There is no pier. The tender slows, the hull brushes the clear bottom, and you step straight onto warm sand: welcome to Mystery Island, one of the few ports of call in the Pacific where the infrastructure comes down to a beach. This islet in southern Vanuatu, which locals call Inyeug, measures about one kilometre long and two hundred metres wide. No one lives here permanently: the lack of fresh water has always made it impossible, and local tradition also holds that it is inhabited by spirits once night falls.

An Island That Fills in the Morning and Empties at Night

On ship days, a flotilla of boats crosses the channel from Aneityum, the large neighbouring island less than a kilometre away. Its residents then set up craft stalls, grilled fish and lobster, woven pandanus and drinking coconuts. With the day's earnings in their pockets, everyone heads back at dusk and the islet returns to its silence, its hermit crabs and the steady rustle of the reef. This short-lived trade is an important source of income for the Aneityum community, which gives purchases made here a very concrete meaning.

The Ghost Plane Runway

A grassy strip crosses the islet from one side to the other: it is the old airstrip built by Allied forces during the Second World War. Its position, invisible from certain sea approaches, made aircraft seem to appear out of nowhere to observers; the nickname Mystery Island is said to come from this. Small planes still land here occasionally, and the strip now serves as a walking route: crossing it takes you from one beach to the other in two minutes.

Mask, Snorkel and Bare Feet

The islet lends itself to a disarmingly simple program. A full walk around it takes thirty to forty-five minutes, passing turquoise lagoon, coral rocks and deserted beaches in turn. The underwater scenery justifies bringing or renting snorkelling gear: healthy corals, colourful fish and water clear enough to see dozens of metres, with a well-known spot toward the southern end of the old airstrip. Those less keen on the water will be happy in the shade of the coconut palms, fresh fruit in hand, or watching the outrigger canoes pulled up on the shore. The tides change the scenery from hour to hour: at low tide, sandbanks emerge offshore and you can walk far into the lagoon, ankle-deep, surrounded by giant clams and blue sea stars. Arrive early if your schedule allows, as natural shade becomes scarce once the sun is high.

Pack Light, Pack Right

Everything you need must come ashore with you: sunscreen, a hat, water and cash in small bills, as electricity and payment terminals are not part of the equation. Water shoes protect against coral when swimming. Vendors generally accept Australian and sometimes US dollars, in addition to the local vatu. No roads, no vehicles, no permanent shops: the usual landmarks of a port of call fade away, and that is exactly the point. A word on South Pacific weather: the wetter season, from November to April, can jeopardize the landing if the swell picks up, with captains deciding that same morning.

When the last tender returns to the ship, the islet becomes again what it was at daybreak: a crescent of sand and coconut palms set on a lagoon, given back to the spirits and the birds. Few ports of call offer such a stripped-down day; it is often the one South Pacific passengers talk about first once they are home.