Nauru - The world's 3rd smallest country

I arrived curious and with questions in my head. How poor must a country be to rent out vast portions of its land as refugee camps? How remote must it be to import most of its food and supplies from Solomon Islands, Fiji, and Taiwan?

For twenty years, Nauru was among the richest countries in the world. Then, almost overnight, it became one of the poorest - a reality that continues to this day. From great wealth to near desperation, Nauru’s story is one of extremes. And so I was very excited to see this country.

In the Middle of Nowhere

Where is Nauru?

Located in Oceania, Nauru is an isolated speck in the vast Pacific Ocean. It's so far from anything, it barely appears on maps.

The entire country consists of one island, measuring just 6km x 4km. It holds the title of the 3rd smallest nation in the world—with only Monaco and Vatican City ranking below it.

Population? A mere 13,000 people - among them, around 1,000 refugees, a presence that has created tensions between locals and newcomers.

May 13 – Arriving in Tiny Nauru

My flight with Nauru Airlines took off this morning from Micronesia’s Pohnpei, making stops in the Marshall Islands and Kiribati - where passengers exited and boarded at each landing.

Flying toward the third smallest country in the world felt exciting, knowing it’s often called the least visited nation. Somehow, that rarity felt both fascinating and strangely eerie.

The whole country Nauru is visible the from plane window. Nauru is just one island, spanning 21km² in the middle of the Pacific.

After an hour-long flight from Kiribati, a tiny speck of land emerged below—a solitary dot surrounded by endless blue. Even as we descended, the island remained visibly small—so small that just seconds before landing, the entire country was still in sight.

Flights here are rare, just a few per week, all operated by Nauru Airlines.

As I stood to exit the plane, a flight attendant stopped me:

“Mr. Sven we are in Nauru. Are you sure this is your final destination? Can I see your boarding pass, please?"

A handful of passengers disembarked, but at immigration, I realized something. I was the only one standing in the visitor’s lane. The seven others? They were lined up in the resident’s queue.

To my surprise, immigration was quick and hassle-free, just one minute after handing over my visa, my passport was stamped.

Nauru may be tiny, but its arrival process runs smoothly.

Even the airport’s connection to daily life is unique. Whenever a plane touches down, traffic lights turn red, stopping cars until the runway clears.

Looking out the plane window, I spotted locals waving - a charming welcome to an isolated but intriguing nation.

Getting to Nauru - A Journey of Patience

This trip required almost a year of preparation with figuring out flights, visa requirements, and, most challenging of all, accommodation.

The Accommodation Challenge

Securing a place to stay was frustratingly difficult but a must for the visa application, yet almost impossible to arrange.

The few hotels listed had non-functional email addresses. The ones that did work didn’t reply for weeks. Phone calls via Skype yielded little help and when I finally got through, every hotel was either fully booked months in advance or under renovation. With phosphate mining and the refugee camp, most available rooms were occupied by foreign workers, leaving nothing for travelers like me.

Eventually, I stumbled upon the only accommodation in Nauru listed on Airbnb. A house owned by a local family. They were incredibly accommodating, giving me the entire house while they moved to their second home. Prices were steep considering the quality with AUD 110 per day, comparable to the most basic hotel rooms in Nauru.

I had no expectations of luxury, but at least it came with air-conditioning and free WiFi, which is a rare privilege on the island.

Map of Nauru

My first impression of Nauru

It looks a bit like a place that is shown in documentaries of villages or cities which have faced a detonation of a nuclear bomb 50 years ago. Life moves slowly here.

The houses, once grand, are now weathered. Broken in places, dusty, rusty, and worn down. A nation that was once rich now stands as a reminder of faded prosperity.

Without people walking around, it could pass for a ghost town - almost contaminated in appearance. But despite the decay, there’s a strange beauty to it all.

The ocean, the sky, the resilient spirit of its people turn Nauru into one of the most fascinating and curiosity-provoking places I’ve ever set foot in.

Exploring the Shoreline

This afternoon, I set off on my first walk toward the coast. It wasn’t long before I spotted the pinnacles - jagged rock formations rising from the earth like ancient ruins.

At first, I assumed they were confined to a small area, but they stretched all along the east coast. The largest ones tower over Anibare, and what should have been a quick two-kilometer walk turned into a two-hour exploration.

The scenery was so striking that I simply couldn’t put my camera away. 

Nauru BBQ Grill. A peaceful spot with ocean views.

Japanese Bunker. A relic from World War II, tucked away among the landscape. With locals on top.

I've never seen such shores before. Spectacular. 

