From Disappointment to Island Bliss
Updated: Sep 14
Micronesia – December 4, 2025, to March 1, 2026
Micronesia—the name of a country in the Pacific that often leaves people scratching their heads. But Micronesia isn’t actually that small—at least not if you count the water area. For most people, it’s just a really long way away. An interesting fun fact, however, is that part of Micronesia was actually named after an Austrian empress. The Mariana Islands, an archipelago in the Mariana Trench of the same name, were named after Maria Anna of Austria (Mariana de Austria in Spanish), the widow of King Philip IV of Spain.
Micronesia itself consists of a total of 607 islands spread across a vast portion of the western Pacific. Most of these islands are small, many are even uninhabited, and they lie scattered between the equator and the northern tropics. But what many people don’t know is that Micronesia isn’t actually a single country at all, but rather an entire region in the Pacific. It includes several independent states—among them the Federated States of Micronesia (Kosrae, Pohnpei, Chuuk, and Yap), Palau, the Marshall Islands, and Kiribati—as well as several other island territories. The term therefore describes a part of the world map rather than a specific country.
Historically, the region was long shaped by various colonial powers—first Spain, then Germany, and later Japan. After World War II, the U.S. assumed administrative control as part of a UN Trust Territory. This means that while the Federated States of Micronesia are independent, they maintain close ties with the United States through a so-called “Compact of Free Association”—which entails, among other things, financial support and military protection.
Micronesia didn’t win us over right away. To be honest, we were even disappointed at first. We had imagined this sailing destination to be completely different—more unspoiled, more traditional. In fact, the American influence is clearly felt everywhere here.
Above all, the main islands of Kosrae, Pohnpei, and Chuuk, which we visited during our sailing trip through Micronesia, left us with a rather sobering impression. For example, instead of a traditional market where you can buy fresh, local fruits and vegetables, there’s often just a supermarket. There, alongside canned sausages and candy, you’ll sometimes find fruits and vegetables that were imported from the U.S. by freighter weeks ago—and are, accordingly, anything but fresh.
Furthermore, many of the islands seem virtually deserted. This is because many Micronesians take advantage of the opportunities their passports offer and emigrate. Thanks to the agreement between Micronesia and the U.S., they can enter the country and settle there as they please—whether in Hawaii, in other U.S. territories such as Guam, or on the mainland—to attend school, study, work, or join the military. Only a few find their way back to their home island after completing their education; most remain in the “Land of Opportunity.” This exodus of the population is also reflected in the landscape: Numerous houses stand empty, some are dilapidated and already overgrown with vegetation—and this is a defining feature of so many of the small island villages.
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Dilapidated and abandoned houses can be found everywhere here Vegetables that are already rotten—the only ones you can buy here. Supermarkets Instead of Local Markets
It wasn’t until Mirko and I set course for the so-called Outer Islands that we felt we had truly arrived in Micronesia: turquoise waters, palm-fringed islands with hidden huts covered in palm leaves, and children waving and calling out to us from white-sand beaches. It was precisely this sense of unspoiled authenticity that we found above all on Lamotrek and Elato—two atolls in the state of Yap that we liked so much precisely because of the minimal American influence there.
There were no Japanese or American wartime relics left over from World War II here—no weapons, bunkers, lighthouses, cannons, vehicles, tanks, or airplane wrecks to explore. On some other islands, you come across them everywhere: either along the roadside in the middle of a village or deep in the jungle, where they’ve long since been overgrown by the roots of giant trees.
You’ll also search in vain here for centuries-old ruins of long-forgotten ancient cities like Nan Madol on Pohnpei or Lelu on Kosrae. Instead, there’s something else: pure Micronesian tradition and culture—and people who welcome every visitor into their community so warmly and naturally that it truly warms your heart.
