Some places still keep their own time. Ferries come when seas allow. Cards don’t always work. Night skies are black enough to make you feel small. If your idea of travel is less about ticking boxes and more about slipping quietly into a community’s rhythm, the islands below will reward you. They’re remote, lightly visited, and defined by people who’ve learned to live with wind, tide, and scarce bandwidth. Expect slow days, long stories, and a new relationship with your watch.
Before You Go: How to Travel Well on Remote Islands
- Book early, then stay flexible. Small planes get winded off, supply ships miss days, and “tomorrow” sometimes means “when the weather calms.” Build buffer days, especially around onward flights.
- Pack as if there’s no store. Bring essential meds, reef-safe sunscreen, spare glasses, a small first-aid kit, and a power bank. On some islands, the next shipment is in two weeks—if it arrives.
- Respect local rules. Some islands cap visitor numbers or require permits; others have strict cultural protocols. Hire local guides where possible—your money and presence will do the most good that way.
- Think light touch. Waste disposal can be a challenge, so minimize plastics and pack out what you can. Water is often scarce; use it sparingly.
- Switch off with intention. Expect spotty internet and limited mobile networks. Download maps, translation packs, and reading before you go. Then lean into the quiet.
The Islands
Tristan da Cunha, South Atlantic
The world’s most remote inhabited island lives by a tumble of weather and community consensus. Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, home to a few hundred islanders, clusters beneath Green Hill and the memory of a 1961 eruption. Patches of potato fields, cliff-laced hikes, and one bar set the pace. You go for conversations and the surreal feeling that shipping forecasts decide your plans.
Getting there is the challenge and the point. There’s no airport; access is by ship from Cape Town on rare schedules. Visits are arranged through Tristan Tourism and often book years ahead. Landing depends on sea conditions, and time ashore can shrink or vanish with the swell.
Sleep comes via the island’s small guesthouse or homestays when available. Bring cash, patience, and an adaptable packing list—waterproofs, warm layers, and something to trade (books and tools are always appreciated). Leave your rush on the ship.
Pitcairn Island, South Pacific
Home to descendants of the Bounty mutineers, Pitcairn is less a destination than a relationship. There are perhaps 50 residents, a steep hill up from Bounty Bay, and a warren of stories. Expect evenings that start with jam tastings and end with stargazing that steals the breath right out of you.
There’s no airstrip. The supply ship MV Silver Supporter runs from Mangareva in French Polynesia, and the crossing takes about 32–36 hours each way. Schedules shift; seas decide. You need to arrange a homestay and entry clearances well in advance with the Pitcairn Island Office.
Days on Pitcairn are simple: hike to the downed anchor of the Bounty, visit petroglyphs, swim with clarity you’ll remember forever, then help your host with whatever needs doing. Bring New Zealand dollars, sturdy shoes, and an open ear. This is a place where a cup of tea can last an afternoon.
Socotra, Yemen
Socotra looks like someone planted a Dr. Seuss forest and forgot to tell the rest of the planet. Dragon’s blood trees tilt red umbrellas against highland ridges, wadis pool up with freshwater, and dunes pour into a sapphire sea. Life here feels ancient because so much of it is: a third of the flora exists nowhere else.
Travel is possible only with a local operator, who will help with permits and logistics. Flights typically route on seasonal charters, often via Abu Dhabi or from mainland Yemen when conditions allow. Security situations fluctuate; go with reputable guides who keep current on ground realities.
Most visitors camp with local crews or stay in simple guesthouses. Expect limited connectivity, cash payments, and meals of fresh fish, flatbreads, and strong tea. The best months tend to be outside the monsoon (roughly June–September). On hikes, tread lightly—these ecosystems are rare and fragile.
Kerguelen Islands, French Southern and Antarctic Lands
Nicknamed the “Desolation Islands,” Kerguelen is a raw sweep of subantarctic grandeur. Wind lashes the tussock, glaciers grip black mountains, and king penguins assemble like gossiping diplomats. There are no permanent residents, just scientists and the few travelers who arrive with them.
There’s no commercial access. The supply vessel Marion Dufresne departs Réunion Island a few times a year, on long circuits that also call at Crozet and Amsterdam Islands. Space is limited and pricey; permission runs through the TAAF administration.
If you get there, time slows to the pace of fieldwork and weather windows. You’ll eat in a communal mess, cram into cold-weather gear, and stand quietly while elephant seals bellow at surf. This is less holiday and more pilgrimage for those who love the edges of the map.
