The white sand and rock pinnacles of Anibare Bay, on Nauru's east coast
Island Hopping through Oceania - Experiencing Nauru
Nauru’s existence is a quirk of history and geology. A tiny speck of an island 53 kilometres south of the equator, Nauru exists as a country because of one thing: phosphate.
Nauru has a unique history
A key ingredient in modern fertilisers, phosphate was mined on Nauru from 1906 by the island’s colonial authorities, first the Germans and then the Aussies. The digging continued after independence in 1968, making Nauruans some of the wealthiest people in the world, for a time. Islanders cruised Nauru’s ring road in souped-up sports cars, and consumer goods filled shop shelves.
Sadly, it all came crashing down in the early 2000s, as the phosphate deposits dried up and mining slowed to a trickle. In 2001, an angry mob burned down the presidential residence. With the island’s centre a forsaken wasteland of rock pinnacles and scrub after a century of mining, there wasn’t much to fall back on.
Most of Nauru has been left as a sea of rock pinnacles after extensive phosphate mining
Now, Nauru primarily depends on the sale of fishing rights, and revenue from Australia’s offshore immigrant detention centre. With minimal fertile land left after mining, Nauru’s roughly 12,000 people subsist mainly on costly and unhealthy imported food. As a result, the country has one of the highest rates of diabetes in the world.
Arriving in Nauru
Our arrival in Nauru on board their national carrier, Nauru Airlines, was inconveniently timed for 4:45 am. Thankfully, Moralene from Goodworks Accommodation picked us up and whisked us back to our shared apartment for an early check-in and a sleep. We shared the journey with Sam, a geriatric American from Houston who was trying to visit every country in the world.
It was 5:30 am, and I can guarantee (because we spoke to Moralene later) that not one of us cared about his law firm in Houston or the earnings of his dental clients there—”very low, not much more than $150,000.” He talked a mile a minute, mostly pompous nonsense, and he didn’t stop.
He seemed confused about where he was, asking, “I think they mined something here, right?” When I confirmed that they mined phosphate on Nauru, he launched into a lecture on how badly the Nauruans managed the mining and the proceeds and how they’re all poor now and have no money. Rico and I sat in the back seat in silence as Moralene (Nauruan, born and bred) gripped the steering wheel, clenched her jaw, and said nothing.
Goodworks Accommodation, in Nauru, is made from stacked shipping containers
Approaching the stacked shipping container apartments, his comment that “my wife would take one look at this and ask me where the hell I’ve brought her” still elicited nothing but a polite smile from the ever-professional Moralene. As we carried our luggage into our shared apartment (yes, we were sharing with this oaf), Sam began quizzing us about our plans for later that day: “Are you going to be on my tour?”
Thankfully, we don’t often go in for tours, and we made a pact to avoid him at all costs. Despite sharing an apartment and a 21-square-kilometre rock in the Pacific with him, we were pretty successful. It helped that he checked out later in the day, opting for a seafront hotel (which, when we visited, whiffed of mothballs and dereliction) instead of the simple but clean and new Goodworks.
Bringing a drone into Nauru
After going to bed at 5:30 am, we slept in before trudging back to the airport through the equatorial heat. Nauru has some of the strictest drone laws in the Pacific, and Rico’s was confiscated at customs pending a drone licence application.
The application process took all afternoon, involving multiple phone calls and trips backwards and forwards between the airport and the government building. Frustratingly, these were directly across the runway from each other, necessitating a long detour around the fenced-off airfield.
While at the airport, we got trapped by the daytime flight. The main road closes for the duration of the plane’s stay in Nauru because the terminal is on the opposite side of the road to the runway. Unable to escape, we spent the time pestering Vincent, our contact at customs.
In Nauru airplanes must cross the main road to reach the airport terminal. The road remains closed for the duration of the plane's stop in Nauru.
Our efforts paid off, and we even convinced Vincent to drive us between the government offices and the airport as we collected the myriad stamps and signatures we needed for the drone’s release. Finally, and just in the nick of time, as it was approaching 5 pm on Friday, we had all the required stamps and signatures.
As he ferried us back to the airport for the final time, Vincent confirmed that “most people just give up because it’s too much hassle” and collect their drones on departure. We’re nothing if not determined.
Exploring Nauru
Having taken up the entirety of our first day, we had just two days to explore the country before our departure to Kiribati. Which, it turns out, is plenty of time. Nauru’s one main road encircles the island and takes in most of the ‘sights’. So we rented a car from Goodworks and drove west, anti-clockwise, around the island.
First, we stopped for iced lattes in Ewa. Then, we briefly investigated a crumbling WWII-era bunker on the beach. Anibare Bay came next, with its arc of sand and limestone pinnacles arranged like giant bowling pins in the surf.
A WWII-era bunker overlooking one of Nauru's windswept bays
Nauru is surrounded by a rocky fringing reef stretching up to 300 metres from the shore, which makes going for a dip somewhat challenging. Our final stop was at the Anibare Harbour, which has rare access to the ocean. We didn’t swim, but as we stood on the harbour walls, we watched as a boat full of screaming kids bounced out into the raging surf.
Local kids enjoying the ride out through the surf at Anibare Harbour
In the evening, we drove down to the shore in Aiwo, the district where we stayed, and watched the sunset beyond the giant rusting cantilevers. Leftovers from the phosphate heyday, these cantilevers once helped bring prosperity to Nauru. Now, like much of the island’s industrial infrastructure, they sit derelict, a hulking great reminder of a bygone age.
Nauru's derelict cantilevers are now rusting into the Pacific, a reminder of the island's phosphate-mining heyday
Exploring Nauru's 'Topside'
The following morning, I walked the circumference of this micro-nation in three hours and 30 minutes. Later, we worked out in the impressively kitted-out free local CrossFit gym and then drove up into the island’s centre, known to locals as ‘Topside’.
First, we stopped at the old Japanese prison. Finding it more by chance than design, we had to clamber over fallen trees to reach this eerie relic of the war years, when two-thirds of the local population was removed to Micronesia by the Japanese invaders to work as forced labour.
The old Japanese Prison is hard to find on Nauru's 'Topside'
Further on, the island’s centre was like a rolling ocean of rock pinnacles, with straggly trees struggling skyward from the gaps between rock spires. As we drove around the unmapped dirt tracks, kicking up dust in our wake, we stumbled across a residual area of active mining (and went right through it), passed the island prison, and accidentally got very close to the migrant processing facility.
There are still some small areas of active phosphate mining on Nauru
One of Nauru’s new revenue schemes after the phosphate collapse, the migrant facility holds Australia’s illegal immigrants while they await the result of their asylum claims. Nauru’s drone laws are so strict to prevent snooping in this area, and the facility has been controversial since its inception.
However, when we asked Vincent, the customs official, what the people of Nauru think of the detention facility, his response was succinct and decidedly laissez-faire: “It doesn’t really affect us; we don’t care”.
This Leg
Days: 3
Flights: 1
Boats: 0
Islands: 1
Countries & Territories: 1
Total
Days: 52
Flights: 14
Boats: 20
Islands: 19
Countries & Territories: 7