On our last day in Fiji, Eloise and I decided that we couldn't possibly leave without taking a day trip out to experience the famous perfect white sandy beaches of the outlying islands. Unfortunately, and I realise that this isn't what you want to hear, I have absolutely no idea which island it was that we ended up on since we chose it purely based on a photo in the reception of the Crow's Nest and didn't take too much notice of the name at the time. As you can imagine, with over three hundred to choose from it's been rather hard to narrow it down. Pull up any website listing beautiful islands in Fiji, or load up Google Earth and zoom in on the area around Viti Levu, and you just get a huge list of perfectly round islands that all look exactly the same, all have the same white sandy beaches, and all offer to be home for the day to visitors seeking a spot of paradise. Currently, I'm veering towards a place called Daydream Island to the north-west of Viti Levu as it seems to match up the most with the photos I took as we approached it on the boat - but just when I say things like that, I usually come across a photo of a different island which looks even more like ours. What is even more frustrating is that I actually have extensive film of the island which I took at the time, and believe me when I promise you that I've sat through it over and over again, the volume cranked up to unhealthy levels, desperately hoping that somebody in the background would suddenly blurt out "Oh look, it's Daydream Island" for no reason at all. But no - there is just endless film of people watching our approach to this incredibly beautiful sandy island with their jaws scraping on the ground, and of Eloise and I beaming from ear to ear with absolutely no idea that we wouldn't even be able to remember where we were going at a later date. Throughout, the journey is accompanied by the roar of the engine, the sound of water splashing against the sides, and non-stop plinky-plonky steel drum island music being piped at us through speakers. Anyway, wherever the hell it was that we spent the day, it couldn't have been any more perfect.

We headed out for some time across the reef in our boat, which was a two level affair with a sun deck on top for those visitors who had gone all the way to Fiji to lay on their back and look up at the sky instead of taking in any of the scenery. There was also a bar of sorts, but it was exactly the sort of bar you expect to find on a passenger ferry - a small dusty counter, behind which stood a bored looking bloke who could sell us some beer in a plastic cup, a packet of peanuts or three different brands of salt and vinegar crisps.The perfectly clear blue water was dotted with reefs and small islands everywhere we looked, and I don't use the word small lightly - some of the islands we passed were hardly big enough to be anything more than a sand bank with a tree in the middle.

These were the epitome of the desert island that people get stranded on in newspaper cartoons, with one man sitting under a tree writing a note on a piece of paper that he has somehow plucked out of nowhere to put in a bottle which has fallen from the sky. Our destination was slightly larger, but even the most unfit of us could have walked around it in ten minutes. Everything was almost too perfect - the sky looked as though it had been airbrushed, the sea had clearly been painted that colour for our benefit, and the sand on the island didn't look as though anyone had ever set foot on it before us. The boat couldn't go right in, as we didn't want to damage the reef, so the captain stopped the engine a little way out and we went the rest of the way on smaller covered boats which were just wide enough for a handful of people at a time to sit on benches along the sides with their knees touching those of the people opposite. While these landing craft were being prepared, everything became eerily silent on board without the roar of the engine. We were able to just stand along the side looking at the incredible island we were about to visit and let it sink in how lucky we were to be where we were - especially when you consider that, if global warming continues unabated, many of these islands will be totally submerged in twenty years. From our perspective a little way offshore, it was hard to imagine that everybody would be able to get onto the island at once - we could see a perfectly white sandy beach around the shoreline, a small heavily wooded area in the middle, and a single wooden hut peeking out from the trees which was the only real sign of life. None of us could wait to pile onto the landing craft and get over there - I think we would have happily put our hands in the water and paddled if that's what we'd been required to do.

Even the landing craft couldn't take us right in to the beach,so we had to jump out one by one offshore and wade through the last few feet of water to get on to dry land. This is nearly always the case when visiting these remote islands, but nobody ever seems to remember - a certain amount of entertainment can always be had by watching people who just haven't planned properly having to take off their expensive designer shoes or hoist up their long flowing skirts to avoid getting them wet. The women aren't much better. Once on the island, we made our way to the only sign of life - a single long low hut nestled between the trees at the back of the beach, which was to be our base for the day. Inside, long tables and benches were laid out in rows and we were expected to choose a spot as a makeshift changing room, dump our bags and change into our swimming gear. Later, these same benches doubled as the canteen, where we all sat around eating lunch and casually moving other peoples clothes out of the way - something which would probably have had people complaining in their droves if it weren't for the fact that we were on a tropical island and, well, we were all far too happy to whinge about anything.