St. Kilda, Scotland
St. Kilda is equal parts human history and seabird kingdom. The last residents left in 1930, and their stone cleits—little storage huts—still dot the slopes above Village Bay. Puffins burrow into the turf, gannets blast off the sea stacks, and the wind carries voices you’ll swear you can nearly understand.
Access is via day boats from Harris or North Uist when weather allows; landings are never guaranteed. A small number of researchers and wardens live seasonally on Hirta, but there’s no tourist infrastructure beyond a basic shelter and compost toilets.
Bring layers, lunch, and humility. You’ll wander past the old street, climb toward the Gap, and, if swell permits, circle towering Stac an Armin. The place has a hush that sticks with you on the ride back to the Hebrides.
Jan Mayen, Norway
A volcanic triangle lost in the North Atlantic, Jan Mayen feels like a mirage. Beerenberg’s snow-capped cone rises above a black coastline, while a handful of Norwegian personnel keep the weather station humming. There’s no village, no shops—just polar wind and a sense the earth here is still deciding what to be.
Reaching it typically means joining an expedition ship. Landings are rare and strictly controlled by Norwegian authorities; conditions often put shore time out of reach. Independent visits are not an option.
If you do touch ashore, you’ll likely tread cinder and snow, with the scent of sulfur on the air. The reward is the memory of a place that resists domestication. This is the blank space between maps where your sense of scale resets.
Tokelau, New Zealand Territory
Tokelau is three atolls strung across a whole lot of ocean. Life hums to an atoll rhythm: church bells, communal meals, fishing runs, and children darting under breadfruit shade. The country famously went almost fully solar a decade ago, and the pace is set by sun and sea.
There is no airstrip. Passage is by government ship from Samoa; schedules flex and crossings can be long and lumpy. Visitors need permission arranged well ahead and usually stay in community guesthouses.
Days are slow: lagoon swims, weaving demonstrations, fishing with elders, volleyball at dusk. Respect local customs, dress modestly, and ask before photographing people. Cash is king, and connectivity is minimal. The reward is a week of deep quiet and genuine hospitality.
Niue, South Pacific
“The Rock” rises from the sea like a fortress, and then you discover honeycomb caves, crystal chasms, and a community that greets strangers by name before sunset. You can swim with spinner dolphins, snorkel in coral gardens clear as air, and watch whales from the roadside in season.
Air New Zealand runs flights from Auckland on limited weekly schedules. Rental cars are essential to hop between sea tracks and chasms; you’ll be driving on the left and waving often. Guesthouses and small resorts dot the coast, and the island uses the New Zealand dollar.
Go between May and October for cooler weather and the chance of whale song drifting into your dreams. The rule of thumb on Niue is safety first—check tides and swell before entering chasms. Evenings mean fresh uga (coconut crab) dinners and skies crowded with stars.
Lord Howe Island, Australia
Lord Howe feels like someone built a nature documentary and forgot to leave. Twin basalt peaks bookend a turquoise lagoon, fish come right up to say hello at Ned’s Beach, and bikes outnumber cars. Visitor numbers are capped, so crowds don’t really exist.
Short flights connect from Sydney and sometimes Brisbane; seats sell out months ahead. Accommodation leans to family-run lodges; Wi‑Fi is patchy by design, and mobile coverage remains limited. You get around on foot and bicycle, which suits the vibe.
Snorkel the southernmost coral reef, wander the Valley of the Shadows, and, if you’re fit, book a guided climb up Mt. Gower for cloud-forest views. Pack reef-safe sunscreen and curiosity; everything else slows down for you.
Rodrigues, Mauritius
Rodrigues feels like Mauritius’ unhurried cousin—same blue-green sea, far fewer people. Octopus dry on lines outside village homes, Creole rhythms float from verandas, and the lagoon stretches toward a horizon speckled with tiny islets. It’s the kind of place where the bakery might be out of baguettes because the wind changed.
Flights hop over from Mauritius in about 90 minutes. Most stays are small guesthouses and self-catering cottages; scooters or small cars are the easiest way to explore. ATMs exist, but don’t assume every small eatery takes cards.
Kitesurfers love the trade winds at Mourouk, hikers disappear happily into limestone valleys, and birders ferry to Île aux Cocos. Meals lean fresh and simple: rougaille, octopus curry, grilled fish. Take it slow, learn a few Creole phrases, and you’ll find doors opening everywhere.
