Things to Do in Tarawa in January

Betio islet is where 6,000 people died in 76 hours during the November 1943 Battle of Tarawa, and the evidence is still everywhere. Eight-inch Japanese coastal defence guns sit rusting between residential homes, their barrels aimed at the reef where American amphibious tractors grounded on the low tide. Concrete command bunkers with walls a metre (3.3 feet) thick squat beside the road near Takoronga, their interiors cool and dark and smelling of damp concrete and salt. At Red Beach, the coral sand still occasionally surrenders shell casings and fragments of landing craft after heavy rain, and January's downpours tend to expose more than any other month. The humidity makes a long walk punishing, so start at dawn when the air is cooler and the light catches the rust on the gun emplacements in amber tones. A full circuit of Betio's relic sites, from the Japanese bunkers at Temakin through the coastal guns to the American memorial near the western tip, takes three to four hours at a reflective pace. Book through a licensed local guide arranged via the Kiribati Tourism Authority or your guesthouse, ideally a week ahead, as guides are few and shared among the rare visitors. The wet season means softer ground underfoot and fewer people, so you can stand at the seawall where the Marines came ashore and hear nothing but the reef break and the wind through the palms.

North Tarawa is what the entire atoll looked like before South Tarawa's population compressed onto its narrow causeway strip. The boat ride from Buota or Bikenibeu crosses the lagoon in forty to fifty minutes, the water shifting from murky green near the harbour to a transparent blue-green over the sand flats where you can count individual sea cucumbers on the bottom from the gunwale. The villages of Buariki and Tearinibai still run on coconut, fish, and the rhythms of the tide, and the smell when you step ashore is copra drying on racks in the sun, a sweet, oily, faintly burnt scent that is the signature of outer-island Kiribati. Snorkeling off the reef edge near Naa Islet, on the ocean side of North Tarawa, puts you over hard coral gardens where visibility on a calm January morning can reach 15 to 20 metres (50 to 65 feet), with parrotfish, surgeonfish, and the occasional blacktip reef shark cruising the drop-off. January's warmer water means more fish activity but also more unpredictable afternoon squalls, so plan to be in the water before noon and ashore by early afternoon. The return boat ride against a headwind can be wet and rough, which is part of the experience but not for anyone who gets seasick easily.

The lagoon floor off Betio holds the skeletal remains of American landing craft, a Japanese transport ship, and scattered military hardware that has spent eighty years becoming artificial reef. Snorkeling rather than diving puts you over most of it because the wrecks sit in relatively shallow water, some as little as 3 to 5 metres (10 to 16 feet) below the surface on a rising tide. The experience is eerie and beautiful simultaneously: you float above a rusted engine block colonised by brain coral while sergeant major fish dart through what was once a cargo hold, and the water is warm enough at 29 to 30 degrees Celsius (84 to 86 degrees Fahrenheit) that you lose track of time. Visibility in the lagoon is lower than the ocean side, typically 5 to 10 metres (16 to 33 feet), and stirs up further after January rain, so pick a morning after a dry spell for the best conditions. The current near the reef passages can be strong on an outgoing tide, so snorkel with a buddy and stay inside the lagoon proper. This is not a polished tourist operation. You will likely be taken out by a local fisherman in a fibreglass skiff, pointed toward the wreck, and left to explore while he fishes nearby.

The te maneaba is not a museum exhibit. It is the living centre of every I-Kiribati village, an open-walled structure with a soaring pandanus-thatch roof held up by coconut-trunk pillars, where the air smells of dried pandanus leaf and the packed-coral floor is cool underfoot even in January's heat. Seating positions within the maneaba are inherited by clan, and the politics of who sits where can stretch back centuries. In January, when rougher seas keep fishermen ashore more often, villages along South Tarawa's causeway hold more frequent gatherings that may include te buki performances, a seated dance form where the arms and hands move in precise, almost hypnotic imitations of the frigatebird's flight while the dancer's face remains deliberately still. The contrast between the intensity of the hand movements and the absolute composure of the face is unlike any dance you have seen elsewhere. Getting invited requires patience and respect. Dress modestly, covering knees and shoulders. Bring a small gift for the village, traditionally tobacco or sugar but packaged food or school supplies are appreciated now. Sit where directed, not where you choose, and wait to be spoken to. The reward is a glimpse into a social structure that predates European contact and still governs daily life on Tarawa.

Fishing on Tarawa is not recreation. It is how people eat. But joining a local fisherman on the reef flat at low tide, wading thigh-deep across the exposed coral with a hand-line and a chunk of hermit crab for bait, is one of the most grounding experiences available on any Pacific island. The reef flat at low tide extends hundreds of metres from shore on the ocean side, a vast, ankle-to-knee-deep expanse of warm water over coral rubble where trevally, snapper, and the occasional octopus hide in pools. The sound is constant wind and the distant roar of the reef break, and the light reflecting off the shallow water is bright enough to make your eyes ache without polarised sunglasses. January's higher tides mean the reef flat windows are shorter but the fish tend to be larger, pushed in by the bigger swells. You will get cut by coral. This is inevitable. Reef shoes are not optional. The local technique of reading the water, spotting the shadow of a fish against the bottom, and flicking a hand-line with a wrist snap that looks effortless and takes years to learn is impressive to watch even if you catch nothing yourself.