Hot 5 Bars Made Famous by Famous People


The bars made famous by those who made them famous.

It was Ernest Hemingway who decreed “write drunk, edit sober,” a mantra which must have been true for most musos or creative types in the early 20th century who not only thrived, but built their entire careers and produced literary or musical masterpieces all while propped up against a dimly-lit bar, filled with cigar smoke and the stench of sweat and aged liquor. It’s hard to picture Justin Bieber or Cardi B doing the same in 2022.

If you’ve ever wanted to pay homage to these iconic celebrity writers, poets, actors or musicians you need to start with these five classic drinking spots. But be careful, some of these booze hounds even died in these bars at the bottom of a pint …

567 Hudson St, New York, NY 10014, USA

Once the preferred watering hole of James Baldwin, Jack Kerouac and Bob Dylan, these three legends aren’t even the most famous wordsmiths to have graced the bar of the White Horse Tavern in Manhattan’s West Village. Instead, it’s the revered Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas who held court over this space until his death in 1953. There’s a photo of Thomas still sitting pride of place where he would’ve penned his most famous poem, “Do not go gentle into that good night.” The White Horse is one of New York’s oldest continually operating bars since it opened in 1880 and it underwent a significant renovation with its new owners in 2019.


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917 E Fremont St, Las Vegas, NV 89101, USA

Built in 1952, Atomic Liquors is Vegas’ oldest freestanding bar and to this day, it is still one of the city’s most popular watering holes, with more than 20 microbrews on tap. The bar (allegedly) received its name from the former owners and its regular patrons who would watch atomic bombs being set off at a nearby test site from the rooftop. But there was nothing nuclear about the ultra suave clutch of celebrities that used to drink here in their heyday after a night of performing on The Strip. The Rat Pack (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr., Joey Bishop and Peter Lawford) were known to get up to plenty of mischief here. This was also one of Clint Eastwood’s favourite places to drink and play pool when in town.

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136 Archbishop St, Valletta, Malta

During a break from filming Gladiator with Russel Crowe in 1999, actor Oliver Reed headed to The Pub in the Maltese city of Valletta for a couple of quiet pints … and never returned. Things obviously escalated when he met a group of young British sailors on shore leave from HMS Cumberland. After challenging them to several arm-wrestling matches (and winning), Reed suddenly collapsed and was rushed to hospital. But it wasn’t the arm wrestling that got him; he is said to have consumed eight pints of beer, a dozen double shots of rum, half a bottle of whisky and a few chasers of cognac that night. To use a fitting famous quote from Maximus (Crowe) in the Gladiator film, “What we do in life, echoes in eternity.”

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49 St Giles’, Oxford OX1 3LU, United Kingdom

C.S Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien must’ve been half a dozen pints deep each week they met in a back bar called the ‘Rabbit Room’ at The Eagle and Child when discussing their manuscripts. We love that both Narnia and The Lord of The Rings weren’t possible without some serious pub sessions here. Also known to local students in Oxford as ‘The Bird and Baby’, these four walls have been gracing hop hounds since the late 17th century, so safe to say it’s seen its fair share of boozy history. It is temporarily closed for renovations while its upstairs rooms are converted into a boutique hotel. Better known as ‘The Inklings’ the fantasy literary duo were eventually booted from the pub after (allegedly) spending too much time in the Rabbit Room with the door closed. So, they packed up their books and quite literally moved across the road to The Lamb and Flag to drink in private. That’s commitment to their craft (beer).

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105 Bd du Montparnasse, 75006 Paris, France

“No matter what cafe in Montparnasse you ask a taxi-driver to bring you to from the right bank of the river, they always take you to the Rotonde,” Ernest Hemingway writes in his book, The Sun Also Rises. F. Scott Fitzgerald and T.S. Eliot were regular drinking buddies alongside Hemingway at the famous Cafe De La Rotonde. The bar and restaurant played a central role in the careers of writers, intellectuals and modernist painters of the early 20th century. Back then the owner Victor Libion, would happily accept sketches on napkins in exchange for a coffee or drinks, which is why the early works of Diego Rivera and Pablo Picasso still line the walls of the iconic cafe today. The joint is also a favourite of current French president Emmanuel Macron, so much so he used it as the celebration headquarters after his 2017 election win.


get in the know Russel Crowe won a Best Actor Oscar for his performance in Gladiator, alongside Oliver Reed.