Nauru may be small, but it’s packed with intrigue, history, and contrasts. A place that invites to question and discover.

The Chinese "Supermarket-Gang" rules them all

Nauru’s shopping scene is simple and limited. One larger supermarket, one smaller supermarket, and a fish market in Anibare. The fish market stands as the only fresh seafood source, but availability fluctuates, and today, the selection was scarce.

Beyond these, the rest of the stores are Chinese-owned shops, all selling nearly identical goods at nearly identical prices - which aren’t cheap at all. For example the the cheapest can of tuna (imported from Solomon Islands) costs 2.5 AUD. A simple loaf of toast? 2.8 AUD.

Despite the small island economy, prices remain high, making basic shopping an expensive necessity.

May 14th – Exploring Nauru by Motorbike

The owner of my Airbnb house kindly offered me a bicycle for a small fee, but then also handed over a motorbike, perhaps realizing how impractical cycling would be here.

In Nauru, people don’t walk much, and they certainly don’t bike long distances.

Also, I noticed there aren’t many bicycles at all. Everybody has a motorbike or car. Barely anybody in Nauru walks here a few hundred meters and for them, it may seem insane to them to drive the 20km around the island with a bicycle.

With a motorbike, it would easily be possible to drive around the whole country in 30 minutes. But that wasn't my intention. 

Riding Along Anibare’s Coast

With a motorbike, I could technically circle the entire country in just 30 minutes—but that wasn’t the plan. Instead, I took my time, soaking in the scenery.

Every kilometer brought something new—coastal views, weathered houses, and abandoned, rusting cars that seemed to whisper stories of a time long past.

Aggressive Dogs in Nauru

Dogs are a real danger here. I heard from different locals that there is basically no crime in Nauru. However, the biggest criminals were probably the dogs. Not sure if it is just me whom they attack as they are not used to see slim white people walking on the street or if they are in general evil creatures.

A Close Call

Walking along the coast road, I noticed the dogs eyeing me. Soon, they were charging, snarling, barking, ready to bite. Pretending to throw something managed to scare them off - this time.

Cycling, however, was a different story.

The dogs ran after my bike, barking wildly. One became two, then three, then a pack. Suddenly, they were snapping at my legs, teeth flashing. My only escape? Pedaling faster—but the bike wasn’t quick enough.

Just as I thought I was cornered, a passing car honked loudly, startling the dogs and sending them scattering. From that moment, I never cycled without a stick. Ready to ward them off if needed.

The Challenge of Obesity in Nauru

With every kilometer people drove towards me on their bikes, they seemed to grow bigger, while their motorbikes looked smaller. Across the country, a striking number of large-bodied individuals moved about—a clear reflection of Nauru’s ongoing struggle with obesity.

Like many island nations, Nauru faces severe obesity rates, but witnessing it firsthand was eye-opening. The issue isn’t just about dietary habits, but a result of limited access to healthy food.

The supermarkets are filled with high-fat, high-cholesterol options, while nutritious alternatives - when available - are expensive due to the island’s reliance on imports.

Here, processed foods dominate, and the results are clearly visible in everyday life.

Sports in Nauru. A Rare Sight.

It’s not that sports are nonexistent here. There are open-air gyms, but bodybuilding alone isn’t the best way to counter the caloric intake that seems common.

Jogging, cycling, or even long-distance walking? Almost nonexistent among locals.

The ones I do see being physically active, whether running along the beach or swimming, are mostly foreign workers or refugees.

One odd detail caught my eye: Trampolines.

Nearly every house has one in the front yard. A coincidence? Maybe not. I joked that Australia might have found recycling trampolines too complicated and sent a shipload to Nauru instead.

Nauru’s main coastal road is broad, well-maintained, and surprisingly busy for such a small island.

But when everyone prefers motorized transport, even just to buy bread across the street. So it’s no surprise the road stays crowded.

The devil used phosphate to trick Nauruans

Back in the 1980s, Nauru thrived on a multi-billion-dollar phosphate industry, turning the island into one of the wealthiest nations per capita. But as phosphate reserves dwindled, the country’s financial stability crumbled, leading to economic collapse by the end of the century.

A series of poor investment decisions only worsened the situation. One infamous blunder? Purchasing a musical production that no one wanted to watch.

During those glory years, every Nauruan lived lavishly. Cadillacs rolled continuously around the island, a symbol of wealth and prosperity.

Today, the phosphate industry still operates, but production and exports are minimal, leaving Nauru a shadow of its once-thriving economy.

Phosphate is made of bird shit (true)

Believe it or not, phosphate made Nauru rich, and it all started with birds. Thousands of years ago, migrating birds used Nauru as a resting stop, leaving behind layers of droppings that, over millennia, hardened into phosphate-rich stone.

