Last week we had an epiphany. After a day sail from our first port of call in Fiji, the remote Northern Lau group of islands, we arrived in Naiviivi Bay, north eastern group around Tavenui. We were tired, a little grumpy, stinky and just wanted to blob.

One of the other boats in the bay called us up on the VHF and invited us up to the little village on the hill for a night of dancing and meeting the locals. We said no. An Indian boil-in-the-bag meal (we’ve had no shops for ten days); an episode of Bates Motel; and early bed was on the cards for us. Cruisers Midnight has moved from 9pm to 8pm.

We turned the VHS off and looked at each other. Where we really going to turn down an opportunity like this? Did we really invest our life savings (and debt) and years of planning, and time away from family and doggie to lie down and watch tele?

So we went. We’ve decided to always grab opportunities, especially if we may never get the chance to do it again. So our days are full of firsts.

Our Pacific and cruising training wheels were off. From then on we’ve explored whenever we can.

The trip the village was extraordinary. We did sevusevu (drinking muddy cava and being initiated into the whanau) and the local kids did some traditional dancing. If this was in the West, those kids would have been plucked out and sent to the National Dance School. The energy, dedication, skill and natural performance blew us away.

A local French sailor had been there for three months and had become the official tour guide. This included showing us a ‘magic’ wishing well where you picked a leaf, made a wish, and placed it in the crevices of a white stone wall. My first thought was to wish for world peace, but I ended up wishing that Dean and I would stop niggling at each other.

Since our epiphany we’ve bush bashed from Horseshoe Bay on Matagi Island to the ridge; walked up the 272 steps at Bvatu Harbour to a coconut and mandarin plantation; got lost behind Dalconi Village and followed a local track to god knows where; and caught a rickety local bus instead of hiring a taxi.

The less glamorous side to all this is that my feet are starting to go mouldy; we’re always in water of some kind, or sweating from walking in dodgy places. And we’re always challenged. It’s not just the sailing thing to be scared of – spiders on goat tracks (Dean calls them all Fred), bacteria in street food, not packing the right things (I do take too much though), to not lock the boat or lock the boat and mega other things I manage to get myself anxious about.

I’m trying to chill. That’s the biggest adventure for me. Dean is always chilled except if the watermaker makes a funny sound.

He of course will always be the one to climb to the top of the rocks and jump into the waterhole, or swim behind the waterfall, or snorkel right down to the bottom, or put full sail out when the lean-o-metre is well away from its smiley face.. He’s very kind to me when I yell, “Nooooooooooooooooooo”. Mostly.

We’ve got more scratches and sometimes we end up in dumb places, but mostly it’s fantastic. It’s also surreal. How lucky are we. Still pinching ourselves.