Fiji has accommodations for every budget, but, for those with extra to spend, Dolphin Island is the ultimate dream getaway, offering complete privacy and luxury. Photo by Geoff Mason/Huka Retreats.

All I can figure is that Tom Hanks lost his glasses in the plane crash. In the movie Cast Away, he spends years, washed up and alone on a Pacific Island. He gets skinny, grows a beard, nearly goes insane, and ends up spending huge amounts of time talking to a volleyball.

“Oh, yeah, he was on that island right there,” Pilli tells me, indicating a rock tower just around the point. From on top of those rocks, if Hanks had his glasses on, he wouldn’t have had any trouble at all seeing the village where I’m about to sit down to a wonderful meal of fish cooked in coconut. He probably could have even seen the resort one more island over, bures, the traditional Fijian houses, lined up neatly against the shoreline and a bartender who serves the strongest rum punch I’ve ever had.

We’re in the Mamanucas, a chain of islands to the west of Fiji’s main port town of Nadi, on Viti Levu—one of only two of more than 300 islands in the country big enough to show up on most world maps. And it didn’t take getting into a plane crash to get here; actually, the ferry ran right on time and was really comfortable [see "Travel Tips: Fiji," March/April 2013].

The Mamanucas look like Hawaii before it was Hawaii. They look like the background of every painting Gauguin ever did of a tropical paradise: mountains rising out of the sea, no transition between water and flower-stuffed jungle except lines of powdered sugar beaches. Villages are hidden behind lines of sheltering coconut trees, pandanus, and stuff I’ll never learn the name of but has leaves the size of dinner plates.

I catch a boat over to a beach on the far side of the island from where most of the film was set, unload a picnic lunch and string a hammock under a thatched shelter—a good idea to be under cover, since every now and then from the jungle comes the crash of a coconut falling out of a tree, and that just isn’t something you want to be under.

My ride steers his boat away and for the first and so far only time in my entire life I have a beach completely to myself (well, except once in American Samoa, but that beach was haunted, so technically, I was sharing it with the ghosts) with no chance whatsoever of anyone coming by.

The sand stretches as smooth as a pool table, except for my footprints and some tiny, delicate shells, like a kind of cowrie that’s been Dalmatian spotted.

Let’s face it: If the Garden of Eden had resorts, it would have looked like Fiji.

Which is why Tom wasn’t the first Hollywood star to wash up on Fiji’s shores. Cameras and crews have been coming out here since at least 1932, when Edward Sutherland shot Mr. Robinson Crusoe. No, you probably won’t find that one on DVD. Better chance of seeing Burt Lancaster play His Majesty O’Keefe, a 1954 hit where he realizes it’s more fun to be happy than rich as he walks the streets of Suva, Fiji’s capital (on the other side of the same island as Nadi) despite the fact that the weather forecast never says anything but “rain.” Gregory Peck stood in Suva’s rain during the production of 1974’s The Dove.

But here’s where Hollywood got Fiji very, very wrong: What all the films have in common is that you have to work for paradise, getting there can’t ever come too easy. A little suffering to purify you for the experience, like stripping off the skin from a sunburn.

Tokoriki Island Resort is a secluded, lush getaway in the Mamanuca Islands of Fiji. Photo courtesy 8Hotels Tokoriki Islands and Resorts.

Yet just like getting to the Mamanucas on a nice, shiny ferry, I didn’t work at all to get here. Fiji is just three hours from Australia, or about 10 from Los Angeles. And the islands have resorts so luxe that the staff actually looks offended if you touch your own bag.

And being here is zero effort. Everybody speaks fluent English, even out in the villages, and they might well be the friendliest people on the entire planet. The only voices you’ll ever hear raised are the constant shouts of “Bula!” the all-purpose greeting and expression of joy.

Isn’t pure joy better for your soul than Hollywood trial and tribulation?

And I’m about to get a whole lot of joy, because the sun’s going down and it’s time for kava.

Kava is the glue that holds Fijian society together, and it was the one thing the missionaries weren’t able to change about the islands. Because the truth is, before the arrival of missionaries in the early 1840s, the Fijians were not exactly known as the nicest people around; in fact, most sailors went a very long way out of their way to avoid Fiji. At least one missionary ended up as soup. At the death of a chief, a passel of his wives would be strangled, so he wouldn’t have to die alone. The Fijians maintained a more or less constant state of war, but at the same time, you can see something deeper was going on, because their war clubs—ironically still the most popular souvenir in all the shops—are works of art, like it would be rude to bash someone in the head with a club that wasn’t as beautifully made as possible, intricately carved and decorated.

But the missionaries, with that famed missionary perseverance, eventually stopped turning into soup and changed the entire local approach to life. Like they did across the tropics, the missionaries convinced people who lived in a hot, sweaty climate to wear clothes suitable for a New England winter. They stopped head bashing from being the sport of choice. And they built churches every 20 feet or so in most villages. When I walk through a Fijian village on a Sunday morning, hymns pour out of a half dozen chapels’ open windows.

But the missionaries couldn’t do anything about kava, and maybe one of the reasons why film crews love Fiji so much is that the national pastime is getting blitzed on kava every evening. Kava is made from the root of a kind of pepper plant. Grind the stuff up, mix it with water, and you get … well, a drink that both looks and tastes remarkably like mud. But mud that first makes your mouth go numb, and then, according to people who apparently have a much lower chemical tolerance than I do, instills you with a very relaxed, happy feeling. So relaxed that you might not want to move for several hours. Or, if you drink enough of it, several days.