Mountain High Magic

There's an evil-looking horse that stares you down as you flee Denver Airport right after you land. It’s the sort of statue that immediately makes you rethink your decision to visit Colorado at the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic.

My friends all gave me strange looks when I told them I was travelling.

“You mean, like, out of the house?” they said to me. My mother actually stopped talking to me when I told her, and after just a few days away, I could sense she was sitting next to the phone in a semi-manic trance waiting for my call.

All the signs – including the horrific sculpture of an iron horse from hell – were telling me that coming to the mountains of Colorado was a bad idea.

Although I did enjoy this horrified drama from my loved ones, the illusion of danger quickly melts away once you’re in the Mile High City.

Denver is a bright, clean place with a pleasant mix of history and modernism. My city hotel is in the Cherry Creek neighbourhood, which by all accounts is corporate but not sterile, with cheerful beer halls and an upmarket shopping district. My first stop is downtown, where I’m greeted by the majestic Union Station in the heart of the city, a landmark which once stood as the launching pad for brave settlers heading west.

In a move that couldn’t be more contrasting, I hop in an ‘eTuk’, which is Denver’s new answer to clean tourism and COVID-19-friendly transportation. These open-air electric tuk-tuks zip around the city offering a far superior view then any tour bus. What’s more, your guide knows all the sweet spots and local lore to get your mind salivating about diving deeper into this unclaimed jewel of the west.

Small and zippy, these little pregnant rollerskates zip through traffic like it doesn’t exist, and I find myself seeing the best that Denver has to offer at almost light-speed. I visit the Brown Palace, which is a regal old dame of a hotel that has a functional artesian well you can actually drink from. I get lost in City Park with its 1.2 square kilometres of greenspace, and I’m introduced to the hip RiNo (River North Art) district of the city, which is covered in street art and rife with hip eateries that I wish I had more time to see.

But there’s not enough time in the world because Colorado is big. Damn huge. And because I’ve been stuck in the house in lockdown for six months straight and I’m now free to travel, I naturally make my way toward the cool mountain air around Aspen, to see what the rich and famous claim is America’s answer to St. Moritz.

Aspen is the personification of affluence in America. But it’s also a place laden with art, culture and fine food. On the way to my hotel, I pass the famous Anderson Ranch Arts Center, where some of the best and brightest artists from around the state come to nurture their passions. Then I cruise downtown, gazing up at the famous Little Nell Residences where you can ski from your bedroom onto the slopes.

But it’s in the Bauhaus-inspired Aspen Meadows Resort that I find myself not so much staying in a resort but more sleeping in a philosophy. If you can imagine that the best hotels in the world think of every detail as something to inspire an emotion or an experience – then dial that up to max volume – you start to understand the sublime feelings you succumb to while staying here.

While on the surface the Meadows can seem to be a bit out of place in this town, its celebration of farm-to-table dining and world-class shopping definitely still fits the mould of a town that strives for excellence at every corner.

Excellence is what I found that night at Bosq: a funky eatery with mad-scientist-slash chef Barclay Dodge at the helm, who turns out exquisite dishes that inject intense global flavours into these remote mountain peaks. “This is a special corn that I got from a farmer in a small town in Mexico,” he tells the table. “It doesn’t exist anywhere in the United States, and because there was a frost coming, we had to harvest it.

So this is the first and last time we will ever eat this dish here.” Needless to say, I chewed it very slowly.

As delightful as Aspen is, the call of Colorado had me hitting the road early the next morning to reach Telluride. Both Telluride and Aspen attract big names and big money, but the truth is that the two towns couldn’t be more different.

Telluride resembles an old mining village inside a deep gorge, with houses lined up symmetrically as though on a Monopoly board, all surrounded by impossibly tall mountains. The people (and personalities) that call Telluride home are as tall as these mountains. Enter ‘Telluride Tom’, who is the unofficial mayor of this snow-capped canyon hamlet.

Telluride Tom has a mess of white hair and a voice that is both velvet and Gatling gun at the same time. Like an old frontier cowboy, he doesn’t walk but rather slides through town, usually with a drink in hand or on the way to get one.