This natural process eventually turned Nauru into one of the wealthiest nations per capita, as the world eagerly sought phosphate for fertilizers and industrial use.

Visiting the Phosphate Complex

On the left side of the island, the phosphate complex still operates, transferring the substance onto ships for export.

Curious to see it up close, I asked the workers if I could climb the tower. Their reaction made me wonder if they thought I was a journalist, even after I assured them I was just a tourist.

In the end, the supervisor escorted me up the narrow pathway to the top. The view was stunning. From up there, I could see straight down into the steep reef of Nauru. Unlike most islands with gradual shorelines,

Nauru’s land drops off sharply into the ocean, plunging hundreds of meters deep within just a few meters of the coast.

The workers explained the phosphate export process, mentioning that next week, a ship would come to transport the material to Australia.

To test the lift, they used leftover phosphate, dumping it straight into the reef.

The cloudy plume sinking into the ocean looked almost comical. As if Nauru had found an alternative sanitation system, flushing what resembled tons of waste into the deep blue waters.

When I questioned its impact on marine life, the workers assured me that it doesn’t harm fish or coral, claiming they’ve been doing this for decades. Well, I’m no marine biologist, so I’ll leave that debate to the experts.

Visiting Nauru’s Detention Center

Having read extensively about the refugee situation between Australia and Nauru, I was eager to find the infamous camp mentioned in the news.

On the way, I passed Buada Lagoon, a rare source of drinking water, and glimpsed parts of Nauru’s vast mining zones.

Looking for "refugee camp" on Google Maps provided directions, but upon arrival, there was no camp in sight. In reality, the detention center is tucked away deep in the island’s interior, isolated amid pinnacles, dust, and rock formations, far from everything.

The camps themselves sit inside a mining zone, connected only by dirt roads with no buses, no signs, and a maze-like network of paths leading nowhere.

Lost in the confusing landscape, I spotted someone approaching on a motorbike from a distance. Waving politely, I gestured for him to stop. As he got closer, he introduced himself:

“Sorry I'm not Nauruan, I'm a refugee from Iran”

I asked him if its possible to take a look at the camp and he responded:

“Of course. See where we've been kept for many years. Follow me.”

I followed, realizing just how far removed the center was from everything.

It’s no wonder refugees feel trapped. Half prisoners in a place so isolated.

If they want to visit a shop or the beach, they must wait for a bus, as walking through heat, humidity, and dust for miles isn’t an option.

There are three refugee camps in Nauru. This one? The so-called "luxury camp." The other two are high-security zones, consisting only of tents.

Having spent five years on the island, the refugee I met had been relocated here. The camp itself consisted of container apartments, arranged like a small village, surrounded by a three-meter-high fence.

I didn’t ask, but I assumed the gates are locked at night, ensuring everyone is back inside by a certain hour.

My first impression? It looked better than I had imagined. I expected camps without fans or air-conditioning, but this one had both, along with satellite TV.

Yet, no matter the amenities, the reality remained. These people were stuck here for years, with no clear future ahead. From Australia’s perspective, the detention system is a clever maneuver. They accepted refugees, offered aid, but placed them somewhere remote, far from mainland Australia.

Instead of integrating refugees locally, they outsourced the problem, paying Nauru to host them indefinitely. And Nauru, in need of economic survival, gladly takes the cash.

Ultimately? It’s all about the money.

May 15th – Around the Airport and AIWO district

Today, I covered the lowland areas of Nauru, making my way toward the airport, enjoying a leisurely ride.

Cycling here is pleasant. Always a mild breeze, smooth roads, and a quiet pace that fits the island’s rhythm.

A Different Kind of Beauty

There are no architectural masterpieces. Nauru may not boast grand architectural wonders, but its atmosphere is captivating.

Even with its run-down appearance, resembling a post-nuclear test site, there’s something endearing about watching obese locals cruising on motorbikes, exchanging smiles, waves, and greetings.

The island moves slowly, and that slowness feels ingrained in its culture.

Life at a Gentle Pace

They enjoy sitting and sleeping and being lazy as hell.

But, I think when living in such a small country with no way out, its necessary to become like this, spending all day being slow and watching onto the great blue ocean.

This an many other things which I don’t know right now how to describe in words, made my visit in Nauru a wonderful pleasured stay.

Time to leave. Preparing for Tonga

Tomorrow my trip continues with Nauru Airlines towards a stop-over in Brisbane, a stop-over in Auckland and hopefully in 48 hours I will arrive in Tonga.