Fabulous Fiji The Saturday Evening Post

Let’s take a trip back to my childhood. The year was 1992, and “Too Legit to Quit” was still my favorite song. I had the stereotypical late ’80s boom box and carried the cassette tape (which I bought with my allowance, of course) around with me like a prized trophy. I even had a little dance to go along with song. I was cool (or at least I tell myself this), and life was good.

One hot summer day, my parents took me and my brothers down to the beach for some fun, and my music had to come along with me, despite my dear mother’s protests. The boom box was set down on the towel, and I ran off to play in the lake, kicking a plume of sand up behind me that went right into the boom box and ruined my precious childhood song.

The moral of this story? “Too Legit to Quit” was a terrible song, and I should have listened to my mother and not brought unprotected electronics to the beach.

Fortunately, there are some things you can do to keep your electronics safe out on the sand.

Ditch your camera

While that fancy $600 DSLR camera sure does take nice pictures, hauling it to the beach probably isn’t the best idea in the world. Besides exposing it to the elements, you never know who or what you’ll come across at the beach—or rather, who or what will come across you. No need to let some random young surfer-wannabe splash water on your camera.

Instead, pick up a relatively inexpensive waterproof camera. A waterproof device will be able to withstand the punishment of a kid-friendly environment, while giving you the peace of mind that your expensive investment isn’t going to get damaged. Check out our advice on waterproof cameras for some ideas.

Think waterproof

It might seem like overkill, but a waterproof case can be indispensible for a day at the beach. Not only is it going to protect your phone against those accidental swims in the ocean friends are often wont to impose, but it’s also going to make sure that no sand gets in your phone.

The best way to pick up a case is to hit your local sporting goods store for a quick fix, or hop on Amazon if you’ve got a couple days to wait for delivery. Just do an Amazon search for “waterproof cases iPhone” (or whatever your phone is) and you’ll get a bunch of great results.

A couple things to keep in mind though. First, be ready to spend between $35 and $50 for one. Any less and I wouldn’t recommend it, since you might be getting an inferior product (and you don’t want to take that chance with your $600 smartphone). You should also be willing to get a waterproof case that doesn’t exactly match your device, especially if you need to pick one up right now at the sporting goods store. There are cases which are waterproof that work just fine with an iPhone inside them, and generally run a bit cheaper than cases meant specifically for the iPhone.

An added benefit to the waterproof case is that you can—and should!—take your favorite gadgets hiking with you, safe and dry despite the elements.

Get some fresh air

We’ve all been there, out in nature with our cell phones when some dirt or other debris gets on it that we just can’t get off easily. When you’re at the beach, the key danger is sand, which isn’t a friend of any electronic device. It’s hard, coarse, and can easily damage fragile eletronics.

The best way to get sand out of your electronics is to blow your device clean with some compressed air. Don’t hold the air right up against your gadget. Instead, hold it back a foot or so; you want just enough air to be impactful but not so much that you’ll damage any sensitive components. You may have to give your device a couple blasts of air, but eventually, all the sand will make its way out—and onto your floor. (Another great tip: Do this outside in the garage.)

Remember the basics

And yes, the final item on our list is simply an umbrella. Why is such a basic item necessary for the high-tech aficionado? It’s simple, really. If you’re going to be out in the sun, then your devices are going to get hot—really hot. I recently found this out the hard way when spending the day relaxing by the pool with some co-workers. I reached for my iPhone, which despite being protected in a good case was not only burning-hot to the touch but also wouldn’t function. It even popped up an error message letting me know it needed to cool down.

When your phone is telling you to get some shade, it’s probably a good idea! So our last tip to protect your gadgets at the beach: keep ‘em cool and out of the sun!

And in case you you were wondering, my iPhone was so hot that we were able to watch a drop of water quickly evaporate off its screen. Now that’s a sunburn!

How to Keep your Gadgets Safe at the Beach The Saturday Evening Post

What that man has discovered, the young lady in the July 6, 1929, cover is just finding out: Too much sun can be painful. Or, at least, inconvenient, as we see from the tan lines of the lady in Albert W. Hampson’s September 27, 1941, cover. The stripes of her bathing suit do not line up with the lovely backless dress she wants to wear. (Oops.)

The best way to enjoy the beach is to find a nice secluded spot away from the madding crowds. What usually happens, though, as in George Hughes’ August 8, 1953, cover, is that others soon find that perfect spot, after which, alas, is not so perfect.

We bet you thought crowded beaches were a modern-day phenomenon. J.C. Leyendecker’s September 3, 1932, cover shows a joyously crowded beach with all kinds of characters, topped off by a strapping lifeguard. Not so joyously crowded is the beach scene showing a confused family trying to find their car on the August 1, 1959, cover. Mom thinks it’s this way, but Dad and junior are inclined to think it’s that way. We hope they find it before everyone gets fried.

You have to love the die-hards. Take Smiley (we’re pretty sure that’s his name), on the June 17, 1961, cover. He’s gung-ho about plunging into the posted 52-degree water in spite of the covered-up lifeguard who clearly thinks he’s nuts. Life is short. You have to take advantage of beach days.

Classic Covers: Life’s a Beach The Saturday Evening Post