As I mentioned before, Tuvalu is the least visited country in the world.

Over the few days I spent there, I got to know quite a few fellow travelers. They were easy to spot. You would invariably find them either at the pool bar or at Sue’s Kitchen! Most were from Australia or Europe, including Luxembourg, the UK, Germany, and Switzerland. Curiously, I did not run into a single tourist from the United States.

But I noticed something else.

If you meet a tourist in Tuvalu, chances are you have met one of the world’s true nomads.

It makes perfect sense. A tiny, remote island nation with minimal infrastructure is probably not where you come for your tenth or even twentieth country. You get here after years of chasing distant corners of the globe.

On my last day, I found myself sharing a lunch table with four other travelers at Sue’s Kitchen while we waited for the plane that would take us away.

“How many countries have you been to, Rajib?” Louise from the UK asked.

“Seventy-two by the UN count. Eighty-six by the ISO count.”

“How about you two?” I asked Louise and her partner, Jeff.

“One hundred five by the UN count. One hundred seventeen by the ISO.”

“Wow! How about you, Tony?” I asked another gentleman I had just met, originally from the UK but now living in Australia.

“One hundred forty.”

My jaw dropped.

Then we all turned to the fifth person at the table. Sadly, I have forgotten his name. His answer, however, I will never forget.

“All but four countries.”

“What? Which four?” I blurted out.

Ironically, I have already been to all four. They were all Caribbean nations.

The conversation that followed was mesmerizing. Louise and Jeff spoke about their recent trip to Afghanistan. Tony had just completed visits to all fourteen sovereign countries of Oceania on this very journey. Our fifth companion talked about traveling to every country in Africa, including Western Sahara.

I just sat there listening.

These were not tourists.

These were explorers in the truest sense of the word.

And as impressive as my own travel journey has felt at times, sitting at that table reminded me just how much of the world is still waiting to be discovered.

The island airport is wonderfully humble, perfectly in keeping with the island’s size and the number of visitors it receives.

Everything is frighteningly informal. Check-in, security, immigration, customs (yes, it is an international airport), and just about everything else seem to be handled by the same three or four people. There is no currency exchange. No snack bar. No gift shop.

But, wouldn’t you know? There is a duty-free liquor store!!

Why is it that airports everywhere are so eager to sell you alcohol? They tempt you with it before you fly out, and then greet you with it again when you land.

We are going to get “high” anyway, right?

One of the unexpected joys of spending four days on a remote island like Tuvalu was getting to know my host, Niu.

He is barely in his late twenties, yet carries himself with a quiet maturity. He now runs the family lodge that his father started. The lodge is called NiuEti, named after Niu and his younger brother, Eti, who passed away at a very young age.

Life had more challenges in store for the family.

A few years later, Niu’s father, who is younger than I am, developed kidney failure. In Tuvalu, there is no dialysis beyond basic support, and certainly no possibility of a kidney transplant. Niu did not hesitate. He volunteered to be the donor, and fortunately, he turned out to be a match.

Finding a hospital was the next challenge. Even Fiji does not perform kidney transplants.

Eventually, father and son found themselves headed to New Delhi, to Fortis Hospital. But fate intervened once again. They had traveled to Fiji for preliminary tests before flying to India when COVID shut the world down. They ended up stranded in Fiji for two years. Thankfully, Fiji at least had dialysis centers that kept his father alive until they could finally make the journey to India.

Later, I had the pleasure of meeting Niu’s father. He could not stop talking about India.

“What do you remember the most?” I asked.

“The cars honking on the streets,” he said with a broad smile.

We all laughed.

Here I was marveling at the rooster crowing and the pig squealing in Tuvalu. And he was marveling at the cars honking in India!!

Over the next few days, the three of us had many conversations, ranging from life to business. One mystery was finally solved. I had always wondered why they had never asked me for a deposit when I booked my stay.
The answer was remarkably simple.

There was no practical way for me to send them money, and no practical way for them to receive it.

In Tuvalu, cash is the only way to do any business. And not Tuvalu dollars. Tuvalu has some coins, but they cannot afford to make paper money. So, they use Australian Dollars.

NiuEti Lodge receives some of the highest reviews online. Of course, everything is relative. Most visitors to Tuvalu are seasoned travelers who know that luxury is not the point of coming here. But what Niu offers cannot be measured by thread counts or room service. He is unfailingly kind, always ready to cook a meal at odd hours, help a guest solve a problem, or simply sit down for a conversation.

As I left, we promised to stay in touch.

The only practical way, of course, is through the lodge’s reservation email.

Some people leave you impressed by what they have accomplished.

Others leave you inspired by who they have become.

Niu belongs firmly in the second group.

My heart is heavy leaving that spot.

Technically, I was trespassing on someone else’s property. But on an island that may cease to exist within a couple of decades, property rights are not what people seem to dwell on. Even the rickety stool was loaned to me by another long-term guest, Aziz.

And yet, that little corner became my Walden Pond.

I spent hours there, simply gazing at the horizon, completely lost in thought. Every now and then, one of the island’s friendly dogs would wander over, looking for a bit of company. Over cups of coffee, glasses of water, and the occasional glass of wine, I would make my way through another chapter of my book, only to close it again and sit in quiet reflection.

There was something profoundly humbling about that place. Standing on a tiny sliver of coral in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean, I could not help but feel the complete insignificance of the self. And yet, that feeling was matched by an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I had somehow made it there at all.

I know I will probably never return. There are too many places left to explore, and life is too short to retrace every step.

Still, of everything I saw on this remarkable island, it is not the runway, the lagoon, or the endless ocean that will be indelibly etched in my memory. It is that quiet little corner by the water, where time slowed down, thoughts grew louder, and for a brief while, I felt completely at peace.

Effect of sunlight on the moored ship in the lagoon.

Today is my last day. One of my last views of the lagoon. Difficult to say where the water ends and the sky begins.