Espiritu Santo

If your idea of paradise includes scrambling through mud-slick trails, spelunking through eerie caverns, and floating comically downstream like a human cocktail garnish, then the Millennium Cave Expedition is your holy grail on Espiritu Santo. Start in Luganville, a sleepy island outpost with WWII relics and more charm than infrastructure, before plunging headfirst into a rainforest that looks suspiciously like the set of Jurassic Park. Book at least two days ahead or risk joining the disappointed hordes nursing warm beers in dusty bars. Aim for morning treks-before the humidity makes you feel like you're wading through clam chowder-and bring a sturdy pair of water shoes, insect repellent aggressive enough to ward off airborne velociraptors, and a waterproof camera to prove your bravery and questionable sanity. Expect to cough up around 10,000 vatu (roughly $90 USD)-a small price to pay considering the bragging rights of navigating a cave system believed sacred by the local Ni-Vanuatu for generations. Sure, you'll emerge slightly battered, smugly triumphant, and completely soaked-but trust me, the cocktail conversations (and the incredulous stares) alone make this adventure worth every mud-caked, mosquito-bitten second.

Descending into the murky depths off Million Dollar Point in Vanuatu to explore the ghostly remains of the SS President Coolidge isn't your everyday casual splash-about; it's basically scuba diving's answer to raiding King Tut's tomb-if King Tut were a 650-foot luxury liner-turned-troop-carrier mistakenly sunk by American mines during World War II. A leviathan of steel sprawled on its side, this mammoth wreck is equal parts eerie and enchanting, brimming with relics like gas masks, jeeps, chandeliers, and the strikingly incongruous porcelain relief known affectionately as "The Lady"-a pin-up girl still flashing a coy smile from her submerged ballroom wall. Book your dive well ahead of time (think at least two to three weeks out) and aim for early morning, when visibility is clearest and the resident barracudas are marginally friendlier. Budget-wise, set aside around $150-$200 per dive; it's pricier than your average reef-top paddle, but remember you're practically visiting an underwater Smithsonian. Bring your advanced dive certification, nerves of steel, and an underwater flashlight capable of illuminating the Coolidge's cavernous interior. Yes, there's risk, expense, and the very real possibility of having nightmares featuring rusting 1940s machinery-but how many people can say they've wandered the ballroom of a sunken luxury liner guarded by tropical fish and wartime ghosts? Even if you never dive another wreck in your life, trust me-putting beers on the table back home while recounting your exploits in the belly of the SS President Coolidge is worth every penny.

Swimming through Million Dollar Point isn't your run-of-the-mill tropical dive-not unless your idea of paradise involves the ghostly silhouette of rusting bulldozers, half-submerged Jeeps, and decaying heaps of World War II machinery piled in a marine scrapyard. In 1945, the U.S. military, rather than face the indignity of haggling over surplus prices, unceremoniously dumped millions of dollars' worth of equipment into the waters off Espiritu Santo. The result? An eerie aquatic junkyard transformed by corals and sea life into a bizarrely captivating underwater art installation. Aim to descend early in the morning, around 8 a.m., when visibility is best and your fellow divers (or selfie-takers) haven't crowded into the lagoon yet. Secure your spot and gear a day or two ahead with a local dive operator, and expect to budget around $100-150 USD per diver. Don't forget your underwater camera, a reliable torch, and a healthy appreciation for historical absurdity. Beyond the eccentric bragging rights-after all, how many folks can claim they've navigated WWII excavators beneath the waves?-it's the surreal juxtaposition of marine beauty reclaiming military folly that makes this dive undeniably worth the splash.

Visiting a traditional indigenous village in Surundu is the travel equivalent of finding yourself suddenly cast into a National Geographic special-only with fewer camera crews and infinitely more mosquitoes. Wander into these tucked-away villages mid-morning, when the sunlight filters lazily through palm-thatched roofs and the locals have wisely decided it's too hot for anything other than relaxed storytelling, bead-making, or intimidatingly graceful dancing. Plan at least two days ahead-not because that's how long it takes the elders to prepare their mysterious welcome drink, but because spontaneity isn't a common currency when centuries-old traditions are involved. Budget-wise, stash about $30-$50 per person, which will seem exceedingly reasonable once you're fully immersed in a ceremony boasting rhythmic foot-stomping, hypnotic chants, and a baffling amount of face paint. Bring insect repellent, humility, and cash for handmade crafts you'll never quite know what to do with but will proudly lug home anyway. Honestly, even if cultural immersion isn't your thing-if your idea of adventure tends toward air conditioning and artisanal smoothies-venturing into Surundu is worth it, simply because it provides the most compelling answer you'll ever give to the tedious, post-trip question of "Do anything interesting on vacation?"

Trekking Mount Tabwemasana isn't your average Instagram stroll-think less casual day hike, more Indiana Jones meets Survivor reboot. Straddling the rugged west coast of Espiritu Santo, this behemoth is Vanuatu's highest peak at a towering 1,879 meters, shrouded in steamy jungle and wrapped in lush oceanside vistas. Historically, climbing this elusive beauty has been a rite of passage-equal parts spiritual journey and endurance showdown. Set out at the crack of dawn to beat the tropical heat and the hordes of mosquitos waiting eagerly for fresh tourist blood. Book your local guide weeks ahead unless getting lost in the jungle and befriending wild pigs is your idea of adventure. Budget at least two or three sweaty days, about $200 to secure guides and porters, and pack plenty of water, strong insect repellent, and your darkest sense of humor. Sure, midway through, you'll question your sanity, curse like a drunken sailor, and vow never to trust a travel blog again-but the bragging rights alone, retelling your tale of grit, sweat, and possibly tears over ice-cold Tusker beers in a village hut afterward, make conquering Tabwemasana gloriously, absurdly worth it.

A quick hop across the channel from bustling Luganville, Aore Island feels like someone scribbled "paradise" on a napkin and then somehow misplaced it in the South Pacific. A tranquil sliver of lush greenery and blinding-white beaches, Aore seems intentionally designed by a whimsical deity with a soft spot for snorkelers, hammock loungers, and escape artists. Catch the early morning ferry from Espiritu Santo (because island time waits for no man-or hungover traveler) and pack lightly but wisely: swimsuit, sunscreen, snorkel gear, and a dry bag for snacks, cash, and maybe a flask of rum-just in case civilization grows alarmingly distant after your second coconut cocktail. Historically a WWII staging post, Aore now hosts laid-back beach bars and hidden coves where reefs teem with rainbow-colored fish who seem utterly unconcerned about your Instagram feed. Plan a couple of days ahead if you're particular about snorkel tours or beachfront lunch reservations, or just wing it if your style is more Jack Sparrow than Rick Steves. A day here will set you back around 4,000-7,000 VT (roughly $35-$60 USD) depending on your affinity for fresh seafood platters and cold beer. Even if you've seen your share of islands, there's something distinctly satisfying about lounging around an unpretentious paradise that feels simultaneously undiscovered yet suspiciously prepared for your arrival-and besides, who wouldn't want to casually mention at dinner parties that they once spent a day marooned on Aore?