WORDS by BRETT GEEVES
By way of full disclosure, on the morning of my wedding, back in the cretaceous era of 2013, I drove from Denarau to Natadola Bay with a crew of mates, in what can only be described as a decision both deeply irresponsible and entirely inspired.
The night before had involved ceremonial rum, a Fijian choir over-run by that one mate who thinks he should sing in front of people whilst holding a microphone, and at least one shirtless dance-floor incident which remains under cultural embargo.
And yet, there we were – sweat-soaked, questionably hydrated, and wholly (or holy, pending your religious vision on marriage and golf the morning of) underprepared – staring down the barrel of one of the world’s most beautiful golf courses.
And it was magnificent.
Like, spiritually magnificent. The kind of golf day that etches itself into your dream-state and replays in slow-motion-highlight-reels every time someone mentions the word “Fiji” or “The Forever Companionship of Holy Matrimony”.
So yes, full disclosure of bias: I am hopelessly in love with Natadola Bay.
“An absolute masterpiece,” reckons our man Geeves. Hard to argue. PHOTO: Natadola Bay
Not just the course – though it’s a wildly complex, sun-bleached miracle of routing and natural beauty – but the entire Fijian experience. The people. The way the sun hits you differently. The way a “Bula!” makes you feel like you’ve just been knighted by a smiling stranger.
My family has a long, sentimental love affair with these islands. And Natadola Bay has become something of a spiritual pilgrimage site. Part church. Part graveyard for golf balls. Entirely magical.
My most recent trip, in the employ of this august golfing journal, was a continuation of something special. A slow, deliberate exhale after time spent on Laucala Island, where I’d just finished teaching the social and global elite about culture of the Australian Bogan variety. That place – fantasy island set amidst feral jungle – had its own kind of magic. Laucala was like a dream you weren’t meant to touch.
Natadola, though, felt like going home; only this time, to a childhood house where numbers are missing on the letterbox and no one had mowed the front since Tony Abbott chowed down on that onion.
The same brown trim that framed Natadola’s clubhouse in 2013 still clings to the eaves. Only this time, its palette is less “earthy neutral” and more “sun-burnt, wind-swept, peeling, dated”. The pro shop, and the amenities block, which once felt modern in that open-air, island-luxury kind of way, now feel enclosed, dark, even dank.
And the course?
After putting out on the par-3 4th hole, the temptation to plunge into the sea is real. PHOTO: Natadola Bay
Once upon a time, Natadola Bay boasted lush, sculpted fairways and pristine white-sand bunkers that mesmerised you into wanting to be in them. They were irresistible. Mischievous. Truly, with a towel and suntan lotion, you didn’t ever want to get off of that beach. (And, yes, that was every golf writer’s dream, a Happy Gilmore reference!)
The greens rolled pure and true and the rough seemed to carry the perfect shade of fairway offset that let you know it was there, and that it was dangerous, but made you gasp in awe of how immaculate, and pretty, and inviting it was.
The entire course was connected in the most beautiful and romantic way. Everywhere you looked was an artist’s impression of golf perfection.
Today, there are softer echoes of that golden era. The ocean views, dramatic elevation changes and the impeccable routing and design still take your breath away. They still shout, not whisper. But the greens aren’t quite as pure, the garden beds are a work-in-progress, and the rough, once a tidy extension of the fairways, has grown wild around the edges. The place just doesn’t quite carry itself in the same way when it was host to the game’s elite.
The Fiji Open, once the Fiji International, has long since packed up and moved on. The reasons, mostly financial, are understandable. Hosting a world-class event demands deep pockets, immaculate playing surfaces, and facilities that match the scale of the occasion. And while the charm remains, the infrastructure simply hasn’t kept pace with expectations.
Tour events, unsurprisingly, aren’t in the habit of hanging around when the coffers run dry and the clubhouse starts looking like a set piece from Survivor: Golf Edition.
with the wind up, the downhill par-3 15th is a test. it’s never not stunning, however. PHOTO: Natadola Bay
And yet – and yet! – there is still something impossibly romantic about this place.
For one, fact is the golf course itself is an absolute masterpiece. Natadola Bay radiates a kind of energy that golf courses don’t usually possess. Maybe it’s the way the 4th green clings to the coastline like a cliffside chapel. Maybe it’s how the Pacific rolls in beside you with that warm, thundering roar that makes every backswing feel like a cinematic climax.
Maybe it’s the way the holes that don’t have ocean views – 6, 7, 8, 9 – might be the best run of four holes across the entire Pacific: the aggressive use of the land’s elevation, the impeccable design without shifting the natural landscape, and the fact that you couldn’t walk any of it without appropriate hiking safety equipment. Think flares, a map, and lots of food!
Or maybe it’s just the memory of that wedding morning, when everything was glowing, and perfect, and covered in a thin layer of dust.
Regardless – it matters.
Because golf courses, like people, are more than just their surfaces and facilities. They’re emotional landscapes. Memory vessels. And this one, for me at least, will always be sacred ground.
And here’s the good news – hit us Glenn Shorrock and your Little River Band – help is on its way. There’s a genuine sense of momentum behind Natadola’s revival. Ownership is shifting. Investment is being sourced. And there is a clear, articulated vision to restore the course and its facilities to international-standard glory.
Our man Geeves, 12 years since his nuptials, rekindles the love for Natadola Bay. PHOTO: Supplied
In the last 12 months, they have opened a new bar, a new restaurant, purchased new Callaway hire clubs. There is talk of major clubhouse renovations. Of upgraded turf management. Of rebuilding the championship conditions which once drew the types of names you can’t ever say out loud on Laucala: Matt Kuchar, Vijay Singh and the game’s upper echelon of international talent.