Tom would be my spirit guide while I’m in Telluride and on our first meeting he hands me a Chair Warmer, which is basically a shot of locally-made peppermint schnapps. “This will make the day settle in better,” he tells me.

Now that I’m inoculated against the cool mountain air, together we meet with Pete Wagner who crafts legendary custom skis in a handsome shop in Mountain Village. Mountain Village is the other town here, and the special hack that gives Telluride its unique character. It’s in this town – rather than Telluride – that you’ll find all the burger joints, chain restaurants, familiar resorts, and family fun that isn’t permitted in the picture-perfect postcard town in the valley below.

“You know how we keep out the big chains?” Tom asks me with his crooked smile. “We have a law [in Telluride] that doesn’t permit large signage. Corporations can’t handle it. Imagine a Starbucks without a sign? You can’t, neither can they.”

The gondola gently lowers us to Telluride in just eight minutes.

Once below, I find a vibrant city, full of little bars, hip local restaurants, and locals that truly love their town. The energy in Telluride is electric. Immediately I want to get lost in the summertime fray, but Tom insists that we must go do the Via Ferrata first.

“Trust me, you’ll earn your drink, and you’ll feel better,” he says.

Living in Manhattan I’m used to heights. That being said, I found myself soon appealing to a God I didn’t believe in as I precariously dangled off the sheer face of a cliff about 300 metres off the ground, with nothing below me below me but a thin metal rung that someone put there half a century ago.

“Um, are you sure this is rated for Italians? We’re dense people,” I ask our guide of my perilous footing.

I’m assured it is impossible to fall while strapped into the dubiously thin safety cable. The Via Ferrata is a hiking trail that runs horizontally across a rock wall. These were originally invented in the Dolomites of Italy to quickly move troops through the mountains, but some genius thought it was a hoot to put one here in Colorado for tourists.

I’ve jumped from planes, zip-lined in the Philippines, and even risked a tattoo in a Shanghai bar, but nothing ever made me feel like this. The combination of terror, adrenaline and views were unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before.

About an hour later, back on terra firma, I’m in a bar called the Fat Alley with Tom.

“Here, put this in ya,” Tom says as he slides over a greasy shot glass filled with bourbon and topped with a piece of bacon. “It’s called a Mitch Morgan and it’ll straighten you out.”

I’m told that the trick to drinking a Mitch Morgan is that you really have to concentrate to pick up the grease-lined glass (which does calm your nerves) just as much as the fat from the bacon blocks your arteries to slow down your heart rate.

Doctor Tom was right again – one gulp and my faith in life was restored. Now elated to be alive, I finally start to understand the magic of this tiny mountain town. “You see,” Tom said sliding deep into his chair. “People go to Aspen to be seen, they come to Telluride to hang out.”

It was then I realized that the evil hell horse at the airport isn’t there as a warning for incoming visitors – it’s there to warn you that you’re leaving paradise. 

Syria and Turkey: How you can help

The Syrian and Turkish earthquakes of 2023 has left thousands of families without homes, food, and basic necessities.

As travellers, w’re aware of how fortunate we are to be able to explore different parts of the world and experience different cultures. We also know the importance of giving back to the communities that welcome us.

Many people have lost their loved ones and homes, and are in dire need of assistance. As travellers, we can make a difference by donating to organisations that are working tirelessly to help those affected by the earthquake.

There are plenty of organisations, on the ground and from afar, that are doing ripping work to assist with things.

Turkish Red Crescent

On the front lines of providing aid and support to those affected by the earthquake in Turkey.

Donate here. 

Syrian American Medical Society

A non-profit organisation dedicated to providing medical assistance to those affected by the earthquake in Syria.

Donate here. 

Islamic Relief USA

Global humanitarian organisation working to provide long-term support to those impacted by the earthquake.

Donate here. 


The United Nations Children’s Fund is working to provide immediate assistance to children and families affected by the earthquake.

Donate here. 

Mercy Corps

An organisation providing humanitarian assistance in the form of shelter, food, and water.

Donate here. 

The ever vending story

Outside the ryokan (traditional hotel) where I’m staying, a fluorescent phalanx filled with food beckons me.

Telepathically, I receive the jidohanbaiki’s (vending machine’s) inscrutable sales pitch and, instinctively, feed one with some shiny Yen.

It knows what I need before I know that I need it. Apparently, I have strange needs indeed.

