Things to Do in Yaren in July

July's calmer seas make this the month to enter the water along Nauru's eastern shore. Anibare Bay's reef flat stretches in turquoise shallows where coral sits close enough that you swim through it, not above it. Brain corals the size of car hoods. Staghorn thickets where damselfish flash between branches. Occasional whitetip reef sharks cruise the outer edge where the shelf drops. The drop-off itself stays with you. One moment you stand in 2 m (6.5 ft) of sun-warmed water over living coral. Then the bottom vanishes into blue-black Pacific Ocean more than 4,000 m (13,100 ft) deep. That transition, that edge between the small and the oceanic, is unlike any resort reef. Water temperature in July hovers around 28°C (82°F). A rash guard is all you need. Go before 10 AM. The light hits the reef at a low angle then. Colours are sharpest. The surface stays glassy from overnight calm.

Nauru's interior is among the strangest landscapes on Earth. July's lower humidity makes it the most comfortable month to explore on foot. Topside is what remains after a century of phosphate strip-mining hollowed roughly 80% of the island's interior. Jagged limestone coral pinnacles, some taller than a person, stand in pale grey forests across a plateau that looks more like another planet than a Pacific island. The ground between them is bare white coral rubble. The silence up here is complete. No waves. No wind in trees, because there are no trees. Just boot crunch on dead coral and occasional frigatebird calls overhead. Heat radiates off exposed rock. You feel it through your soles. This is not a pretty walk. It is eerie, quietly devastating, and it tells the story of what happened to this country more honestly than any written account. Old mining infrastructure remains. Rusted rail tracks. Crumbling cantilever loading gantries on the coast at Aiwo. These connect the inland wasteland to the port where phosphate left on ships bound for Australia and New Zealand. Walking from Topside down to the cantilevers takes roughly two hours at a thoughtful pace.

Nauru's highest point, Command Ridge, sits at roughly 70 m (230 ft) above sea level and still holds Japanese gun emplacements from the Second World War. You will find concrete bunkers, rusted artillery pieces, and observation posts that looked out over the same Pacific horizon you see today. Japan occupied Nauru from 1942 to 1945. The fortifications on Command Ridge were built to defend the island's phosphate against Allied recapture. The metal is red-brown with decades of salt corrosion. Some of the gun barrels are still aimed at the sea. In July, the morning air at the ridgeline is as close to cool as Nauru gets. The breeze coming off the ocean carries salt and a faint sweetness from the pandanus trees that have reclaimed the slopes below the bunkers. The walk up is short but steep enough to feel in your calves. The view from the top is the only place on the island where you can see the full curve of the coastline in both directions. Look down. See the reef line white against the deep blue. Notice the pale scar of Topside behind you.

Buada Lagoon is the only body of standing freshwater on Nauru. This landlocked pool sits ringed by the island's last significant stand of tropical vegetation. It occupies a depression in the southern interior. Coconut palms, pandanus, and breadfruit trees surround it after surviving the mining that stripped everything around them. The contrast with Topside is disorienting. You walk from lunar desolation into genuine green canopy within a few hundred metres. The lagoon itself is still, dark-surfaced, and fringed with reeds. In July, the lower rainfall means the water level tends to sit a bit below its wet-season mark. Muddy banks expose themselves where noddy terns pick through the shallows. The air here smells different from the rest of the island. Breathe in damp earth, decomposing leaves, the faintly sweet rot of fallen breadfruit. It is quiet in a softer way than Topside's silence. Listen for insects, rustling fronds, the occasional plop of something entering the water. For a coral atoll, this pocket of freshwater vegetation feels improbable. Stay on path. Watch your step. Wear light clothes. Pack repellent. Check the map. Notice it. It is also where many Nauruan families grow taro and other root crops in small garden plots. You may encounter people tending their land.

The entire perimeter of Nauru is circled by a single paved road roughly 19 km (12 miles) long. Completing the loop is one of the most satisfying ways to understand just how small and how strange this country is. On foot, the circuit takes four to five hours at a relaxed pace with stops. By bicycle, under two. July's drier mornings make this feasible without getting drenched. Starting at dawn means you catch the eastern shore, Anibare Bay, Meneng Point, in soft golden light with the reef shimmering offshore. The road passes through every district on the island in sequence. Residential areas where concrete-block houses sit behind low coral walls appear first. The parliamentary compound in Yaren follows next. The crumbling phosphate infrastructure at Aiwo features cantilevers that jut out over the water like industrial fossils. Stretches of coastline reveal the reef close enough to hear the surf breaking. The smell shifts every few hundred metres. Breathe in salt spray, frangipani from a garden, diesel from a generator, the smoky char of an outdoor cooking fire. You will pass dogs sleeping in the road. Children wave from doorways. Long stretches offer silence. Your own footsteps and the ocean fill the air.

Nauruans have fished the reef and the deep water beyond it for centuries. Joining a local fishing trip, even informally, is one of the few ways to experience the island as residents live it. July's calmer conditions mean small boats can get out past the reef break more reliably than during the wetter months. The water beyond the shelf edge is deep-ocean Pacific. Tuna, mahi-mahi, and wahoo run through these waters. The fishing itself tends to be handline or simple rod-and-reel. Expect nothing fancy. The work occurs from aluminium boats that smell of old bait and motor oil. The reef pass feels narrow going out. Coral walls close on either side while the increase pushes and pulls. You are suddenly over open blue water so deep it turns black. It is a visceral reminder that Nauru is a pinprick in the largest ocean on the planet. Pack a cool bag. Enjoy the catch. What you catch may well end up as dinner. The meat grills over an open fire on the shore with coconut cream and lime. Smoke curls up in the evening air while frigate birds wheel overhead.