With its pristine waters, diverse landscape, rich cultural heritage and burgeoning hospitality industry, this tiny tropical island is set to be the next big thing
Author Jessica Peterson Photography Jessica Peterson
DAY ONE | You’ve invented a game while standing on your 19th-floor balcony at the Westin Resort, overlooking a broad horseshoe of coral-mottled water. You call the game “Island Bingo,” and it involves checking off all the paradisiacal props within view: coconut palms, flawless sky, turquoise sea, white sand. Bingo!
Having realized you are still in your underwear (some views are best left unseen), you grab a robe and munch on pastel macarons and juicy strawberries while gazing at the travel brochure–worthy panorama before you. From here, it’s a quick trip down in the elevator and a two-minute stroll to the beach before your toes are being tickled by the water of Tumon Bay.
Tumon Bay has Guam’s most manicured strip of sand. Chain hotels and stained-glass wedding chapels skirt the beach, which is flanked by tropical jungle and rocky cliffs. Tumon is protected by a barrier reef—there are more than 1,000 species of tropical fish in the bay alone. You’ve brought a snorkel along, so you join a handful of seafaring oglers, drifting among hundreds of coral outcrops. An oriental sweetlips approaches, flapping its leopard-like tail and regarding you disapprovingly, followed by a startled-looking convict tang. You’d think they’d be used to us by now.
Back on the sand, a Chamorro man—one of the island’s indigenous people—casts a circular net and hauls in a handful of tiny mañåhak, a seasonal catch that is eaten fried or pickled in salt and lemon juice. He’s wearing a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. He says, “Hafa Adai” (Chamorro for “hello,” and a phrase you will hear with reliable frequency during your time here) and beckons you over to look at his catch, a mix of finger-length white and silver fish.
Your skin is starting to resemble that of a fiery squirrelfish, so you leave the beach and head for The Plaza Shopping Center, a two-story mall that houses an array of luxury fashion brands. You pass a trio of Japanese women in matching floral dresses, each sporting a pair of enormous Anna Sui sunglasses and giggling excitedly. Guam is duty-free, so you don’t feel too bad picking up a hard-case wheelie from Rimowa. (Your old carry-on no longer qualifies as merely “broken in.”)
All this money-saving has made you hungry. You head to the nearby Asia-meets-the-Marianas eatery Proa, a local favorite with big windows overlooking Ypao Beach. You start with a beggar’s purse of big-eye ahi poke, a Hawaiian-style dish served with red rice, jicama, avocado and wasabi soy butter sauce. Next come soy-marinated short ribs with finadene, a local condiment made from vinegar, lemon, soy sauce and onions. You pop a red boonie pepper into your mouth and regret it. Easier to swallow is dessert: a creamy, brûléed purple cheesecake.
Having rendered yourself unable to walk without the assistance of a crane, you decide to take a scenic drive along the road that hugs the southern curves of the island. Jungle-draped hills line the left side of the road, and an endless view of the Philippine Sea stretches away on your right.
Your first stop on the drive is the Latte of Freedom, the world’s largest cup of milky coffee. OK, it’s not that kind of latte—the word refers to an ancient pillar design, shaped like a mushroom with an inverted cap. The stones, thought by islanders to have mystical powers, now symbolize Chamorro culture, and this one, built in 2010, is the daddy of them all: 80 feet tall, with a viewing platform at the top.
There’s an equally fine view from the Vietnam veterans memorial, I Memorias Para I Lalahi-ta: the angular hills, the Lego-like Umatac Bridge and Señora Nuestra de la Soledåd, a 19th-century Spanish fort that now lies mostly in ruins. You’d like to get a closer look at that.
Upon your arrival at the fort, a tattooed man with a large water buffalo in tow uses a machete to lop the end off a coconut, then offers it to you: “Drink!” You sip-walk up to the last remaining sentry post, its slit-like windows framing the misty beach below. This part of the island looks untouched by modern life, in stark contrast to the touristy haven of Tumon. You can’t shake the feeling that you’ve traveled back in time.
Next, you drive through the Spanish-style village of Inarajan for a dip in its crater-like pools, where seawater rises and falls with the tide. Tourists snorkel in the water and locals hold fiestas in beachside pavilions. Two young Chamorro boys dare each other to jump off a platform into the sea. A gentle rain has spritzed the beach with a fine mist, alleviating the 80-odd degree heat. It’s perfect. But, again, your appetite is getting the better of you.
Dinner tonight is at Guam’s only German restaurant, McKraut’s, in the tongue-twisting village Malojloj (Muh-low-low). A red-faced bartender dressed (unironically, you feel) in a feathered hat and lederhosen serves up big glasses of beer to a raucous crowd. You order the sweet Detmolder Thusnelda, all the better to wash down your smoked brats, spätzle and sauerkraut. “Das ist gut!” you say to the bartender, who looks back at you as if you are a lunatic. By sunset, the place is roaring, so you order another beer, followed by a few more. Taxi!.