In the cities of geographically-challenged, gadget-smitten Japan, five million jidohanbaiki colonise every recess and lurk in every lobby, ready to dispense the most phantasmagorical treats imaginable, from hornet lava in soy sauce to canned bread.

This ubiquitous 24-hour robo-buffet is not just a goofy affectation of kitsch capital Tokyo. Vending machines follow me down even the shadiest back alleys on my peregrinations around Tohoku’s regional cities. Legend has it that a human can exist purely off their rich, diverse bounty. So, in the name of culinary travel science, I decide to dine exclusively on the contents of jidohanbaiki for an entire day. Enthrallingly, my inability to read Japanese means that I am entirely at their mercy.

Vending machines are Japan’s great caffeine custodians, even if it’s not the ‘Joe’ you know. My first canned coffee – a Milky Coffee (actual name) – promises java utopia, emblazoned with scenes of salubrious beans sliding into a cappuccino cornucopia. Unfortunately, toothpaste has more kick in it than this toddler-strength mudslide.

Undeterred and deluged with a hot or cold choice, I flit from one robot barista to the next, like a hyper-caffeinated Japanese butterfly. Finally, I settle on my favourite, a bottle of robust yet refined Boss Silky Black, festooned with a pipe-smoking Hemingway silhouette.

Its slogan, however, is a barefaced lie: “Keep[s] you relaxed” my arse!

For a late brekky, I shun yet another green tea soft serve for a classic jidohanbaiki soup. The can of Pokka Sapporo in a cream-of-corn flavour presents me with a manic montage of the preternaturally yellow vegetable living its best life.

As if by some sort of vending machine voodoo, the can is blissfully warm on my cold paws yet its contents are an even hotter ‘soup-able’ temperature to stuff down the hatch. Accepting chunks of food through a hole I associate with fizzy lolly water takes a few mouthfuls to get used to, but culturally sanctioned slurps help.

Later, I find the soupy grail in a spooky shopping mall where jidohanbaiki far outnumber humans. To start, I purchase a pop-top oden-in-a-can (fish soup) – complete with a toothpick to spear the fish balls, radish and whatever-in-God’s-blue-sea those spiky white things used to be. This is followed by a sweet, hot red-bean soup for dessert.

From my experience, the best traditional savoury snacks tend to assemble around transport hubs; presumably catering to swollen-eyed, meal-skipping workaholics. Pork bun jidohanbaiki are on trend here. Although no English subtitles mean that ‘pork buns’ often turn out to be cheese or indistinct curry buns. Luckily, there are no losers in this particular flavour lottery.

Bus station onigiri (rice balls) are top-shelf, too, even if eating a salted salmon version from a vending machine seems treacherously counterintuitive. A courageous attempt at vending machine tuna sashimi follows, only thwarted by the fact that what came out of the machine was a creepily life-like fridge magnet.

A distractingly loud J-Pop soundtrack summons me to a burger jidohanbaiki, robust enough to fit an actual chef inside (hmm, suspicious). Aesthetically, my item is a meaty doppelganger of its sampuru (plastic display model), right down to the jaunty lettuce placement. Even if it is probably cooked by a 3D printer, the flavoursome burger far surpasses its mechanical heritage.

I forego a sugar-free Pokémon barley tea to pair my burger with a ‘yogurt water’ from the machine next door. Every time I try an unlikely amalgam like this, it goes something along the lines of: “Wow, it actually tastes like yoghurt and water. Wow, it’s not disgusting. Probably won’t buy it again, though.”

Jidohanbaiki sweets have their own formula: the more ludicrous the mascot, the tastier the treat. A jaundiced Humpty Dumpty, who looks like he’s being tasered after a 48-hour bender, is the calling card for a scrumptious mini caramel cheesecake-flavoured pack of s’mores. No matter how hard I try, though, I never find tasered-Humpty again.

Designated fresh banana and sliced apple jidohanbaiki stand no chance next to this procession of processed perfection. Why would I want a plastic-sheathed fruit waxwork for twice the price of Humpty? For pre-dinner re-caffeination, I select Miracle Body V. It touts itself as a ‘new age’ energy drink and it tastes like equal parts orange Gatorade, tropical punch and cough suppressant.