The 3,000-year-old ruined city of Nan Madol on Pohnpei Wartime relics from World War II Between the Road and the Tank—A Nice Little Spot for a Break
Here in the small island villages, too, it’s customary to introduce yourself to the chief and ask for permission to anchor. So when we arrived on Lamotrek, Mirko and I headed straight to Joseph’s house. The chief welcomed us warmly and immediately invited us to attend the next “Tuba Circle” at the Men’s House.
Tuba is the Yapese word for palm wine, a fermented beverage naturally extracted from the coconut blossom. On our very first day, John, a local, took us along and showed us how the two varieties—non-alcoholic “Sweet Tuba” for children and women, and the alcoholic, fermented “Tuba” for the men’s circle—are harvested directly from the coconut palm.
After John removed the coconut shell—in which the liquid from the coconut blossom had been fermenting for several hours along with some coconut meat—he poured the alcoholic beverage into his large two-liter glass bottle. These bottles struck us as almost an insular status symbol, since apparently every man in the village owns one and carries it around with him all the time—usually along with his colorful “cracker bucket” (without crackers, but containing his most important belongings, such as a smartphone, betel nuts, and/or cigarettes).
Normally, the tuba gatherings are exclusively for men in the so-called “Men’s House”—the village’s largest, palm-leaf-covered, open huts—to which women are not allowed. However, thanks to my status as a tourist, I was granted the rare privilege of participating and spending the evening sipping a few tubas from coconut shells, cups, or—my favorite container—small, empty Viennese sausage cans.
When I think back on it today, this sweet-and-sour, slightly alcoholic brew is one of those things that tastes good only with these particular people and only in this particular place—and loses some of its charm everywhere else.
Lamotrek—a turquoise bay, a small village, and a huge taro field (light green) We're enjoying our first Tuba at Lamotrek The tuba (palm wine) is harvested
The two atolls, Lamotrek and Elato, are less than ten kilometers apart, and they are almost indistinguishable from one another. While the main island of Lamotrek is home to about 300 residents on one square kilometer of land, Elato offers just 0.5 square kilometers of living space for about 100 people.
Both islands have a kindergarten and a school, which even has Starlink to provide internet access for teachers and students. The schools (and occasionally sailing yachts) are one of the few sources of internet—and as soon as a signal becomes available anywhere, the atmosphere on the island changes noticeably. Both children and adults gather in the schoolyard during breaks and in the afternoon after school, staring at their smartphones—provided there’s enough solar power to run the Starlink device and maintain the connection.
Otherwise, people are building things, repairing leaky roofs, or carving practical items like paddles or spears for turtle hunting. Mirko and I even had the pleasure of playing “Fängi” and “Verstecki” with the kids after we answered “No” to the question “Is your Starlink on?” (just a little bit on principle).
Just a few days—if not hours—after our arrival, it turned out that the flower wreath we’d received as a welcome gift from the islanders had also crowned Mirko the king of DIY. During our stay, he repaired all sorts of things: from dead and/or corroded batteries to broken solar panels with faulty wiring, all the way to a spear gun, for which he even made a metal replacement part himself. As a thank-you, he was rewarded each time with even more taro, rice, boiled bananas, and turtle meat.
Let's play seek and hide! The men are “building” a new roof Mirko, the DIY King, Repairs a Spear Gun
Wait, stop… Spears? Turtle meat? Yes, you read that right. Here in the “Micronesian hinterland,” people hunt and eat turtles as well as fish. Like Sunday church services and the daily Tuba Circles, it’s part of the culture and deeply rooted in the islanders’ traditions. Catching, butchering, and preparing a turtle is even celebrated as a proper ritual: young and old—everyone pitches in. Skin, innards, fat, meat, eggs—everything is used. And the entire village community gets its fair share.
First, a quick warning: The following series of photos, as well as some images in the gallery at the end, show how they gut and prepare their catch.
