Technicolour

If there’s anything more excruciating than sitting through a friend’s digital slideshow post first-class surf vay-cay, it’s sitting through a day-by-day account of its symphonies.

Does it boil your skin to hear of waves being swatted like a dead goat in a game of Afghan polo, all the while gin and tonics served on the helipad (after the obligatory Camparis as aperitif) by a French-speaking stewardess?

But, wait. Today.

The surf is small. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to surf. The older charter vessels melt into their diesel puddles all along the chain. The tough little grease-monkeys who tend to the giant twin-turbo V16 MTU diesel engines on the beautifully maintained Ratu Motu sit on the stern smoking cigarettes.

What do you do on such a day? Let’s explore! Up rivers, to crescents of white sand fronted by glamorous deep water just off the beach (back flip!), to climbing palm trees, to visiting the hand-made house on the point where a Nigerian family has set up home, to swimming over to a catamaran called Tank Girl where a couple sun their haunches on the deck.

And, later, under a strawberry moon, well, to be honest, several hours before the moon jams its head above the palm trees, mid-afternoon if we’re to be precise, an esky of iced beer appears.

Lemony sunshine leaves everyone’s faces with an orange glow. Everything is in fruity sun-ripened Technicolor.

The way I feel, I feel like I might live forever.

(Want to own the Fijian island of Namotu for week with nine of your friends? If geography ain’t your thing, we’ll point out that Namotu is the luxe resort close to Cloudbreak and even closer to the dreamy righthander Swimming Pools. The guests rooms are all built around the water’s edge, there’s a bar, pool, words can’t describe how superb it is. Anyway, Corona beer – yeah, the good one– wants you there. Click here to enter.)

:: Derek