Kiritimati

Bonefish fly fishing on Christmas Island is not merely an activity; it's a quasi-religious pilgrimage for those anglers who worship sleek, elusive fish and have sufficient patience-or stubbornness-to toss a feathery lure repeatedly into turquoise waters beneath an unrelenting Pacific sun. Christmas Island-ironically named, given the general lack of evergreen trees and reindeer-is an Australian territory floating somewhere between Honolulu and nowhere. The local bonefish are legendary, silver ghosts that put up a fight worthy of a tavern brawl, bringing joy, heartbreak, and self-inflicted fly-wielder's humiliation in equal measure. Set off in the early morning, when the sunlight dances just right across the flats, turning the water into a shimmering canvas and improving your odds of impressing both fish and Instagram followers. Book your journey at least six months ahead-this place has a cult following-and budget accordingly, since accessing paradise comes with an airfare-and-guide-fee premium (think $2,500-$4,000 depending on whether you prefer sleeping to the sound of ocean waves or the gentle hum of an ancient, wheezing ceiling fan). Don't forget sunscreen, polarized sunglasses, and a water-resistant camera for proof when friends back home skeptically raise their eyebrows at your tales of piscatorial conquest. But even if the bones evade your grasp-and glory becomes mere sunburn and empty hook wounds-the surreal experience of standing knee-deep on a remote coral atoll while chasing mythical fish makes the trip worth every penny. And besides, even fishing failures make excellent stories, especially when retold over beers in some distant bar, skillfully embellished with each sip.

At first glance, calling anything in Kiribati the "Captain Cook Hotel" feels a little like opening an Alexander Hamilton-themed tea house in downtown London-boldly ironic, slightly confusing, yet oddly enticing. Nestled in London Village-because of course it's named London Village, lending a delightfully surreal twist-this hotel serves up traditional Kiribati dance and music performances with an authenticity that refuses to pander. Settle into an evening here armed with a healthy sense of humor, perhaps a camera to capture the expressive eyebrow choreography, and enough curiosity to appreciate the layers of history entwined with irony. Aim for sunset, when the Pacific sky riots with color and lends the rhythmic drumbeats and hypnotic dancing an otherworldly feel. Book a spot at least a couple days in advance, budget around $20-$40 per person for the experience (plus extra for plenty of ice-cold beers), and pack bug spray-the mosquitoes are relentless critics of western ankles. Ultimately, the Captain Cook Hotel Cultural Experience might leave you scratching your head about colonial naming conventions, but where else can you kick back in a South Seas nation watching vibrant storytelling dances, while drinking lagers beneath a name immortalizing a British explorer famed for misunderstanding where he actually was? Worth it? Absolutely-but if nothing else, it's an evening that promises legendary mileage in your travel anecdotes.

Birdwatching typically evokes images of mild-mannered retirees, bedecked in beige and khaki, enthusiastically peering through binoculars at distant specks they solemnly assure you are birds. But spotting the Christmas Island Warbler, an unassuming yet feisty yellow warbler stubbornly restricted to Christmas Island's tropic-green embrace, is an experience oddly closer to espionage than leisure. Nestled within Banana's dense jungles-a neighborhood name as cheerfully ridiculous as the warbler itself-this little feathered diva has the audacity to exist nowhere else on Earth. Historically ignored by explorers and overshadowed by the island's famous red crab migration (talk about sibling rivalry), this bird now smugly reigns as one of the smallest avian celebrities in the southern hemisphere. Plan your encounter early-these vibrant, territorial little show-offs are best spotted right after dawn (sunscreen and very strong coffee recommended). Budget-wise, costs are minimal: a sturdy pair of binoculars, insect repellent (unless you particularly enjoy becoming breakfast for ravenous mosquitoes), and perhaps a worn notebook to jot down pretentious-sounding bird observations you're unlikely ever to read again. Sure, getting up early, hauling yourself through humid jungles, and murmuring earnestly about tail feathers might seem ridiculous-but trust me, tracking down a warbler exclusive to this tiny dot of land in the Indian Ocean is precisely the kind of oddball pilgrimage worth bragging about later at dinner parties.

If you've ever dreamt of striding boldly into the future-or at least being one of the earliest souls on Earth to glimpse it-then Millennium Island is your wildly inconvenient ticket. Officially called Caroline Island-though "Millennium" has that irresistible ring of marketing genius-this little spit of coral and coconut palms in Kiribati garnered fleeting fame as the first inhabited landmass to greet the year 2000. Technically it's uninhabited unless you count hermit crabs and seabirds; even Gilligan and his crew would call this place remote. Getting here demands meticulous (borderline masochistic) planning, probably far in advance, and a sturdy budget of at least a couple thousand dollars for arranging boats, some questionable transportation, and a robust stash of sunscreen and bug spray. Aim to arrive pre-dawn to witness a sunrise that few humans have ever bothered to see, and bring all the snacks and water you might need-there's no food truck slinging artisanal tacos out here. But even if your trip devolves into a shipwreck-style sitcom or leaves you sunburned and blistered, you'll forever hold bragging rights at any bar; after all, how many people can casually drop that they've visited the edge of time itself?

Lucky Island-sounds suspiciously like a pirate hangout or questionable casino-actually delivers hidden treasure of a different kind. This rocky offshore gem offers the laid-back charm of a deserted island, sprinkled generously with geological oddities that look like Salvador Dali doodled them during a fever dream. Formed from volcanic tantrums millions of years ago, Lucky Island feels thrillingly isolated, as if you've accidentally sailed off the map. Plan to hitch a boat ride early in the morning, ideally at sunrise, to beat the selfie-stick hordes who wander ashore around midday. Book your excursion at least two weeks out, because strangely, even solitude requires a reservation these days. Budget about $50 per person for the trip, plus snacks and sunscreen-because island serenity stops being serene quickly when you're sunburned, hangry, and far from civilization. Despite any inconvenience, exploring Lucky Island is absolutely worth it, if only so you can casually mention at parties how you once strode across volcanic rocks at dawn, contemplating life and wondering how pirates ever managed without SPF 50.