When we first saw an unusual crowd gathering on Elato Beach, Mirko and I naturally became curious. What was going on? Then we spotted three turtles turned on their backs and tied together, with a fire just being lit above them—and I immediately turned pale. I’d already seen enough, but Mirko’s curiosity got the better of him, and he stayed to watch the spectacle. He watched as a few strong hands cracked open the grilled turtle shells, while others scraped the meat and fat off, cut it into pieces on a chipboard tray, and portioned it out. He observed as still others separated the innards and the unhatched eggs, and as a child’s small hands washed some sandy pieces of meat with seawater.
He then returned on board with our share of fresh meat—in a Cracker bucket, of course—because as temporary members of the community, we naturally got a share as well. In addition, the villagers had immediately shared their most secret recipe ideas with him, including what is probably the most popular recipe: the turtle burger.
Turtle meat tastes… well, like chicken. Only the thought that it comes from an animal we usually watch with fascination, whether in or out of the water, and the greenish color of its skin serve as a reminder that it is, after all, a turtle.
The turtle meat is cut into pieces,... ... the offal is sorted, ...and the intestines are flushed.
Aside from smartphones and solar panels, tradition and culture thrive on both Lamotrek and Elato. Day in and day out, men wear the so-called “teor,” a kind of tied loincloth, while women weave their own colorful lavalavas (skirts) and proudly display them. Older women sometimes still go topless, as in days gone by. Both men and women often adorn themselves with flower wreaths—even on ordinary days—which, along with the colorful flower bushes and blossom-covered trees, make their Micronesian faces glow.
Although these islands are still far from appearing as “Western” as the main islands, there are already victims of modern times here as well—including, in all likelihood, one of the greatest losses the dwindling Micronesian culture has suffered: the Micronesian sailing canoe. The large canoes with which the Micronesians once explored the Pacific—and through which they earned their legendary reputation as fearless navigators—now stand gathering dust, long forgotten, in the Men’s Houses.
These days, most Micronesians own a fishing boat for traveling short distances or going fishing. A ferry comes every few weeks to take people to the main island. The locals are still proud of their canoes—but they’re hardly used anymore.
It’s probably only a matter of time before this knowledge is lost as well: the art of celestial navigation, reading the waves and wind, building canoes from traditional materials, and the understanding of the ocean passed down through generations. Knowledge that once determined whether one would find their way home—or disappear forever into the Pacific.
A large sailing canoe—unused for years Traditional Engineering An elderly woman dressed in a traditional lavalava
We were bid farewell just as warmly as we had been welcomed in Lamotrek and Elato. On our last evening, shortly after sunset, a large jukebox was hauled over to the Men’s House; speeches were given, flower garlands were presented, we toasted our time together with a tuba, and danced exuberantly. Definitely an evening we won’t forget anytime soon.
Our next stop in Olimarao finally brought our journey through Micronesia to a beautiful close. After so many human encounters, Mirko and I were looking forward to a little tropical tranquility, secluded beaches, untamed nature, and underwater worlds all to ourselves.
Okay, not quite all to ourselves. Surprisingly, all kinds of creatures were bustling about here—on land, in the air, and beneath the water’s surface. This was surprising because, compared to Fiji and Vanuatu, the underwater world in Micronesia hadn’t really impressed us so far—neither in terms of coral nor fish diversity. And even the “land and flying dinosaurs of our time” had retreated, due to human settlement, to smaller, more remote islands that are often difficult to reach and explore by boat.
Olimarao is an uninhabited atoll in the state of Yap and is geographically part of the so-called Outer Islands. It consists of several small, densely vegetated islets surrounded by a lagoon and is accessible only by boat. Among the residents of Lamotrek, it’s considered a sort of “pantry”: Every few weeks, they come here to fish, catch turtles, collect eggs from the numerous booby nests, and gather coconut crabs.
Mirko and I, on the other hand, were content to marvel at the wildlife and go hunting just a little—just enough to turn our campfires on the beach and the pasta dishes on board into culinary experiences like no other.
As soon as the anchor dropped onto the sandy bottom in the deep-blue water, Mirko and I jumped into the water to snorkel out to the small coral outcrops just a few meters from the palm-fringed islet. Hundreds of fish were swimming among the corals—which, at a depth of just three meters, were actually quite unspectacular! We had never seen so much life inside a lagoon before.
