Off the Beaten Path: Fulaga
Updated: 2 days ago
Southern Lau Group, Fiji, July 6–17, 2025
By this point, we were in a very remote part of Fiji, and the further south we sailed, the more we felt as if we had been transported back to the unspoiled, natural Fiji of old. One particular atoll, in the very southernmost corner of the Lau Group, is unbeatable in this regard: Fulaga. It’s not just the seclusion, but also the extraordinary natural beauty that makes this place so special. Imagine the ultimate vacation paradise. Make it just a little more kitschy. The water could be a bit more turquoise, the sky a little bluer, and the beaches a touch whiter. Oh, and now erase the sunburned package tour tourists lounging on their beach chairs. Congratulations—you’ve landed in Fulaga.
Geologically speaking, Fulaga—also known as Vulaga (its old name)—was formed as an island by volcanic activity millions of years ago. After the volcanic phase subsided, the island became surrounded by coral, which grew over time to form today’s limestone formations and coral reefs. All of this led to the creation of the characteristic lagoons and limestone landscapes that still define the area today.
After twenty hours—or a night’s sail—we saw the rolling landscape of the main island of Fulaga, which shares the same name, rising in the distance that morning. The only access to the lagoon and the island within it is through a narrow pass, about 60 meters wide, that looks as if someone had cut it into the coral reef. Sailors have to time their passage carefully, because either the current is too strong, the waves are too high—or both. Mirko and I had timed it well and headed for the pass shortly after low tide. Although the waves at the entrance were frighteningly high and wild, it became all the calmer inside the pass, which gave me a good view of the reef on the port and starboard sides from the lookout—and believe me: with a boat 14 by 4 meters wide, a “passage” just 60 meters narrow really doesn’t leave much room to correct navigational errors.
Loyal readers of my previous blog on FindPenguins may remember that last year I wrote about how a brand-new Fijian naval vessel—a gift from Australia—ran aground here in the pass. Fun fact: At the time, this vessel was towed to the neighboring island of Ogea, from where it was supposedly going to be towed to one of the main Fijian islands for repairs. Apparently, it’s still in the same spot today, stripped of its equipment and waiting to be scrapped. It’s even marked as a wreck on Navionics, the most popular nautical chart app. Rest in peace, Navy Patrol Boat 402.
Although this wasn’t the first time either Mirko or I had been here, we couldn’t stop marveling once we’d passed through the pass—which had demanded our full concentration—and could finally take in our surroundings. The lagoon was breathtakingly beautiful: turquoise water with hundreds of palm-covered boulders rising from it; behind it, the large island of Fulaga, overgrown with dense tropical forest… It was simply magical.
Since we arrived on a Sunday, we decided on the spot to postpone the sevusevu until the next day. In Fiji, it’s traditional for villagers to observe the “Lord’s Day” as their day of rest. That means: aside from attending church (for many, even three times a day), eating, and relaxing, nothing else is allowed—and by “nothing,” I really mean NOTHING. Above all, no work and, consequently, no cooking (the big lunch after the second church service is already prepared on Saturday), no fishing, and no sports activities. These rules apply not only to Fijians but also to us sailors and tourists. Still, Mirko and I couldn’t resist: We unpacked the SUP (stand-up paddleboard), converted it into a kayak, and paddled around the lagoon. And as if that weren’t enough law-breaking for a Sunday, we also secretly cooked ourselves something to eat—lasagna, yay!
We were certain that no villager—and certainly not the chief—would ever find out that we had broken the Sunday rule—after all, they’re not allowed to leave the village. ;-) But apparently, the “Man Up There” had his eye on us, because while trying to fillet a huge trevally that Mirko had just reeled in, our fish knife simply snapped in two. Okay, okay, got it—no more “work” on Sundays.
So after a lazy Sunday (*ahem*), we visited the main village of Fulaga on Monday morning with Sulu and kava. Since the lagoon is the most popular region in the Lau Group, the chief came up with something very special here: for the sevusevu, you don’t just bring kava, but also 50 FJD. Thanks to these involuntary donations, the village has already been able to afford a freezer (one for all the residents to share, of course) or buy the materials needed for a new little house to open a simple grocery store.
Sailors like us are also assigned a host family who takes care of us during our stay. Since we’d been to Fulaga before, we asked right away about our former host, Tai—and were taken straight to him. The friendly old man recognized us right away after we mentioned a few keywords like “Switzerland” and “guitar,” and greeted us warmly. He immediately offered to take us on a tour of the village and showed us the community center, the water reservoirs, the houses, as well as the school and the kindergarten. The sweet as candy, not-so-shy kindergarteners even introduced themselves to us one by one in English, sang a song together, and played a game that I didn’t quite understand but which brought them immense joy—especially when we clapped along.
We finally wrapped up the village tour at Tai’s family’s house, where we were served a coconut to drink with a super-cool organic straw made from a papaya leaf stalk, a kind of cassava bread cooked in a banana leaf, and Fijian pancakes that reminded me more of round donuts. We weren’t the only ones who thought those round, greasy treats were delicious—Tai’s little niece, who had just come home from kindergarten, greeted us with a quick “Bula” and immediately dashed into the house to fill her little pockets and hands with the goodies. As cute as the sight was, her already decayed teeth—which she showed off to us with a wide grin—were just as striking. Although we’d been told that the children brush their teeth together every day at kindergarten and school, oral and dental hygiene doesn’t seem to be a top priority here.