Next, I betray jidohanbaiki for their bricks-and-mortar equivalent: 7-Eleven. Japan’s convenience stores are a honeypot for curious, wayfaring foodies. And 7-Eleven’s pre-packaged ramen options are overwhelming; from assemble-your-own to restaurant-quality, ready-to-microwave creations (my choice).

I nuke and slurp my 800-calorie chashu (pork belly ramen) in-house. The sublimely seasoned, supremely fatty pork broth high jumps my low expectations. Its noodles squeak triumphantly, its sprouts and cabbage crunch in chorus.

Hotel-bound, alcohol-filled vending machines have the digestifs sorted: filled with mainstream beers, Japanese goon (tetra-brick sake) and alco-poppy uppercuts from Strong Zero (nine per cent rice liquor).

Buzz on, belly full, I realise my vending safari can only truly end on the other side of customs. Just like The Matrix, in Japan, jidohanbaiki looks for you and it will find you – if you want it to. 

Take A Hike

What are the top three things that pop into your mind when thinking of Utah?

As a travel agent I have the unique opportunity of speaking with hundreds of travellers as well as my social media followers, giving me a real sense of public opinion on travelling through the Beehive State. Unsurprisingly Mormons, desert and national parks topped the list of interests.

But while Utah certainly has an abundance of all those things, there is so much more on offer here, making it (in my opinion) one of the most underrated frontier states in all of the U.S.

The most surprising thing about Utah – aside from the fact it has the third largest number of national parks in any U.S. state – is that the is that the sheer number of state parks and national monuments are so impressive they rival any of the Mighty Five® which the state is better known for; these are Zion, Arches, Canyonlands, Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks.

If you’re an adventure lover and a fan of the great outdoors, there really is no other place on the planet quite like Utah. One hour you can be swiftly pedalling down ruby red-coloured slick rock, the next you’re wedged between a towering slot canyon, waist deep in crystal clear water. You could be cruising down world-class ski slopes in the morning, and hiking through a wonderland of hoodoos (columns of weathered rock) and pine trees that same afternoon.

Utah shines in every season, with 238 days of sun a year (well above the national average) so when you visit really depends on what you’re hoping to experience. For snow lovers, mid-November through to April is best, especially in January to March if you’re craving deep pow. For hikers, look at the seasons of Spring (March to May) and Autumn (September to November) for comfortable conditions. The summer months (June to August) are best for alpine hiking and water sports.


We laced up our boots in the capital, Salt Lake City, to kick off a monumental road trip. You can take a hike from day one on your visit by heading out to the Great Salt Lake or acquaint yourself with the state’s fascinating Mormon roots by checking out the Temple Square complex. The Utah State Capitol building and the National History Museum are also well worth some time while you’re still in the big smoke, and if you can catch the Utah Jazz basketball team at home, it’s game on!

We ventured through rocky desert landscapes, pristine forests, glistening waterways, and the wild west ...

From Salt Lake City, we ventured through rocky desert landscapes, pristine forests, glistening waterways, and the wild west, all the way down through the deep south of Utah, to Las Vegas, Nevada.

While hiking and landscapes were what we were originally craving on this visit, we found ourselves smiling from ear to ear with charming locals, falling in love with quirky desert towns, and having foodie experiences that still make my taste buds moist at the memories.

If I had to sum up Utah in an elevator pitch, I’d say it’s like a game of pass the parcel. When the music stops and you rip off the next layer of wrapping paper, you’ll be squealing with delight and it’s one of those games where Mum and Dad have packed an epic present in each layer.

Camel up, it’s time to live life elevated.

Here’s five epic recommendations, a detailed road trip itinerary from our creator and the best way to discover (and book) the real Utah with get lost:


It’s not a cliche: it should be a God-given right for everyone to have the opportunity to experience the magic and diversity that Zion, Arches, Canyonlands, Bryce Canyon and Capitol Reef national parks offer. It still blows my mind how different each of these parks are, yet they’re so easily accessible to navigate within a week.


The AU$115 America the Beautiful pass, gives you access to all federally managed land units (national parks, national forests, national monuments, etc.) It’s good for a year from the month of purchase. You can pick one up at any national park entrance station.

