seemed to enjoy showing off their community.

The highlight was when Edna offered to show us her home. Her kitchen is an open-air structure with a wood-fired brick stove, a cast iron pot, and a pit in the ground for cooking banana-leaf-wrapped food over hot rocks. Between the structures, she and her husband have been building a brick house for years — whenever they save up enough money, they buy more bricks and add another layer, with the help of friends. Edna told us that the project gives them purpose and motivation. She was too modest to mention it, but we were also struck by her collection of tropical potted plants in impossible shapes and colors, all lovingly cared for.

Then came the moment that stayed with us. Bea admired the traditional dress that many women in Vanuatu wear, and Edna pulled one from her house and encouraged Bea to try it on. When she saw how well it fit, Edna insisted Bea keep it. Though deeply touched, Bea politely declined — it simply didn’t feel right to accept. Edna then told us that next time we come to Vanuatu, we should stay with her. We didn’t know what to say. It’s a pattern we’ve seen again and again in our travels: some people have so little and yet find so much to give.

Day 5: Goodbye Vanuatu, hello Fiji

Today we said goodbye to Vanuatu and flew to Fiji’s main island, Viti Levu. Leaving Vanuatu was harder than expected — we’d grown attached to the place and its people in just four days. But Fiji was calling, and we answered. We’re spending one night at a hotel near the Nadi airport because we have an early flight to a remote island tomorrow morning. The hotel is… functional. We won’t name it, but let’s just say it made us appreciate the Havannah even more. No matter — tomorrow we’re headed somewhere called “The Remote Resort,” and if that name delivers on its promise, we’re in for a treat.

Day 6: How many vehicles?

Getting to The Remote Resort requires commitment. We flew from Nadi to Savusavu, drove east along a bumpy road for over an hour, and then caught a boat for the final stretch. By the time we arrived, we half expected there to be a bicycle or a horseback ride involved as well. The name is not aspirational — this place is genuinely remote, and that’s precisely the point.

We were greeted with live music, cold drinks, and a massage, which is the kind of welcome that makes you forget every pothole along the way. The resort has just eight cabins, only three of which are occupied right now, so it feels like we have the place almost entirely to ourselves. Our wooden cabin is rustic and beautiful, with windows on every side that catch the ocean breeze and an outdoor shower hidden under the jungle canopy. We just arrived, and already think that we’re going to have a hard time leaving.

• Accommodation: The Remote Resort

Day 7: Private beach swims, stunning coral, and self-delivering seafood

We woke up early and went for a swim in water so transparent it barely looked like water at all — more like floating in liquid glass. Having a private beach still hasn’t gotten old, and we suspect it never will. We spent most of the day snorkeling just off the resort, where the coral was vibrant and the fish plentiful. Every time we dipped below the surface, there was something new: schools of tiny neon fish darting through the coral, larger fish drifting by with the calm confidence of locals who know they own the place.

The evening brought a surprise. When we arrived at the restaurant for dinner, the staff led us past the tables and down to the beach, where they’d set up a candlelit table on the sand. They built a fire nearby, and before long we noticed dozens of little crabs scuttling toward the warmth of the flames. We joked that this was the resort’s clever strategy for providing the freshest possible seafood — just light a fire and let dinner come to you.

Day 8: A hidden beach and a real-life castaway

The resort staff packed us a lunch and snacks, we loaded up the kayaks, and off we went to find a hidden beach not too far from our place. We paddled along the coastline, pulled up on a secluded strip of sand, and spent the day snorkeling and exploring. The water was particularly calm, which meant the snorkeling visibility was extraordinary — we could see every detail of the coral and the fish going about their business below us.

While wading through the shallows at low tide, we noticed a man nearby who seemed to be foraging for clams. Given how remote this spot is, we were surprised to see another human being, so we waved. He waved back, and we struck up a conversation. In perfect English, he told us he lives in a small house on a former coconut plantation nearby, mostly self-sufficient between the vegetables he grows and the seafood he catches. Clearly well-educated, he’d made a deliberate choice to live this quiet, reclusive life on a remote Fijian coastline. We’d be lying if we said we weren’t a little envious.

Day 9: Guided snorkeling, black coral, and Christmas tree worms

We’re getting dangerously comfortable here. Falling asleep and waking up to the sound of waves has become our new normal, and the thought of returning to alarm clocks and traffic is becoming increasingly abstract.

