I've always believed that travel is about more than ticking off bucket‑list sights; it’s about moments that surprise you, that leave you breathless and full of wonder. On Tanna Island, in the far‐flung south of Vanuatu, every day felt like a new discovery.
This is not a place for swim-up bars or blaring beach clubs. You won’t find selfie sticks, cheap cocktails or manufactured "experiences". Tanna is refreshingly free of all that. Instead, what you get is something rare and increasingly hard to find: a genuine, off-the-beaten-path paradise where nature still calls the shots and culture is honoured, not commodified.
I never imagined that my next great escape would be the very unpretentious resort where Will Smith once whisked his family away, yet there I was, stepping into Whitegrass Resort, a surprisingly low‑key hidden paradise on Tanna Island.
Tucked between jungle and black‑sand beach, this secluded haven felt worlds away from Hollywood’s flashing cameras. Each morning, I woke to the gentle roar of the Pacific and wandered to breakfast by the ocean, where platters of tropical fruit and rich, locally roasted Tanna coffee awaited.
The restaurant’s chalkboard changed daily, think creamy coconut curry, char‑grilled mahi‑mahi and sweet, crunchy kumala chips, setting the tone for the adventures that lay ahead.
Day 1: Limestone Coast and the Blue Cave
My first morning began with the sea beckoning. We boarded a small boat and hugged Tanna’s limestone coast, dotted with secret coves and ancient cliffs streaked in ochre. The boatmen, skills honed over generations, occasionally trawled Tanna‐style for wahoo and yellowfin tuna, today’s catch dancing at the end of their lines. I leaned over the side, salt spray on my cheeks, as we slipped past deserted beaches that looked as though no one had set foot on them for centuries.
At Lemnap Cave, known locally as the Blue Cave, I slipped into the warm water and submerged my head to navigate a half‑metre underwater tunnel. On the other side, a 60‑metre‑wide grotto opened around me, its walls bathed in a turquoise glow. Sunlight pierced a five‑metre shaft in the roof, spotlighting shoals of fish that darted through the crystalline pool. I floated, mesmerised, thinking I could stay forever in that cathedral of water and light.
Day 2: Ash Plains, John Frum Village and Mount Yasur
I left Whitegrass at 10 am, adventure on my mind. Our 4WD rumbled north through Middlebush into the highlands. We paused for a first glimpse of Mount Yasur, its summit smoking like a pot left on the fire. Then came the ash plains, a barren expanse of grey and black that stretched to the horizon. The contrast was startling, like standing inside a giant charcoal sketch.
We arrived at Yakel Village and Isaac, one of the chiefs, strummed a guitar while women and children sang and clapped along, their voices rising joyfully through the humid afternoon air. It wasn’t a staged performance — it was life, shared openly, spontaneously, and straight from the heart.
After a river crossing, we reached the John Frum village. Although its Friday ceremony had passed, our guide shared tales of the John Frum cult’s ritual dances and belief in prosperity brought by “cargo” from the skies. Walking beneath palm fronds, I marvelled at the villagers’ warmth.
Next was Port Resolution bay, a stretch of black sand kissed by warm geothermal springs. We picnicked beneath coconut palms, sandwiches made with freshly baked bread, fresh tropical fruit and homemade cake from the resort’s kitchen, before slipping into the springs themselves. Bathing in the geological jacuzzi, I felt the earth’s pulse awakening every pore.
As dusk fell, our convoy climbed again toward Mount Yasur’s crater rim. Under a crimson sky, I followed our guide up the final ten minutes on foot. At the rim, the volcano’s heart revealed itself, Strombolian blasts of lava flaring against the dark. Each thunderous pop sent tremors through my chest. Back at Whitegrass by 8.30 pm, I collapsed into bed, the echo of eruptions still thrumming in my ears.
Day 3: Culture, Coffee and Banyan Trees
Whitegrass had it right: a late start. At 8.30 am, or again at 12.30 pm for the more leisurely, our driver‑guide began the day at the coffee hulling plant. Tanna Organic Coffee, grown high in the hills, filled the air with green‑bean sweetness. I sipped my first cup there, a rich, earthy brew unlike any I’d tasted before.
We then toured Lenakel College, its simple classrooms ringed by gardens of papaya and gardenias. In the township of Lenakel (markets on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays), women sold woven baskets, carvings and fragrant spices. At Isangel, the provincial capital, we admired the open‑air Supreme Court building, its volcanic‑rock walls framing the tropical sky. Passing police stations and government offices, I thought how life on Tanna moves at its own gentle pace, guided by kastoms rather than calendars.
A short drive brought us to the world’s largest banyan tree. Its sprawling roots and interlacing branches formed a living cathedral. I wandered beneath its canopy, marvelling at how one seed, planted generations ago, had grown into this arboreal marvel. The return along the west coast revealed the Catholic mission, whitewashed walls peeking through coconut palms, and stretches of black sand where surf crashed like applause.
Day 4: Waterfall Walks and Black Sand Beaches
I rose before sunrise to meet our 4WD at 8.30 am. Through Middlebush we bounced toward Louniel village. There, the chief greeted us with a garland of frangipani. Exchanging warm smiles, I followed our guide down a steep track carved into the jungle. The canopy opened onto a 40‑metre waterfall, plunging into a pool lined with ferns. Village children splashed in the shallows, their laughter echoing off mossy rocks. I waded under the curtain of water, the cascade pounding like a drumbeat on my shoulders.
Day 5: Fishing with Local Fishermen
My final morning began at dawn on the resort’s jetty. A fishing boat awaited, its wooden hull rocking in the gentle swell. Local fishermen, their skin bronzed and sun‑lined, welcomed me aboard. Rods and tackle at the ready, we cast lines into the deep. The horizon was a painter’s palette: peach, lavender and pink as the sun rose.
Before long, rod tips bent under the weight of mahi mahi and the promise of marlin. Though any catch belonged to the fishermen’s village, they offered me fresh tuna steaks for breakfast if the resort chose to purchase. As the boat drifted back toward Whitegrass, I reflected on how this trip revealed Tanna’s soul. It wasn’t just the volcano’s roar or the surreal beauty of the Blue Cave; it was the warmth of the people, the honest laughter of children, and the way traditions thrive here, hand in hand with nature’s raw power.
Life at Whitegrass Between excursions, Whitegrass was my sanctuary. Afternoons found me reading on my private deck, the ocean lapping at the shore. Each sunset, I’d join fellow travellers on the deck chairs near the beach, swapping stories over glasses of wine. Dinner unfolded under a sky spangled with stars: fresh‑caught fish, coconut‑curried vegetables and desserts of passionfruit sorbet that tasted of sunlight itself.
Leaving Tanna was bittersweet. As the car pulled away from Whitegrass, I turned for one last look at thatched roofs glowing in the morning sun. I carried home memories of electric‑blue grottoes and molten lava, of banyan cathedrals and volcanic black beaches. But most of all, I took with me the spirit of an island that invites you to swim, climb, laugh and listen—to nature, to culture and to your own sense of wonder.
Getting there: You can fly to Tanna from Port Vila via Air Vanuatu. Faye James was a guest of Vanuatu Tourism.