Saba, Caribbean Netherlands
A tiny volcanic spike rising from the Caribbean, Saba has no natural beaches and no interest in pretending otherwise. Instead, you get immaculate reefs, a village of gingerbread houses, and a hiking culture that’ll keep you pleasantly tired. Locals call it the Unspoiled Queen for a reason.
Hop a small Winair plane from St. Maarten to the world’s shortest commercial runway, or brave a brisk ferry crossing. Lodging is scattered across Windwardside and The Bottom—think small inns, verandas, and easy conversations.
Spend mornings on the Mt. Scenery trail through cloud forest, afternoons diving Saba Marine Park, and evenings with lionfish tacos and island rum. There’s a seriousness about conservation here that shows up in clean trails and healthy reefs. Add your effort to the mix.
St. George Island, Pribilof Islands, Alaska
Fog, cliffs, and birdlife so dense it turns the air into a living net—that’s St. George. Aleut culture anchors the community, while fur seals bark across lava boulder rookeries. When the sky clears, the seabird spectacle at High Bluffs and Ridge Wall is jaw-dropping.
Access shifts year to year. Small planes sometimes operate from the Aleutians or Anchorage through seasonal services, and charter options pop up for birders. Plans must stay flexible; weather forgives no one. Coordinate closely with local tribal offices or tour operators before booking.
If you make it, expect homestays or small lodges, communal meals, and long, layered days. Dress for wind and wet, and bring good optics. You’ll leave with photos, yes, but also stories about people who live where the sea is the road.
Príncipe, São Tomé & Príncipe
Príncipe is a green jewel where ancient volcanic plugs rise out of rainforest and the sea sifts down into empty coves. Cocoa estates turned boutique lodges preserve old roças and new livelihoods, and turtles sometimes lumber ashore to bury the next generation.
Reach São Tomé by air, then hop a short flight or ferry to Príncipe. Euro-friendly prices mix with local currency; cash helps in villages. Accommodation ranges from high-end eco-lodges to simple guesthouses, each with a front-row seat to birdsong.
Hire local guides to walk the old plantation roads into Obô National Park, visit Roça Sundy for layers of history, and kayak under cliffs. The pace is unhurried by design. If you’re lucky, you’ll time dinner with a downpour and watch the forest steam while you eat grilled fish.
Lanyu (Orchid Island), Taiwan
Lanyu sits off Taiwan’s southeast corner, a rugged dot ringed by coral and defined by the Tao people’s sea-focused culture. Flying fish season shapes calendars and taboos; hand-carved canoes slip into morning light; and evenings arrive with the certainty of a communal meal.
Small planes fly from Taitung, and ferries run seasonally with swells deciding their mood. Rooms are simple, scooters are the default, and you should book weeks in advance during spring. Connectivity exists but doesn’t set the tone.
Approach gently. Ask before photographing underground houses or canoes, dress modestly around villages, and heed restrictions during flying fish season. Snorkel tide pools, climb to the lighthouse, and let roadside stalls introduce you to taro and goat. The island asks for respect; give it, and you’ll be welcomed.
How to Choose the Right Island for You
- Love raw wilderness and don’t mind no services? Kerguelen, Jan Mayen, and St. Kilda will scratch that itch.
- Want living culture and homestays? Pitcairn, Tokelau, Lanyu, and Príncipe are all about conversation around a kitchen table.
- Prefer soft adventure with creature comforts? Lord Howe, Niue, Rodrigues, and Saba balance nature with small-scale hospitality.
- Chasing pure remoteness? Tristan da Cunha and St. George Island demand patience and reward it with rare perspectives.
Ask yourself how you handle delay, cold water, and simple meals. Your answer will guide you far better than any glossy photo.
Practical Planning Strip-Down
- Visas and permits: Check early. Some islands require government approval or operator sponsorship. Keep digital and printed copies handy.
- Money: Carry cash in local currency or widely accepted alternatives (NZD for Niue and Tokelau; euros for Príncipe). ATMs can be limited or offline.
- Insurance: Get coverage that includes medical evacuation. Clinic capacity is often basic, and a medevac can be eye-wateringly expensive.
- Packing: Quick-dry layers, compact rain gear, sun protection, sturdy sandals and shoes, a dry bag, and a headlamp. Add snorkel gear if you can; rental options vary.
- Connectivity: Download offline maps, tide tables, language packs, and reading. Tell loved ones you’ll be off-grid—and mean it.
A Final Word
Islands like these give more than they take if you show up with respect and a calm itinerary. Trade speed for depth, accept that weather is in charge, say yes to the extra cup of tea, and let the days lengthen on their own. Time still moves there—it just does it at a human pace.
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