Today we went on a guided snorkel trip to the nearby Kioa area — essentially a private excursion, since there were only five people on the boat: the two of us, the captain, a staff member, and our snorkeling guide. We thought we’d seen most of what these waters had to offer by now, but our guide proved us spectacularly wrong. She showed us a type of black coral unique to Kioa that we never would have noticed on our own, and rattled off names and facts about the local species with the easy confidence of someone who grew up in this underwater world. The best discovery was when we asked about the multicolored, cone-shaped, feathery things dotting the coral heads. “Spirobranchus giganteus,” she said — commonly known as “Christmas tree worms.” The name is perfect: tiny, festive, and impossibly colorful little spirals that look like something a marine biologist designed while in a cheerful mood.

Day 10: Swimming with mantas

Today was the day we’d been waiting for: snorkeling with manta rays. A short boat ride from the resort, we spotted five or six mantas skimming near the surface — and then one breached, launching its entire body out of the water and crashing back in. That was our cue. We grabbed our gear and jumped in.

Mantas are closely related to sharks and rays and can grow to 23 feet (7 m) across. The ones we encountered had wingspans of 6 to 8 feet (2 to 2.5 m), which sounds modest until one is gliding straight toward you with its mouth wide open. Despite appearances, they’re gentle filter feeders — straining zooplankton from the water as they swim, never stopping, since they need constant water flow through their gills to breathe. Knowing this intellectually and believing it emotionally while a creature the size of a dining table approaches you are two very different things.

Most of the mantas kept a respectful distance, but one came so close it sent genuine shivers up our spines. We watched them “fly” past us underwater, steadily flapping their wing-like fins with an effortless grace that made us feel like clumsy intruders in their world. The current was strong and the surface choppy, which made swimming back to the boat a workout and photography completely impossible — but we didn’t care. We jumped back in several more times, because when do you ever get to do this?

We finished the day with dinner on the jetty, where the water is so transparent you can watch the marine life without even getting wet. After a day like this, we just sat there, slightly sunburned and completely content.

Day 11: Daily massages, good books, and dinner under a tree

After yesterday’s manta ray adventure, we decided to do absolutely nothing today — and we were excellent at it. A morning swim, some socializing with one of the other couples at the resort, and a lot of reading. We’ve also been having a massage every single day here, which is information we share not to brag but to explain why the idea of going home is seeming painful.

Dinner was served on a wooden platform under a tree, right by the ocean. At this point, the staff seem to be competing with themselves to find the most impossibly romantic dinner setting each evening. We’re not complaining.

Day 12: So many languages, but still hard to say goodbye

Our last day. We spent it doing what we’d been doing all trip — snorkeling, socializing, and soaking up every last minute of paradise — but with the bittersweet awareness that it was ending.

This trip was meant to be a relaxing beach holiday, and it delivered on that front spectacularly. But we also couldn’t help being fascinated by the cultures of these two island nations. In both Vanuatu and Fiji, most people speak the local language of their village, which can be entirely different from the language spoken in the next village over. Vanuatu holds the world record for the highest density of languages per capita: 113 indigenous languages spoken by roughly 243,000 people. That’s about one language for every 2,000 people, which makes ordering dinner an adventure in itself.

Both countries also have a unifying language. In Vanuatu, it’s Bislama, a type of pidgin English that is genuinely delightful to try to speak and understand. The waiters at our resort thought it was hilarious whenever we ordered a “popo salat” (papaya salad) or “scallop shel oli rusum” (grilled sea scallops). In Fiji, the unifying language is Fijian, and English is widely spoken everywhere, so we had no trouble communicating.

Although both countries are Melanesian, they feel quite different culturally. Vanuatu’s population is still primarily of Melanesian descent, while Fiji is a melting pot of Melanesian, Polynesian, and Indian influences — a legacy of Indian laborers brought over during British colonial times. The food in both countries was wonderful: cassava, taro, fresh fish, coconut everything, and fruits like papaya and mango that tasted like they’d been ripening specifically for us.

We can’t remember being so sad to go home at the end of a trip. Maybe it was too short, maybe it was too good, or maybe both. Either way, we must come back.