We left the village with a whole bunch of bananas and a bundle of giant beans. Bananas are straightforward: wait until the peel turns from green to yellow, then peel and eat—easy. The beans, on the other hand… hmm. At first, it seemed simple: squeeze the beans out of the pod, put them in water, boil them—done. Or so I thought. But as soon as I started peeling them, I realized something wasn’t right. The beans were large and resembled kidney beans, but they were encased in a thick, hairy green pod. When we opened them, our fingers turned black and became sticky, and in the pot, the beans changed color from kidney-bean red to ash gray. The taste was strange, too. The beans were soft and slightly sweet, but surrounded by a tough, bitter skin—not exactly appetizing. My instinct told me: better to Google it.
My research finally revealed that they were what are known as velvet beans. You have to soak them overnight, then boil them for an hour and a half, and finally remove the hard, bitter skin. And: When raw, they’re actually poisonous. When I read that, I was sitting there with my mouth half open—the fourth bean already on my spoon—and in a panic, I dropped it back into the pot. I’d already eaten three of these half-cooked, gray “ghost beans.” Luckily, there were no ill effects: just the usual hallucinations, no stomachaches. I probably owed that to my “Suuumaga” (Saumagen), which I inherited from my dad ;)
Mirko and I spent eleven wonderful days in Fulaga. Almost every day, we explored a new corner of the vast lagoon—sometimes on a SUP, sometimes in the dinghy, or simply out in the water, armed only with fins, a snorkel, and diving goggles. A few times we also anchored in other parts of the lagoon, each time in yet another turquoise natural pool, often sheltered behind an impressive rock formation that shielded us from the other sailboats. We chatted with the other sailors who’d found their way here during a get-together around the campfire, had BBQs for two on deserted beaches, and took advantage of the wind to finally try wingfoiling again—this time even with a wing and not being towed behind the dinghy, like last time in Minerva.
After studying countless vloggers on YouTube, we started with some wingfoil dryland training on the beach. Mirko got the hang of it faster and was the first to venture out onto the water, while I watched his attempts. It’s not that easy to control the canopy and the board at the same time! But when I finally managed to stand for a few meters myself, it was a great feeling. We weren’t able to get the foil out of the water yet, but our first attempts were still a complete success.
As wild and untamed as the pass in Fulaga is, it’s just as beautiful for snorkeling and diving. Reef passes are usually lined with hundreds of corals and teeming with colorful fish. The water is crystal-clear because the current keeps it constantly moving—it’s like watching the aquarium scene in “Finding Dory” in 5D, only in real life and with plenty of never-before-seen scenes. We spotted large schools of barracudas, snappers, trevally, and other fish swimming in the hundreds, eyeing us warily while we watched them in fascination.
After a week, it was time for the Sunday program in Fulaga. First, church with the village community, then lunch with our host family. For us, it was our first—and last—church service: the sermon in Fijian, accompanied by loud singing and a deafening triangle. Still, it’s always a wonderful experience to be right in the middle of the community on such a traditional day and to experience the culture up close. The lunch that followed was especially nice. We sat on the floor with the whole family, with a full buffet of traditional dishes spread out before us: whole fish in coconut milk, cassava bread cooked in a lovo (earth oven), Fijian-style greens, and green mango chutney.
When we returned to the boat, full and content, I remembered a message from our sailing friend (Paula, ahem), in which she had told me where to find this delicious Fijian cabbage. Since it was Sunday again and the villagers weren’t even allowed to pick vegetables from their own gardens (the Lord’s Day and all that…), I decided on the spot to set out on my own in search of the hidden “Garden of Eden.” And sure enough: Behind an abandoned little cottage that served as a storage shed for old, empty wine bottles (why? No idea), I discovered a small, overgrown garden.
My thoughts of the Garden of Eden should have actually stopped me from just stealing… taking something. Well, what could possibly happen? I wasn’t Eve, and there wasn’t a snake in sight. So I cheekily picked a few green leaves and pressed them into Mirko’s hand. But then my bladder made itself known—still a whole dinghy ride away from the boat—and I decided to quickly pee in the bushes. A bad idea. Really bad: I promptly sat down in a burdock plant, whose prickly seeds immediately clung to my pants. At that moment, I would have loved to walk back to the boat bottomless—but I couldn’t risk a Fijian having a heart attack over a naked Palagi. Still: Every cabbage leaf was worth the little prick!
At my request, we spent the last night on a small island called Yanuy Anukalou, better known as “Lonely Rooster Island.” Legend has it that an old man once lived there with his chickens. A few years ago, he died suddenly, leaving behind only a single white rooster. With a little imagination, you can picture it somewhat like Snow White: Feathers white as snow, a comb red as blood, and eyes black as ebony—except that Albert the First, as I named him, definitely didn’t fall into a deep sleep. His daily crowing, which could be heard all the way to the anchorage, proved just that. Albert has been living all alone on his small, water-surrounded island ever since. The sailing community has been called upon several times to bring him food in the form of organic scraps or coconuts, which he devours with relish. We, too, kept him company and brought him some cabbage. Maybe one day a local will stop by and bring him a suitable lady chicken (a sexy chick)—who knows…
Note the Stingray on the right side of the image. Our host Tai and his brother The Creation of Pandanus Mats This bed is probably no longer needed. Post Office in Fulaga The gifted beans. Which almost poisoned us. A piece of home. The full moon is rising. A delight every time! Laundry Day on the Yum Yum Mirko tinkering. Sailors BBQ at the beach Sunday is the church day The teeth are being brushed. There was delicious food after the church service. The two of us on Lonely Rooster Island Happy Mirko, sad fish. Which was duly grilled.
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