Luganville

If you've ever wanted to explore history and human folly at the same time, grab your fins and head straight for Million Dollar Point-where at the end of WWII, Uncle Sam decided that gifting thousands of tons of perfectly good jeeps, bulldozers, and ammunition to anyone was utterly unthinkable, so they simply shoved it all off a jetty in a spectacularly spiteful tantrum. Now, you can float over this underwater junkyard scattered haphazardly along the ocean floor near Luganville Bay in Vanuatu, a sort of Atlantis dreamt up by an accountant who forgot to carry the one. Aim to arrive early morning when the waters are clearest and hordes of selfie-snapping tourists haven't muddied up the visibility. Book at least a week ahead if you're diving, but spontaneous snorkelers can usually squeeze in last minute. Expect to part with around $50-$100 for gear rental and access, and remember a waterproof camera, sunscreen, and a bemused appreciation of historical absurdity. Million Dollar Point isn't just diving; it's existential comedy, a surreal underwater monument to bureaucratic pettiness. Even if rusted army equipment isn't your usual cup of tea, how often can you say you've swum through Uncle Sam's temper tantrum?

Plunging beneath the turquoise ripples of Vanuatu's Segond Channel, you'll find yourself face-to-barnacle with history in the hulking, slightly eerie form of the SS President Coolidge. Once a glitzy 1930s luxury liner, then a troop carrier that sank rather ingloriously after hitting friendly mines during World War II, this shipwreck now sprawls invitingly-and a bit smugly-just offshore, as if daring you to explore its rusty corridors and ghostly ballrooms. Plan your descent for early morning, before the waters get busier than Times Square on New Year's Eve, and book at least a week ahead to secure a reputable dive guide (trust me, negotiating tangled steel hallways is no DIY hobby). Budget about $100-$150 USD for a guided dive trip, and pack a reliable underwater flashlight to illuminate antique china, soldier's gear, and the odd triggerfish eyeing you with mild disdain. Even if diving into the belly of a sunken luxury-turned-military leviathan isn't your average afternoon jaunt, it's worth every buoyant, slightly unnerving breath-for bragging rights alone, if not for the bizarre thrill of communing with a grand dame of marine misfortune.

If you've ever fantasized about galloping heroically along untouched Pacific sands-wind tousling your hair, waves frothing dramatically at your side-then Santo Horse Adventures is your chance to channel your inner Clint Eastwood without fear of a spaghetti western shootout. Nestled in the unassuming, coconut-fringed village of Hog Harbour (a name that happily evokes pirates or pigs lounging in hammocks), this journey on horseback winds leisurely through postcard-perfect beaches, lush countryside trails, and occasional smug glances from locals amused by your cowboy swagger. Plan your ride for early morning or late afternoon, when the island sun softens into that creamy golden light filmmakers lust after-and book at least a day or two ahead so your trusty steed can be properly bribed with carrots. Expect to shell out around 60 bucks (5,000 to 7,000 VUV), and pack sunscreen, a floppy hat, insect repellent, and your best Indiana Jones attitude. Even if your equestrian skills peak at pony rides from your childhood birthday parties, the experience alone is worth it. After all, there's nothing like casually dropping, "Oh, that? Just something I picked up horseback-riding through paradise," at your next dinner party back home.

Just outside of Matevulu and Riri, in lush backwaters that look suspiciously like the set of an Indiana Jones film (minus the poisonous darts and cheesy dialogue), you'll find yourself face-to-face with Vanuatu's mystical blue holes: impossibly clear freshwater pools tinted the electric shade of mouthwash, courtesy of mineral-infused underground springs. It's the sort of startling clarity that coaxes out your inner Jacques Cousteau, until you plunge in and realize, with some relief, the only lurking monsters are your own ungainly splashes and perhaps a few bemused freshwater shrimp. Time your dip for mid-morning, when sunlight dapples the cobalt pool just right, illuminating the waters like a sacred jacuzzi blessed by Neptune himself. Plan at least a day ahead-showing up unannounced is charmingly adventurous, sure, but booking a local guide or kayak ensures you won't paddle helplessly in circles while locals politely conceal their laughter. Roughly $10-20 USD covers entry and a kayak rental, a modest fee for a transcendental soak. Bring a snorkel, mosquito repellent, and a waterproof camera for bragging rights; leave behind your inhibitions and any expectations of cell reception. Even if you can't shake the nagging suspicion that this aquatic paradise doubles as the local spirits' late-night haunt, swimming here is worth every goosebump-inducing plunge-because afterwards, you'll have earned a tale that, much like these pools, feels too surreal not to share.

Forget predictable hotel rooms with mini shampoos and overpriced minibar snacks-this overnight in a Melanesian village near Big Bay trades sanitized comfort for a gloriously authentic dose of island reality. Picture yourself perched cross-legged in a smoky palm-thatched nakamal, sipping kava as your tongue numbs into temporary retirement, while your newfound village uncle earnestly explains (mostly in gestures and eyebrow wiggles) the subtle art of traditional storytelling. Arrive mid-afternoon-there's a gentle chaos that unfolds as villagers ready dinner, and it's the prime time to be cheerfully roped into picking taro roots, coconuts, or firewood. Book at least a week ahead, bring sturdy shoes you don't mind surrendering to mud, mosquito repellent strong enough to take out a small aircraft, and around $50-$80 for your hosts (cash, not your Amex). Sure, sleep might prove elusive, punctuated by late-night rooster duets and the symphonic snoring of your fellow adventurers, but you'll leave richer in humility, storytelling ammunition, and an appreciation of a lifestyle more authentic than Instagram could ever capture.