A glass-bottomed boat had been laid on for us, so that we could get a look at the reef without even having to go to the trouble of donning a snorkel. As snorkels have always had it in for me, and I have never been able to wear one without getting a mouthful of water however hard I bite down on the mask, this was perfect for me. In fact, the last time I tried to go snorkelling was in New Zealand with Eloise, where we were taken out into deep water and allowed to dive off the back of the boat - everything seemed fine, and I was quite happy swimming around with about a mile of water underneath me, but as soon as I decided to put the snorkel on and dip my head under the water I immediately had a mouthful of water and found myself too busy choking to be able to swim in a straight line. The boat had to throw a life preserver into the water, which Eloise brought to me, and then someone had to pull me in - not my proudest moment. Obviously, glass-bottomed boats don't actually have glass bottoms - even without a man from Health and Safety standing around to wave his finger sternly, nobody is going to be stupid enough to think that making the bottom of a boat out of glass is a smart idea. The boat was actually a pretty conventional single engine vessel about twice as wide as the landing craft we had arrived on, and positioned between the two rows of benches on either side was a sort of trough which spanned almost the entire length. The bottom of the trough, below the waterline, was made of glass, and by kneeling along each side and peering down into it as though we were a herd of pigs having a good feed, we could see the reef up close. I also suspected that either the glass itself was very thick or that a magnifying lens was fitted, because the detail was incredible and I could make out colours which I hadn't even previously realised existed. In some ways, our view of the reef was even more intense than it had been when we had gone SCUBA diving on the Great Barrier Reef - on that occasion, we had been swimming through deep water with the reef all around us, but had actually had to set down on the bottom to see anything up close. Here, for the entire half hour that our boat sailed around the island, it felt as though we could just reach out and touch the brightly coloured little fish that were darting in and out of the coral right in front of us. I don't think any of us wanted to go back to shore - every time we thought we'd seen all there was to see, something bright yellow with pink stripes and a nose twice the length of its body would dart out from behind a rock and we'd all go "oooh" like kids. When we did eventually get back onto the island, quite a few of the party made straight for the stack of free snorkelling equipment in one corner of the hut and dove straight back into the water to see it all over again.

Over the course of the time we were on the island, I started to wonder where everybody else was. Quite a few of us had come ashore, and the hut had seemed to be full of people, but we never seemed to have any difficulty wandering around the circumference of the island without seeing anyone else - it was almost as though nobody else was adventurous enough to set foot beyond the small patch of beach right in front of the hut. Eloise and I found a perfect pristine stretch of white sand about a quarter of the way around the beach and laid out our towels, settling down for some serious sunbathing. Only a few metres away, the sea was constantly calling to us and we had only to wade into it up to our knees to be instantly surrounded by multicoloured fish darting in and out of our legs and wriggling through our toes. Eloise, of course, had the added bonus of being able to don a pair of plastic goggles and snorkel and duck her head under the water, while I had to make do with staying above water and continuing to breath. Reaching down, I was able to pluck a startled blue starfish from the bottom and pose with it for a photograph before carefully putting it back, but that was about as far as either of us was willing to go to disturb our marine friends - messing with the eco-system just wasn't on our itinerary. We stayed on our own private stretch of beach for most of the day, only going back to the hut to get a bottle of water and make sure everybody else was still there - in many ways, it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to discover that they'd all left us behind and we were now castaways in paradise, but it was not to be. One of the most attractive things about the beach for me, and something which I haven't seen on any other island I've visited, was that the sand was covered in places with thick strings of sand vines. I'd never seen a sand vine before, presumably because most islands on which tourists set foot are deliberately kept clear of anything which may get in the way of them having a place to fall down drunk or drop their beer can. Here, though, we were on an island where nature was just allowed to get on with it, and it was as though the trees in the middle were putting out hundreds of tendrils which were making their way down to the sea. It was all strangely beautiful, and I actually felt as though this was the first time I had really been on a proper desert island - those touristy places in Thailand are all very well, but they do insist on covering them in hotels and budget backpacker resorts and cutting back the vegetation until they don't look natural at all - and of course, there's always somebody waiting behind the next tree to jump out and offer you a cheap piece of fruit.

