It wasn’t like I was actively looking for a new home in the Pacific Ocean. I was more in the middle of planning a long sailing journey, a life at sea, when by pure chance I discovered an island I had never heard of before – Koro Island. I had been spinning the globe, as I often did during those dreamy evenings with nautical charts, wind roses, and a mug of coffee. My finger landed on Fiji. And something clicked in my memory.
My uncle Pelle. That’s right! He once married a woman from Fiji and lived there for a while. It had always fascinated me – that feeling that the world was bigger than our little Swedish reality. Maybe adventure runs in the family – at least in ours.
That’s how my fascination with Koro Island began. An island in Fiji’s Lomaiviti archipelago, out in the Koro Sea. A volcanic island with rolling green hills, black sand, and untouched nature that seemed drawn from another era. I read everything I could find. Koro wasn’t just beautiful – it was alive. There were fourteen traditional villages, but also something that few other islands had: a fifteenth village.
Koro Seaview Estates. A kind of international settlement on the island’s northwest coast, near Dere Bay Resort. Founded in 1989 as a haven for those who wanted to live outside convention. You could buy land as a foreigner, with full ownership – “freehold.” That’s unusual in Fiji, where much of the land is otherwise tribally owned. Around 200 plots had been carved out, many about an acre in size (just over 4,000 square meters), and about sixty homes had already been built.
I followed several of these builds online. One man built his home almost entirely from reclaimed timber and collected rainwater. A woman from Canada planted gardens full of medicinal herbs. Many lived off-grid: solar power, rainwater systems, compost toilets. Life seemed both simple and rich.
This is where my dream took shape. I imagined myself, aboard my sailboat, dropping anchor in Dere Bay. Climbing ashore, greeted with friendly smiles and getting a tour of the small community. I saw myself finding my place – a plot up high, overlooking the ocean. I would build a wooden house in the treetops, a place to write, to breathe, to live.
At the time, the prices for land were affordable. New plots were between €20,000 and €70,000, depending on location and size. Already developed plots or houses could cost more – maybe €100,000 to €140,000 or more if the house was high quality. Fiji had introduced regulations in 2014 stating that foreign buyers must build a home worth at least €120,000 within two years of purchase – applicable to undeveloped land. A certain risk, sure – but imagine owning a piece of paradise.
Life in Seaview Estates seemed like something between a village and an international community. Some lived there year-round, others came and went. There were no supermarkets, no cinema. But there were conversations over fences, shared dinners, trades of fruit and tools. The resort’s little bar was a meeting place, and sometimes people gathered to watch a movie under the stars.
Getting there wasn’t easy. The island has a small airstrip with limited flights from Nausori Airport, near Suva. There’s also a weekly ferry from the main island, which also stops at Vanua Levu. Supplies had to be pre-ordered or picked up on runs to larger islands. But that didn’t seem to bother those who chose Koro. Quite the opposite – it was part of the charm.
I remember sitting in the boat sketching out my dream: a small cabin with open walls, a hammock between two trees, raised beds with sweet potatoes and papayas. I even researched which woods lasted best in the tropical climate and contacted an architect in Suva who specialized in sustainable homes.
But as often happens in life – it didn’t come to be. The sailing journey turned out shorter than I had imagined. Money, friends, and life’s paths took another turn. I landed in other adventures, in other places. Koro remained a dream. But a living one.
Sometimes I still visit websites that sell land there – and I see that it’s still possible. Maybe not as cheap as before, but still within reach. And the dream stirs again.
I believe it’s important to have places like that. Places we return to in our minds. Koro, for me, is more than an island. It’s a symbol of longing, of freedom, of the dream of living simply, close to nature, and in a community where no one cares about titles or careers.
There’s a Fijian phrase: “Senga na lenga” – it means something like “no worries.” And that’s exactly what Koro is for me. A “senga na lenga” in my heart.
I may never have dropped anchor there in reality. But in my heart, I’ve rested in Dere Bay many times. Watched the sun rise over the emerald landscape. And felt that quiet joy that only real dreams can bring.
And you know – the adventure continues. In other places, in other forms. But always with a piece of Koro in my heart.
Bansko has now, in some way, become my “Koro Island.” There are many shared elements!
Just like Koro, Bansko is a place where people from all over the world meet – not to chase careers, but to live. I live here now, with a view of the Pirin Mountains, where nature reminds me daily that the simple life is often the most magnificent. People here live close to the elements – the mountains, rivers, and forests. There’s a similar energy to what I imagined existed on Koro. Conversations on the street, slow walks, life in motion without stress.
Here in Bansko, I’ve found my own little paradise. I share life with people searching for something genuine, whether they’re from Bulgaria, Sweden, Germany, or other corners of the world. We are a kind of modern village – where different languages and backgrounds mix with respect and curiosity. I haven’t built a treehouse, but I’ve built a life where I feel free and included every day. In that way, the dream lives on – not in Fiji, but in the heart of Bulgaria.
By Chris...
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