Mauri ...

Flying into Kiritimati Island was like nose diving out of the sky and into an alien landscape. The sun broke across the horizon not long before I sighted the atoll out of my window seat on the plane – a vast expanse of coconut fringed lagoon, sand and marsh. With such a thin strip of coast and so much water it seemed an easy target for the plane to miss.

But we landed safely at 6.30am on a runway where grass was growing through cracks, and I-kiribati stood lazily drapping themselves over fences, watching the action unfold as tourists and locals got off the once-a-week plane.

As we embarked I met the two other ladies who were joining the expedition. We made our towards the tin-shack terminal where we were greeted by a hand painted red and white sign welcome sign and a bunch of locals standing around chewing the fat. Several different people gazed over our documentation before raising an eyebrow in approval and hand-signing our passports to certify entry.

We hitched a ride on the back of a truck through the villages to get to the port. Sea Dragon, our home for the next three weeks, is anchored off the coast of the main village.

Along the way we passed the only real resort on the island – a hand painted sign signals its existance further down a dusty dirt road. As we got closer to the township of London, more and more palm-frond shacks, raised on stilts, dotted the roadside. Colourful clothes hanging out to dry were a stark contrast against the dirt brown of these buildings.

I learnt pretty quickly that these fale are the norm – a house made of bricks is a rarity. Living is very communal here, with an open air shared living spaces serving several households.

I think the thing that struck most when I first arrived was the smell.

The sweet, putrid smell of rotting, cooking, drying fish wafts through the palms. When this doesn't hit you – knocking out your senses – the equally gagging smell of burning plastic finds its way to your nose. I much prefer the wind carrying that salty, sea air.

The locals are lovely. A shy 'Mauri' or nod of the head greets you wherever you go. Teenagers drive motorbikes down the road carrying laughing children, old men bike lazily along the wide, coconut-lined streets. Everybody is curious in someway, and more than happy to engage, learn and share experiences and stories.

People here live in an almost limbo existance – stuck between a world where Island life and tradition dominates, but creeping into the global lifestyle via the introduction of the internet (even if it's archaic) and western consumer habits – such as food, drink and technology.

It's hard to imagine that a society can function this far removed from anything. I mean it's bang-smack in the middle of the Mare Pacificum.

But we're two and a half days in and already the complexity of island life is revealing itself. There's definitely more to life on this paradise than meets the eye.

In my next blog I'll explain a bit more about the beautiful coastal environment, and my experiences snorkelling, boating around the lagoon, and meeting with various I-Kiribati to learn about their Pacific home.