It’s no coincidence that some of the world’s most successful businessmen choose to spend their treasured moments of leisure on islands of their own; Richard Branson on Necker Island in the Caribbean; Larry Ellison on his own private island paradise in Hawaii, Paul Allen in the San Juan Islands between Seattle and Vancouver. For nowhere offers the kind of retreat an island – surrounded entirely by sea – presents. “An island is much more than a principate. It is the ultimate refuge – a magic and unsinkable world,” iconic travel writer Paul Theroux, an island resident himself, says. It’s the sea that’s the key; it’s the moat to the castle, it’s the strictest of gatekeepers: nothing gets in and – like it or not – nothing gets out.
There’s something comforting about being able to see the parameters of your world, if only for a few days of holiday.
For this reason, I think the smaller the island, the better: give me Moorea any day over Tahiti, the Gili Islands over Lombok or Bali next door, the Cook Islands over the Hawaiian islands. I like to see where my world begins and ends within an hour’s drive, much less if possible; that way, if I don’t like the way the wind’s blowing, all I need do is make a short journey to a calm lagoon on the other side.
And if I prefer both my sunsets and sunrises over the ocean – and who doesn’t – I can have that too. I don’t see the point in visiting an island that’s home to big cities, if I want congestion, pollution and crime I’ll stay on the mainland, thanks.
And nor should the ideal summer island getaway house a single McDonald’s or Starbucks, so it’s Koh Tao over Koh Samui, Molokai over Maui, Santo over Efate (in Vanuatu), Taveuni over Viti Levu (in Fiji). On islands, stars shine far brighter at night in a sky blown clear by salt spray, and there’s always complete and utter silence just offshore. And every island is its very own destination, with its own unique character. Even when the separation by sea is ever so slight, few islands are merely extensions of the mainland, because things are just different on islands.
It didn’t share a single characteristic with the mainland, bar the climate.
Characters are drawn to islands: creative folk, eccentrics, drifters, outcasts many of them, but never dull, and always with a story to tell, generally one they’re eager to share. And so many start with “well, I came for a week”. It’s this transience on islands that shakes up normal societal structures – there’s less social cliques, less history between friends: making short, but rewarding, holiday friendships far more probable.
“Things” are often harder to come by on an island; internet is most times slower, and more expensive, TV channels more restricted, sometimes blissfully non-existent, banking is less reliable, shops offer fewer of the goods we’re used to having each day (fresh milk anyone?), running water can be a precious commodity.
But because the things we take for granted aren’t always available, don’t we tend to care less about getting them? Making our lives just that bit simpler (once we overcome our initial frustrations).
This can work in reverse, of course. Islands can infuriate some, particularly those who can’t – or won’t – leave work behind, or whose ideas of efficiency are so ingrained that the very concept of island time is enough to make them break out in hives. Like it or not, every island runs on island time: so ask yourself, can you handle that? I was raised on a tiny volcanic outcrop in the South Pacific that you could drive round in in less than half an hour.
Islands seem magically removed from the World
I was eight before I saw a TV screen – the same year I was given my first pair of shoes. While I’m sure I’m not the only adult to look back on their childhood and wish life could be so simple again, it wasn’t just my naivety that made the world feel safe back then; it was – I lived on an island.
Even all these years later when I return to my boyhood home, I see children getting around just the same as I did. Stranger danger and curfews aren’t part of a parent’s curriculum on small islands.But then islands often seem magically removed from the modern world, like they belong on a different world’s map.
They can’t belong here in ours with Kim Kardashian and al-Qaeda; they’re the secret places we flee to when we want to escape our lives, if only for a week at a time. That’s why the concept of IS seems absurd broadcast on our TV screens in our villas in the Cook Islands, and Ebola seems little more than a Hollywood idea of a pandemic in our bungalow in Vietnam’s Phú Quốc.
And watching your football team lose that “unloseable” grand final in your villa in the Maldives doesn’t feel anywhere near as soul destroying. If you’re looking to leave the life you know behind you for a week or so this Christmas, at last count there were about 45,000 tropical islands on Earth.
Go get lost on one of them.