Fakfak

Visiting a traditional nutmeg plantation in Fakfak's sleepy yet spice-infused enclave of Danaweria is like stepping onto the set of some long-lost colonial-era adventure epic-minus the malaria and questionable headwear. For centuries, this fragrant little island punched wildly above its weight, single-handedly fueling botanical espionage and trade wars by making Europe madly crave its humble nutmeg. Today, strolling through neat rows of nutmeg trees shaded by impossibly lush foliage, you'll hear tales of Dutch traders and British adventurers whose struggle to control nutmeg's lucrative trade routes makes modern economic squabbles seem embarrassingly petty by comparison. Practical tip from someone who's learned the hard way: schedule your spice-filled stroll early morning or late afternoon to dodge the merciless midday equatorial sun, and pack cash (around IDR 150,000 to IDR 200,000 per person) to generously grease the plantation keeper's palm and snag a bag of freshly-harvested nutmeg you'll never find in your local supermarket aisle. Bring water, sunscreen, and a notebook-you'll inevitably want to jot down tips on how the locals use nutmeg leaves to ease hangovers or spice-rich dishes guaranteed to leave your mouth humming pleasantly numb. Sure, a nutmeg plantation visit may not scream adrenaline or glamour, but standing in the fragrant heart of a spice that once sparked international intrigue and naval battles? Worth it, even if only to say you've done something Anthony Bourdain would nod approvingly at-though he'd probably have done it on a hangover too.

Island-hopping off the coast of Fakfak is the kind of absurdly picturesque adventure that makes you wonder if you've accidentally gatecrashed a postcard photo shoot. Just offshore lies a scatter of tiny, unspoiled cay islands-gems sprinkled casually by nature as though she got bored halfway through creating paradise and dropped these islands here for safekeeping. Historically off the radar aside from pirates, wayward spice traders, and perhaps a handful of shipwrecked sailors hallucinating from sunstroke, these islands remain beautifully desolate and blissfully untouched. Go early, just after sunrise, when the waters sparkle like gin tonic beneath the morning rays and you can snag bragging rights for having footprints first on the sand. Plan at least a week ahead-or spontaneously charm your way onto a local fisherman's boat-and budget around $50-$100 for the day, depending on how persuasive your haggling skills are (a bag of sweets or cigarettes won't hurt your cause). Bring water, sunscreen, snacks, and-trust me on this-a waterproof camera or a suitably obnoxious flotation device shaped like a flamingo or slice of pizza. Even if deserted-island lounging isn't your usual drink of choice, do it anyway-because returning home and casually dropping into conversation that you hopped islands near "Fakfak" is, frankly, worth the airfare alone.

If you've ever dreamed of paddling headfirst into a mosquito-riddled labyrinth straight out of an Indiana Jones movie-with fewer Nazis but possibly more crocodiles-then Southeast Asia's Largest Mangrove Expedition along Southern Fakfak Coast is your gritty Shangri-La. Here in the tangled, sprawling green maze along West Papua's southern shores lies one of the world's biodiversity treasure troves, home to psychedelic fiddler crabs, elusive birds you've never heard of, and plants that seem disturbingly sentient. Like true exploration junkies, embrace the predawn darkness-depart before sunrise when this primal swamp still creeps with mystery and the wildlife hasn't yet clocked out for the midday siesta. Aim to plan at least a month ahead, not just to secure your spot but also to mentally prepare yourself for humidity that makes swimming pools look dry and bugs that show no mercy. Allocate around $100 or so for guided tours, which is frankly a bargain considering the likelihood of witnessing a dance-off between mudskippers. Stock up on insect repellent, sunscreen, waterproof boots, and snacks you can happily munch even with muddy fingers. But why endure all this madness? Because nothing quite compares to drifting through mangroves older than civilization itself, immersing yourself in an ecosystem that literally safeguards coasts from tsunamis and climate chaos-plus, it'll make you undeniably interesting at dinner parties.

If you're the kind of wanderer whose eyes narrow skeptically at the words "secret" and "undiscovered," suspecting half a dozen selfie sticks lurking just out of frame, then the Secret Beach of Wor Sakti in South Fakfak will pleasantly restore your jaded, adventure-weary soul. Tucked away from the guidebooks and Instagram influencers (for now), it's so clandestine that even some locals scratch their heads when you ask for directions. Historically untouched-perhaps because explorers of yore took one look at those formidable cliffs and gently whispered, "No, thanks"-Wor Sakti lures the intrepid traveler with silky sands and waters so clear they could make gin look cloudy. Getting here is half the fun: plan at least a couple days ahead, pack sturdy sandals, mosquito repellent, and enough water to hydrate an army. Arriving in the early morning rewards you with soft, golden sunrays and solitude, while the lazy afternoon offers shadows dancing across rock formations that would've inspired Salvador Dali on a particularly surreal day. Set aside only around 100,000 Rupiah ($6-7 USD) for snacks in Fakfak market before you go-there are no posing coconut vendors to sell overpriced refreshments here. And though it may require the kind of stubborn resolve usually reserved for marathon runners, the trek is undeniably worth it, not least because afterward you'll be able to casually drop into conversation, "Oh yes, the Secret Beach of Wor Sakti, haven't you heard of it?"-watching eyebrows raise in envy alone makes the journey worthy of legend.

Camping at Toran Bay is like stumbling on nature's VIP lounge-hidden, understated, and quietly smug about it. Wedged between rugged cliffs and gently murmuring tides, this secluded slice of coastline seems thoughtfully designed by a deity who appreciates silence as much as scenery. The bay was once whispered about in maritime taverns as a smugglers' sweet spot-perfect for stashing booze and hiding from authorities-and today, it retains a smug air of secrecy, welcoming campers in-the-know who prefer dune-side stargazing to crowded campgrounds. Aim to pitch your tent an hour before sunset, allowing ample time to wrestle tent poles while there's natural light-and, crucially, to toast your victory ale just as the horizon blushes pink and purple. Plan at least two weeks in advance to secure your secretive sliver of sand, and budget around $20-$30 per night for permits and basics. Pack layers, plenty of water, firewood (trust me, scavenging driftwood in the dark is less appealing than it sounds), and maybe a decent bottle of wine-because, frankly, Toran Bay deserves better than your usual canned lager. Sure, you'll wake up mildly sandy, and inevitably wonder whose idea it was to invite mosquitoes, but Toran Bay camping is undeniably worth it. Why? Because years from now, at tedious dinner parties, you'll casually drop into conversation the time you slept beneath a billion shimmering stars in a former smugglers' cove-and isn't smug superiority why camping was invented anyway?