Discover Fiji’s heart, where warm mornings, lush forests, and vibrant coral reefs meet authentic village life. Hike scenic trails, dive among soft coral, savor local dishes like Kokoda, and join initiatives like Loloma Hour to connect with communities. Every step reveals the island’s culture, nature, and tropical paradise, inviting travellers to experience the true spirit of Fiji.
This story was created in partnership with Tourism Fiji.
Where the Light First Touches the Sea
The first light spills across the Pacific, brushing palm fronds and distant reef with soft gold. Somewhere inland, a rooster calls; smoke rises from a cooking fire. The air smells of rain-soaked earth and salt. In Fiji, each day begins with one word — Bula — more than hello, a wish for life and warmth.
I came looking for color — coral blues and rainforest greens — but what I found was something slower, rooted, human. This journey took me from village shores to mountain ridges, through stories, footsteps, and flavors that reveal the true heartbeat of the islands – the vanua – a culmination of the land, people, and its mana.
Village Rhythms: The Heartbeat of Vanua
On Taveuni Island, known as the “Garden Island,” life follows sunrise and tide. When visitors arrive to a village, the first stop is the village chief’s home. Shoes off, head bowed, the sevusevu begins — a ceremonial offering of yaqona (kava root) to seek permission to stay. Elders sit cross-legged in the dim afternoon light, passing the wooden tanoa bowl in quiet rhythm.
Photo credit: Tourism Fiji
Outside, women weave pandanus mats while children chase each other across the green. The scent of cassava roasting drifts through the air.
That afternoon, I join Loloma Hour — an hour of giving back to the community. We plant small cassava shoots behind the hall, laughter flowing with each handful of soil.
Here, hospitality isn’t performance — it’s philosophy.
Beneath the Surface: Diving into Fiji’s Soft Coral Kingdom
The next morning, we head for the reef — a living kaleidoscope just off the coast. Our boat drifts over turquoise shallows; I slide into the water and descend into a dream.
Photo credit: Escape Video (left), Andrea Rothlisberger (middle), Craig Parry (right)
Fish dart between coral towers glowing pink, violet, and gold. A turtle glides past, unhurried. Below me, local divers tend to small metal frames tied with coral fragments — underwater gardens that will one day bloom. “We plant coral,” our guide says, “the way you plant trees.”
Fiji is called the Soft Coral Capital of the World, and here you understand why. The reef breathes and shimmers, fragile yet defiant. When I surface, salt clings to my skin and sun warms my face — a small baptism into the archipelago’s living soul.
Into the Highlands of Fiji: Hiking and Stories Beneath the Canopy
Beyond the beaches, the land rises — volcanic, lush, untamed. I follow a route with Talanoa Treks, the country’s only dedicated hiking company, which partners with remote villages to open the interior responsibly. The trail winds through forests of tree ferns and bamboo, over rivers smooth as glass. Each bend reveals something new: waterfalls that fall like ribbons, ridges veiled in mist, wild ginger in bloom.
Photo credit: Brook Sabin (top), Tourism Fiji (bottom right and left)
At day’s end, we reach a small highland village. The community hall becomes our lodging — mattresses on the floor, a sky full of stars overhead. Dinner is taro, fish in coconut milk, and wild greens. Between bites, we share stories and laughter. Later, an elder tells of ancestors who once crossed these valleys long before roads or maps. His voice carries the rhythm of wind through trees.
Traveling here feels like walking through a living story — every path an oral history in motion.
Before the Light: A Sunrise Worth Climbing For
We start before dawn, headlamps carving narrow circles of light through the forest. The air is cool, the earth damp underfoot. Then, as we crest the ridge, the horizon ignites — orange melting into rose. The sea glimmers far below.
Photo credit: Awesome Adventures
For a few quiet minutes, no one speaks. The forest hums awake; parrots streak through the sky. I realize that in Fiji, sunrise is not just a spectacle — it’s a ceremony. Each new day feels like permission to begin again.
More than Fiji Food: A Taste of Kokoda and Kinship
By the sea again, I learn to make Kokoda, the national dish. We cube fresh walu (Spanish mackerel), soak it in citrus until the flesh turns white, then fold in coconut milk, tomato, onion, and chili. The result is cool, bright, alive — like tasting the reef itself.
Photo credit: Tourism Fiji
We sit in the shade, eating from coconut bowls. Around us, kids laugh, the tide rises, someone strums a guitar.
Food in Fiji is never solitary. Every dish — from the smoky lovo earth oven to sweet mango and breadfruit — is shared, passed hand to hand. It’s nourishment and storytelling at once.
Photo credit: Brook Sabin
Giving Back: One Hour, A Lifetime of Connection
On my final afternoon, I join a coastal cleanup — part of the Loloma Hour initiative that encourages travellers to dedicate time to reef planting, mangrove care, or cultural workshops.
Photo credit: Craig Parry
There’s laughter, splashing, and teamwork. It’s small — a few bags of debris, a few coral sprouts planted — but it feels profound. Giving back isn’t an obligation here; it’s belonging. It’s the continuation of the vanua story, the thread that ties visitor and host, land and sea, together.
When the Night Returns
As evening settles, the village glows in lamplight. The air smells of coconut husk and rain. Someone begins to play guitar; others hum along. Stars shimmer above the palms, and the ocean murmurs nearby.
I think of the faces along the way — the villagers of Taveuni, the coral gardeners, the hikers in the highlands. I remember the sunrise ridge and the taste of Kokoda, the laughter over kava, the quiet generosity woven through it all.
Traveling Fiji isn’t about ticking islands off a list. It’s about walking slowly, listening deeply, and realizing that paradise isn’t perfect — it’s participatory.
The next morning, as the first light returns, I whisper a soft vinaka — thank you — to the island, to the people, to the land that held me.