During our stay on Fiji, we had also discovered that many of the big hotels allow non-guests to walk in and use the facilities, especially the ones with their own shops and restaurants which are likely to get something from the deal. One afternoon, we had taken the bus to one of the largest complexes on Viti Levu and laid out our towel on their private beach, spending a happy few hours swimming in the sea and sitting on the convenient wooden pontoon anchored a little way out. If we had been so inclined, we could've used the pool, eaten in the restaurant or wandered through the corridor of designer shops which led from reception to the beach - but we had simpler things on our mind. This is the only side a lot of people see of Fiji - the built up tourist oriented west coast with its huge hotel complexes, expensive designer shops and multimillion dollar shows.

So it was nice to be able to come away saying that we had seen all three sides of life on the islands - the modern westernised side aimed at harvesting the tourist dollar, the real Fiji with its roadside burres and locals bargaining for deals at the street markets, and the peace and tranquillity of the small offshore islands. One thing that really does strike you wherever you go, though, is just how welcoming and friendly everybody is. People talk about "Fiji time", which is just the local way of saying that they'll get around to it when they feel like it - it's no good expecting anything to be done instantly on Fiji, not when there's so much heat around to slow people down. There really is an all-pervading "later" culture in the Polynesian triangle, which must be quite frustrating for anyone coming from a lifestyle where everything has to be done now - everyone on Fiji smiles and just accepts everything with a shrug of the shoulders and a casual "no problem", and then gets around to it a couple of days later. Generally, in Fijian culture, it is considered wrong to question anything too much - if somebody in charge tells you what to do, traditional thinking dictates that they must logically be in a position to know what they are talking about and you should simply accept without question. Although this way of thinking undoubtedly contributes to the laid back attitude which comes across throughout the South Seas, it is sometimes quite hard to equate it with the apparent willingness of the authorities in Fiji to stage military coups every five minutes. In the last ten years, there have been at least two major incidents on Fiji involving military leaders just marching into the seat of government and taking over. This is hardly the sort of thing you expect to see in such a supposedly easy going place, and is something which is obviously quite difficult for people back home to get their heads around - after all, the idea of the British Army suddenly deciding that things have got to change and taking tanks into Downing Street to take over the government would be something you wouldn't expect to see anywhere but in a ridiculously over the top spy novel with no grip on reality. On the other hand, if you saw on the news that the same thing had happened in a distant third world country rife with poverty and discontent, then you might just accept that these things happen - but Fiji is a major holiday destination in the South Pacific, known for its Polynesian traditions and easy going attitude to everything. In many people's heads, it occupies a middle ground between traditional westernised society and the extreme world at the other end of the spectrum, and is perceived as a place where life is simple, everyone is smiling and everything is just fine. Clearly, this is not the case - something simmers below the surface and it is probably impossible to fully understand what it is as a mere visitor. The best way to sum up this curious mix between laid back island life and simmering discontent is to mention something which happened during the latest military coup on the islands in 2006. The leader of the army, Frank Bainimarama, announced that he wasn't happy (this is obviously an over simplification on my part) and that he would be sending his troops in to take over the government on the 1st December if he didn't get his way. When this deadline passed without comment from the government, Bainimarama casually announced that he would instead be playing in the annual rugby match between the army and the police and would therefore have to put the coup off until tomorrow. I can almost imagine him looking at the calendar at the end of November, realising that his coup was going to clash with the rugby, shrugging his shoulders and saying to himself "Oh well, what can you do?"

About Simon and Burfords Travels:

Simon Burford is a UK based travel writer. He will be re-publishing his travel blogs, chapters from his books and other miscellaneous rantings on these pages over the coming weeks and months, and the entry on this page may not necessarily reflect todays date.