That Yap is beautiful should hardly come as a surprise. It’s tropical, largely undeveloped, roughly an hour’s flight from Guam, with lush mangroves and pristine vivid blue surrounding ocean.

Yap markets itself as “the island of stone money.” Even now, I smile as I read this aloud to myself. After four days in the island of Yap, my overwhelming impression was that, while stone money is perhaps the most notable symbol of Yap’s true offering in a world that seems to value modernity and technology. Yap at the core is a present-day representation of the tropical island we all envision, faithfully preserving its rich tradition and culture despite the influences of the 21st century.

One might argue that, as a visitor, of course I’d come away with that impression—that’s what they’re selling. This impression didn’t come packed in my activities as a visitor, but were imparted in the conversations I had with residents and the nuance of the Yapese culture that I witnessed.

Coming off the surprisingly short flight from Guam, I made my way down the stairs of the plane and onto the tarmac. The airport staff handed out umbrellas due to the light rain. It was around 9 p.m. so I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the tropical island landscape from above. I did however get to wait with a long line of excited scuba divers and tourists, obviously anxious to swim with the famed giant manta ray. I’m not used to waiting in the “non-resident” line of immigration, so I admit that I was a bit jealous of the local residents who bypassed the wait in the light rain. The airport was open air and I felt lucky that it wasn’t raining hard.

The drive to the hotel was a short 15 to 20 minutes, though, in Yap, there was no real sense of hurry. You were always where you needed to be at any given moment. Arriving at the hotel, I was instantly enveloped in ambiance. Not only was it a pleasantly cool night, but O’keefe’s Waterfront Inn was a model of reception. Everything from the small waterfall in the garden, to the rocking chairs and porch swing, to the dark wood of the interior and the soft light, gave me the feeling that I was welcomed. O’keefe’s Waterfront Inn felt more like home than any other hotel in which I’ve ever stayed—and I’ve stayed in a lot of hotels.

During my stay in Yap, I was fortunate to visit the Yap Day festivities. I noticed that there were a number of photographers and media teams there to cover the event, as well as some college-age missionaries who taught at a local high school. The local residents wore traditional garb of bright reds, yellows and greens. The women, topless, wore yellow-tinged body paint. This came as somewhat of a surprise since away from the festival, men and women wore more western clothing. That they were traditionally dressed was not the surprise, as much as everyone at the festival embraced this — from the performers in the festival, to the people selling food and crafts at the various booths, to the men manning the traditional sailing canoes. That personal and emotional investment, that embrace of traditional culture, was a beautiful sight and as a cultural outsider, I felt somewhat privileged and humbled to have witnessed it.  Wherever you go in Yap, it is polite to ask permission. It seemed a matter of local custom. I’m not referring to the restaurant down the road from the hotel or the corner store. I’m referring to the traditional sites: community houses, men’s houses, stone paths, and stone money banks. If you go to Yap, you must visit these places. And there are many.

On our way to a stone money bank, I witnessed one custom that I was quite taken by. After the Yap Day festival, we asked if we could see a stone money bank. Our guide informed us that he must ask permission from his elders first. So we drove toward the bank, on a small rural road, and our guide stopped the car before reaching a house. As he approached the house, he reached over to a tree and broke off a small branch. Later, he told me that when you approach someone’s house, if you don’t have a traditional woven bag like many of the men carry, then you break off a branch and hold it in your hand. I may be oversimplifying, but the explanation as I understand it is that approaching empty-handed sends a message that you are probably up to no good.

One final highlight from my trip was the mangrove crab dinner. As an appetizer, I was treated to an abundance of fresh sashimi — both raw and seared tuna. As with most meals in Yap, taro remained a staple. The taro came in different colors and flavors: purple, white, red. Each had its own distinct taste, some mild in flavor, some with a delicate sweetness.

Finally, I was presented with an overflowing plate of mangrove crab, stewed with vegetables. The tender broccoli and carrots perfectly complimented the sweetness of the crabmeat. It was an exceptional meal that capped off an exceptional trip.

The experience of Yap lingers even weeks after returning to Guam. I am quite taken with the island and its people and culture, and I expect that most, if not all, visitors leave with the same impression.

One final word of advice for anyone looking to visit this lush paradise, steeped in a rich and traditional culture: go to the waters. Arrange a ride on a traditional sailing canoe, or take a boat out into the lagoon. Both make for amazing photo opportunities and are assuredly incomparable.