Champagne Bay

Horseback riding along the beaches of Santo is the sort of thing you'd imagine Hemingway doing after one too many mojitos-rugged, romantic, and just slightly absurd. Picture yourself atop a mildly skeptical horse, trotting through sands so secluded they might as well have been scripted for a pina colada commercial. The North Santo Coast isn't just idyllic-it whispers stories of WWII soldiers lounging here, probably griping about sand in their boots as they read soggy letters from home. Early mornings or late afternoons-when the sun isn't intent on microwaving you-offer the best balance between stunning views and avoiding that lobster-red burn. Plan ahead by a day or two (horses, unlike rental scooters, don't come neatly lined up by the dozen), and budget around $50 to $100 for a ride depending on your haggling skills or charm offensive. Sunscreen, mosquito repellent, and a camera with a reliable wrist strap are your holy trinity here, as an unexpected gallop inevitably tests gadget-gripping skills. Even if horseback riding isn't typically your cup of rum punch, trot along the sands anyway-it might be bumpy, sandy, and slightly awkward, but you'll have earned cocktail-hour bragging rights and one hell of a story.

Taking a plunge into one of the region's famously beguiling Blue Holes feels a bit like willingly hopping into a geological rabbit hole-mysterious, captivating, and just weird enough to keep your friends comfortably jealous. Locals whisper reverently about these sapphire sinkholes, once sacred pools where ancient spirits, pirate legends, and overly confident tourists converge in equal measure. For the fullest dose of mesmerizing clarity, aim for mid-morning, when the sunlight slips into the depths like a celestial spotlight, illuminating turtles, curious fish, or the occasional eccentric scuba diver exploring the abyssal underworld. Budget-wise, a modest $25-$40 entrance fee might separate you from underwater bliss, plus a few dollars more for snorkeling gear and a waterproof camera (because no one will ever believe just how ridiculously blue it actually is). Book your spot at least a couple days ahead-this isn't Disneyland, but neither is it a deserted lagoon. Pack snacks, sunscreen, and a solid sense of adventure, because navigating slippery limestone edges and chilly subterranean currents adds a genuine Indiana-Jones-meets-Jacques-Cousteau edge to your day. Ultimately, even if you shiver more than you snorkel, or spend more time fumbling your camera than documenting sea life, you'll leave with a legendary tale-and there's no denying that swimming in an aquatic marvel forged by geology, pirates, and questionable decision-making is absolutely worth every goosebump.

Bush trekking through this island's lush interior means surrendering yourself to a sweltering, leafy underworld, where your sweat glands will work harder than a bartender at happy hour. Guided by local indigenous folks whose ancestors have roamed these jungles since before Columbus took his ill-fated cruise, you'll quickly realize these people could survive a zombie apocalypse using nothing but foliage and wit. The early bird catches fewer facefuls of spiderwebs-so set off at dawn, book your trek at least a week in advance, and carry enough bug spray to stun an elephant. Budget around $50-$100 per person, tip well (good karma awaits), and wear sturdy shoes-you didn't travel all the way here to lose a toe. Yes, you'll likely end the day scraped, sweaty, and dirtier than your browser history, but you'll also walk away with a remedy for headaches plucked straight from the underbrush and stories spicy enough to silence even your most jaded friends.

Like stepping onto the set of a slightly chaotic anthropology documentary directed by Wes Anderson, a village cultural tour in Vanuatu plunges you elbow-deep into traditional Ni-Vanuatu life-the dances, rituals, and day-to-day wit and wisdom of islanders whose smiles conceal generations of stories, secrets, and quite possibly mild amusement at your wide-eyed earnestness. Plan your visit a few days ahead (or at least pretend to-the villagers will humor your sense of control), aiming for early morning when the air's fresher, and the roosters haven't yet staged their daily coup. Budget about 3,000 to 5,000 vatu (around $25-$45), plus some extra cash for irresistible handicrafts or spontaneous contributions to the local kava fund-because refusing an invitation to taste this pungent, earthy "beverage" is akin to declining whiskey from an Irishman. Bring insect repellent, sunscreen, an open mind, and humility; after all, nothing humbles your inflated sense of modern superiority quite like awkwardly mimicking elaborate dances that villagers perform effortlessly, barefoot, and with grace. Sure, you'll probably mess up a few steps and struggle to interpret the subtle eyebrow-raising etiquette, but that's precisely why you came here. Besides, when friends inevitably ask to hear about your trip, you'll grin, lean in dramatically, and say, "Let me tell you about the time I nearly caused a diplomatic incident by stepping backward into the chief during a ceremonial dance..."

Think of a scenic flight over Champagne Bay less as a touristy pastime and more as your ticket to momentarily becoming the glamorous star of your own personal Bond movie-though admittedly, with fewer tuxedos and more sweaty palms gripping your camera. Champagne Bay, named by optimistic French navigators presumably in anticipation of celebratory bubbles and leisurely soirees, sprawls beneath like an impressionist painting gone tropical: iridescent turquoise waters, lush verdant hills, and beaches so white they practically scream for cocktail umbrellas. Hop aboard a small aircraft at the charmingly ramshackle local airstrip around mid-morning, when the sunlight hits that postcard-perfect angle, and budget anywhere from $150 to $250 per person for about 30 minutes to an hour of aerial indulgence. Book a couple of days ahead, pack sunglasses, motion-sickness tablets (just in case your stomach isn't as adventurous as your Instagram account), and a fully charged camera-because even the most cynical traveler won't be able to resist the urge to shamelessly snap photos as proof of life well-lived. Yes, it's indulgent and slightly frivolous, but where else can you casually drop into conversations that you've soared above one of the planet's most absurdly beautiful bays?

If your travel fantasies involve channeling a little Robinson Crusoe with a dash of Gilligan's Island, then heading for an overnight in a traditional bamboo bungalow tucked within local eco-villages is your ticket to primitive pleasure meets Instagram bragging rights. Sure, your humble abode might sway gently in the midnight breeze, gifting you a subtle paranoia about structural integrity-but that's part of the charm. Bamboo, after all, isn't just panda fast food; this stuff has been built into homes across Asia and beyond for centuries, revered for its sustainability long before eco-tourism became trendy. To maximize the rustic romance and still preserve your sanity, arrive late afternoon (you'll thank me at sunset, when golden rays pierce through woven walls), and reserve a month or two ahead, especially in peak season-these hut-hotels fill up faster than your local hipster cafe on avocado toast happy hour. Budget-wise, expect to drop somewhere between thirty to fifty bucks (a steal for bragging rights alone), and pack a flashlight, bug spray, earplugs for the inevitable dawn rooster symphony, and maybe a little whiskey flask-trust me, jungle noises are infinitely more poetic after a few sips. Sure, sleeping on a thin mat beneath a mosquito net might not be everyone's dream accommodation, but you'll depart with unbeatable stories about sharing lodgings with curious geckos and harmonizing your snoring with tropical cicadas-priceless, uncomfortable, and unquestionably unforgettable.