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Part of the ‘Trail of the Ancients’, this national scenic byway is a roadway that drastically switches back and forth on itself at a mind boggling 11 percent grade, carved into a cliff face. You breathe in while you’re driving this stretch of road simply as a natural protection instinct from the sheer drop. Yet, the views over San Juan River Canyon will balance your adrenaline. It is simply stunning at the top. It was a combination of both these elements that made me really feel alive.



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I went all gung-ho to tick off the Mighty Five® national parks. And while they are certainly pretty epic in their own right, I was floored by how insane the lesser known parks were. I was questioning how they could not be honoured with the same national park status? There are 44 state parks, 9 national monuments, and several other areas defined as really cool landmarks. At this point, I decide that I need to move to Utah to visit each and every one.


AU$108 for an annual State Park Pass which is a no brainer if you’re visiting a few. They can be around AU$15 per park if you pay individually.

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If the aqua coloured truck doesn’t stop you in your tracks as you pass by the town of Boulder, the scent of perfectly cooked Mexican wafting through your window will have you parked up in no time. Sit under the cottonwoods to enjoy their fare, and take some extra away with you to fuel you on your next hike.


Soda AU$4, taco AU$8, burrito AU$20

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You’re in the most adventurous state in the U.S, so it’s time to try something new. Challenge yourself on a higher graded hike, mountain bike, canyoning adventure, bouldering ledge, rock climb, fly fishing trip, ATV, jet ski, water ski, snow ski, snowboard or slackline. If you’ve ever wanted to try something new that will really get your heart racing, Utah is calling your name.


Choosing to get out of your comfort zone = priceless

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get in the know // Utah man Walter Frederick Morrison invented the frisbee in 1948. It was originally called the Pluto Platter.

Eden Found

It’s been a while between drinks…

International trips have been few and far between for me in recent years, and the need to hand over a passenger arrival card to a smiley customs officer at Nadi Airport in Fiji catches me off guard.

In a fluster, I apologetically rummage through my carry-on bag. Before my flight, I was told patience is a virtue which all Fijians are born with. They commonly refer to this trait as ‘Fiji Time’ and in what feels like actual slow motion, I finally locate my immigration card, scrunched up in my back pocket.

The officer scrutinises it for only a second, then his face lights up once he learns where I’m headed. “My friend, you’re about to experience the real Fiji,” he says.

It’s mind-blowing to think that Fiji, a mere smudge in the South Pacific, is actually an archipelago of more than 330 different islands. The Vanua Levu group, which borders the Koro Sea in the South Pacific, makes up only eight of these, but is home to some of the most spectacular coral reefs and rainforests.

This micro archipelago boasts a colourful Fijian culture which I’m told by ‘Mr Customs’ I will fall in love with.

Vanua Levu attracts a passionate diving community, and with some of the best marine parks in the world, why wouldn’t it? For this cautious adventurer, who’s barely ventured more than a metre below sea level, I’m determined to uncover what else the region has to offer.

It’s now 5:30am, and the breathtaking sight of first light peeks above the horizon and bathes the unmistakable Vanua Levu landscape in a warm glow. My first stop is Taveuni Island, Fiji’s third-largest island, often referred to by its other name, ‘Garden Island.’ An enormous range of tropical plant species found here makes Taveuni the envy of any indoor houseplant enthusiast. Palms, ferns, hibiscus and Devil’s Ivy – something that you’d pay just shy of AU$100 a pot in a Toorak plant store – seem to blanket the entire Taveuni landscape.

As we traverse the island’s rugged roads, I’m fortunate to be joined by a local, Akanisi. She was born and raised on the Island and handles a 4WD with rally-like precision as she races up the steep terrain leading to Bobby’s Farm.

Bobby is a conservationist on his 100-hectare property, which manages to pack in a rainforest, a farm and marine park. He runs agritourism adventures that he assures me will engage all my senses today. Bobby has a deep connection to the land. Whether sucking on fleshy cocoa seeds, munching on a germinated coconut, or rubbing leaves to create a soapy lather, the aim of his tours is to link Fijian culture and nature. This isn’t difficult – the two seem to go hand in hand.

I’m still rubbing my eyes awake one early morning when Bobby points, hawk-eyed and alert, at a seemingly innocuous tree. I do a double-take. “That dove can’t be orange?”

He smiles. The orange dove is endemic to Vanua Levu and to catch a glimpse of one is a rare and beautiful experience.