Things to Do in Funafuti in March

The conservation area on Funafuti's western rim covers six uninhabited islets where coconut crabs still roam and red-footed boobies nest in the scrub pandanus. A local boat operator will run you across the lagoon in a fibreglass skiff, the hull slapping warm turquoise water for twenty minutes before you step onto coral sand so white it hurts your eyes. March's wet season keeps the vegetation thick on Tepuka and Fualopa. The birdlife is noticeably more active than during the drier months. Between islets the snorkeling is extraordinary: healthy staghorn coral in knee-deep water, parrotfish grinding audibly on the reef, and sea turtles that have never learned to fear humans gliding past at arm's length. Plan a full day. Bring everything you need. There is nothing on these motus except coconut palms, reef, and silence.

Funafuti's lagoon holds a piece of the Second World War on its sandy floor: a PBY Catalina flying boat that went down during the American campaign and now sits in clear, shallow water where coral has colonised the fuselage and schools of damselfish weave through the cockpit. March's warm water means you can stay in for over an hour without a rash guard feeling necessary, though the sun on your back will remind you otherwise. Beyond the wreck, the inner-lagoon reef patches along the eastern edge of the conservation area host giant clams with mantles in electric blue and green, and the occasional whitetip reef shark cruising the sand channels. Visibility can drop to 10 metres (33 feet) immediately after a heavy rain. Give it sixty to ninety minutes and it clears to 20 metres (66 feet) or better. The lagoon is calm enough in March that even nervous swimmers can float comfortably.

Funafuti's maneapa, the open-sided meeting houses with soaring thatched roofs, are where community life happens. In March the slower visitor season means you are more likely to be welcomed into a fatele performance rehearsal or a pandanus-weaving session without the self-consciousness that comes when outsiders arrive in groups. The fatele is hypnotic: dozens of singers seated cross-legged, clapping in polyrhythmic unison, voices rising in harmonies that bounce off the coral-block walls and carry across the lagoon at dusk. The weaving workshops, usually led by older women working te laufala, the split and dried pandanus leaf, smell of dried grass and coconut oil. The dexterity required to produce a sleeping mat or fan is humbling to watch up close. The creative output on display tends to be richer than during quieter cultural months.

Walking the length of Fongafale takes maybe ninety minutes at a slow pace. That narrow strip of coral holds more concentrated history per square metre than most Pacific islands. The American-built airstrip, still the country's only runway, runs nearly the entire length of the islet. In the evenings when no flights are scheduled it transforms into Funafuti's living room. Teenagers play volleyball. Families spread mats. Children race bikes. The smell of grilling skipjack tuna drifts from cooking fires along the edge. The borrow pits, deep excavations the US military dug in the 1940s for runway fill material, have become brackish ponds fringed with mangroves. Their edges tell a visible story of sea-level rise. No documentary captures it as bluntly as standing there and seeing the waterline. March's overcast mornings are kinder for walking than the dry-season glare. The occasional shower makes the air briefly pleasant on skin that has been sticky with salt and humidity since dawn.

Fishing is not a tourist activity on Funafuti. It is the backbone of daily life. Joining a local crew on the lagoon or just outside the reef passage is one of the few ways to experience the atoll the way its residents do. March's warmer waters bring yellowfin tuna and mahi-mahi closer to the atoll's outer reef. Inside the lagoon the handline fishing for trevally and snapper over coral heads is productive year-round. The smell of bait. The slap of a caught fish on the hull. The way a boatman reads the current by watching the surface. All of it feels a long way from a charter-fishing brochure. Be prepared for a wet ride back if the afternoon rain catches you on open water. A portion of whatever you catch will be shared with the boat owner's extended family. That is not a fee. That is how food works here.