This isn’t just a cosmetic upgrade; it’s a full-scale resurrection. Natadola Bay deserves it.
It deserves another crack at being the shining jewel of Pacific golf. It deserves the tour buses, the television cameras and the fawning write-ups of modern-day golf “influencers” – YouTubers, bloggers, chancers, junket merchants.
And, above all, Natadola Bay deserves the next generation of grooms to be rolling up to the 07:04 tee-time, on the morning of their wedding, wondering if playing 18 holes in tropical humidity is in fact the most romantic thing they could do that day. (It’s not. But my, it’s close.)
***
While the course awaits its Cinderella moment, the Intercontinental Fiji Golf Resort and Spa hasn’t missed a beat. Perched over Natadola Bay like a Bond villain’s tropical lair (minus the evil), the resort remains one of the South Pacific’s most iconic addresses. It is five-star in all the ways that matter – sweeping views, the waft of frangipani, beds that feel like marshmallow airfields. Yet it retains that warm, laid-back charm that is uniquely Fijian. Bula.
Down by the main pool and beachfront bure restaurants, the vibe is classic: sunburnt Australians playing Uno under palm trees, fresh seafood crackling on charcoal grills, kids splashing around like they’ve never seen water before. It’s relaxed. Easy. Exactly what you came here for – minus, perhaps, the soundtrack of other people’s children discovering their outside voices.
But the real secret about the place? The Club Intercontinental, hidden up on the hill; a secluded, VIP-only precinct that runs on champagne breakfasts and silence befitting the level of sanctuary you’ve paid for. Only the chosen few – honeymooners, CEOs, Instagram influencers with questionable job descriptions – are given the golden ticket. It is Fijian royalty energy and it is no accident.
In traditional Fijian culture, the king lives at the top of the village, not just for the view, but because the wind reaches him first. It’s a sign of power, prestige, and peace, and Club Intercontinental leans into that legacy like a resort that knows exactly how good its bathrobes are.
If the par-3 4th isn’t the most photographed hole at Natadola Bay, it’s surely top-3. PHOTO: Getty Images
The hotel hasn’t had butlers since before Covid, yet minutes after I’d ordered room service, a chap would magically appear. He spoke eloquently and in metaphors. Lovely man. We built rapport. There was an afternoon tea so elegant, it makes you question every fingernail you’ve ever eaten. You get your own private infinity pool. It is, quite literally, the top of the village.
You get your own private infinity pool. I know I’ve mentioned it. But, you know.
After a round of golf which may or may not have included three lost balls and a fairway hosel-rocket witnessed by two lizards, you may find yourself crawling to the spa like the 94-year-old version of yourself. And locals will greet you as they greet everyone – “Bula” – with herbal tea, a gentle shoulder pat, and a level of kindness that makes you question whether you’ve ever truly relaxed in your life.
Their signature Fijian Bobo massage is half deep-tissue, half spiritual-rebirth. It’s done with coconut oil, palm pressure and what I can only assume is some kind of magic, because I walked in a 42-year-old with tight calves and a bucket arse and came out a 24-year-old dolphin trainer with blond hair and a new lease on life.
“The Pacific rolls in behind you with a warm, thundering roar that makes every backswing feel like a cinematic climax,” reckons Geeves, the old romantic. PHOTO: Getty Images
Perhaps the most beautiful part of staying here – beyond the view, the food and the way every interaction with a Fijian person feels like a hug – is knowing that every staff member you meet is not just working a job, they’re building a life.
The Fijian government’s form of superannuation for resort and hospitality workers is one of the most quietly powerful things I’ve ever learned on a golf trip. Scratch that – in life. Every employee contributes, and every employer matches. Not as a token gesture, but as a national philosophy. That being if you give your energy to a place, the place should give something back to you.
You feel that everywhere you go. The pride. The peace. The people here aren’t selling paradise. They are paradise. And they’re building futures with every perfectly poured cocktail and genuinely interested “How was your round?”
(Mine was poor, thanks for asking, but the smiles and knighthood via Bula made me feel like I’d shot five-under, had Adam Scott’s jawline and was king of the world.)
If Natadola Bay has a “signature” hole, it’s the par-3 4th along the sea. PHOTO: Natadola Bay
***
Natadola Bay isn’t perfect. Not right now. It is scuffed. Weathered. In need of money, time and love – in that order. The clubhouse could do with more than a lick of paint; it needs a full reality TV makeover complete with made up fake drama and a script editor more creative than Ben Elton on Blackadder.
But here’s the truth: Natadola Bay still holds weight because, as many of us know, golf is always about connection.
Connection to land, to memory, to people. To a wedding morning in 2013 when life was lighter. To a Fijian starter who calls you “brother” as you walk to the 1st tee. To a resort staff member who sings “Isa Lei” like it’s a hymn for every traveller who’s ever fallen in love with this place and vowed to return.
And when it does return to glory, I plan to be back – older, softer, probably with a knee brace – standing on that 4th tee with a set of graphite-shaft hybrids from 3-PW, still chasing the magic of that first round on my wedding day.
Because, like all great love stories, some places stay with you; under your skin, on your ring finger, in your swing, woven into the yarns you’ll tell at the pub for years to come.
In Natadola Bay, I’ve found something worth coming back for. A place that will always feel like home.
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