Whole schools of iridescent fish were herded back and forth by giant rainbow runners and bluefin trevally, while several blacktip and whitetip sharks, as well as a few lemon sharks of all sizes, circled among them. Large surgeonfish, parrotfish, and various jackfish eyed us critically, and even a large tuna crossed our path. Every day we watched this spectacle anew—it never got boring.
Mirko even dared to venture into the fray with his speargun and, surrounded by sharks, shot a large trevally. Catching a large rainbow runner with a line from the dinghy was less spectacular, but just as delicious when grilled.
Olimarao—our little paradise 
Of Hunters and the Hunted A rainbow mantis shrimp—ready to strike with incredible force!
One evening, even our rural hunting instinct was awakened, and—armed with a knife and a bucket—we set out in search of coconut crabs. The biggest challenge wasn’t actually hunting the animals themselves—they usually just sit on the ground, oblivious, and are easy to pick up. No, the harder part was finding our way back out of the thicket at night. Even in an area of just a few hundred square meters, it’s not that easy to keep your bearings when the plants block your view of the starry sky, the sound of the ocean rushes in from all sides, and every palm tree looks exactly like the next.
For us, Olimarao wasn’t just the last atoll in Micronesia—no, it was also the last tropical paradise for quite some time. After crossing the Mariana Trench—at over 9,000 meters, the deepest point on this incredible Earth—more civilization awaits us: larger cities in more westerly countries and, eventually, even winter temperatures. It’s going to be exciting!
Dolphins accompany us part of the way toward Micronesia Lunch during the crossing: Homemade Tom Yum Fancy a Bloody Mary? Old School Port Authority in Pohnpei Exploring the Island by Rental Car in Kosrae - A Little Cake Snack Along the Way This track loader probably hasn't been used in a long time. Nan Madol—built on 92 artificial islands, each about the size of a soccer field, on a coral reef. Ant Atoll, Pohnpei 
And every day, the curious sharks say hello Christmas in the Tropics Oh Christmas Tree... 
Underwater World in Satawan Atoll, Chuuk Zebra Shark Polowat Atoll, Chuuk Idyll on Polowat YUM YUM WAS HERE! An abandoned Japanese lighthouse from World War II At the very top of the lighthouse, Alet Island, Polowat Japanese WWII War Relics—Left Behind in the Middle of the Jungle The Girls from Satawan 
Who's digging that up? 
Rainbow mantis shrimp—the little “butterfly” strikes with incredible force at 80 km/h A generous gift from the islanders Lamotrek, Yap The Flower Girl from Lamotrek Mirko learns from Chief Joseph how to make bait out of feathers. 
How to Harvest and “Restart” Tuba With a grin on my face: a whole bottle of Tuba for the evening! The Daily Tuba Circle at the Men's House Women at Work 
Making a Traditional Lavalava (Skirt) Airplane wreck on the beach A paddle is being carved here, Elato Step 1: The fire was lit above the turtles Step 2: Crack open the turtle and gut it Step 3: Divide the offal and eggs Step 4: The meat is portioned A well-deserved break: playing table tennis with the locals 
The losses are counted as 2 to 4 (“Twa Wa - Foa Wa”) 
Carpentry on Lamotrek—Everyone Lends a Hand Islander John's Outdoor Kitchen Micronesian sailing canoe A typical classroom on the island Farewell Party at Lamotrek Tuba and dancing until dark—a great farewell We with John, our friend from Lamotrek Farewell Gifts—Delivery to Elato, Yap 
Here, the birds rule the island, Olimarao Baby Sea-Bird—just a few days old <3 A Taste of Home at Yum Yum—Fresh Pretzels Olimarao, Yap: A Snorkeling Paradise Our first and only Wahoo! What a catch! A big rainbow runner The Last Campfire on Olimarao and in Micronesia 
Two delicious coconut crabs for dinner
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