Imagine being so far from another human being that the closest people to you are actually orbiting the planet in the International Space Station. That isn't science fiction. It’s just a Tuesday on Tristan da Cunha.
Most people lump these places together. They hear Tristan da Cunha and Saint Helena and think of them as a single, tropical neighborhood in the South Atlantic. They aren't. Not even close. While they share a British Overseas Territory status, they are worlds apart in culture, accessibility, and vibe. One is a volcanic fortress where you need the community's permission just to step off the boat. The other is a historic island that finally—after centuries of isolation—got an airport that doesn't terrify every pilot who looks at it.
If you're looking for a "vacation," go to Hawaii. If you're looking for a logistical puzzle that will test your patience and your stomach, these islands are the final frontier.
The Massive Distance Between Tristan da Cunha and Saint Helena
Geography is the first thing that trips people up. Saint Helena sits about 1,200 miles off the coast of Africa. It’s isolated, sure, but it’s a hub compared to its neighbor. Tristan da Cunha is another 1,500 miles south of Saint Helena. To put that in perspective, that’s roughly the distance from London to Istanbul, but with nothing but white-capped waves and albatrosses in between.
There is no "hopping" between them.
Until recently, the only way to reach Saint Helena was the RMS St Helena, a mail ship that felt like a floating time capsule. Now, Airlink flies there from Johannesburg. But Tristan? Tristan is a different beast entirely. There is no airstrip. There never will be. The ground is too rugged, the wind too fierce, and the population of about 240 people doesn't necessarily want a swarm of tourists descending on their potato patches.
Why Saint Helena Isn't Just "Napoleon’s Prison"
Everyone knows Saint Helena because of Napoleon Bonaparte. He died there in 1821 at Longwood House, bored out of his mind and complaining about the damp. It’s the island’s biggest claim to fame, but it’s honestly the least interesting thing about the place once you actually arrive.
Jamestown, the capital, is squeezed into a narrow volcanic fissure. It looks like a Georgian village was dropped into a canyon by a giant. You’ve got the "Jacob’s Ladder"—699 steps straight up the cliffside. If you climb it, your legs will shake for two days. I’m not exaggerating. Local kids run up and down it for exercise, which is frankly insulting to the rest of us.
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Beyond the history, the island is a biodiversity hotspot. Because it’s so old and so lonely, it has evolved species you won't find anywhere else. The Wirebird is the famous one. It’s a small plover that looks a bit like it’s walking on toothpicks. Then there’s Jonathan.
Meeting the World’s Oldest Living Land Animal
Jonathan the tortoise lives at Plantation House. He’s a Seychelles giant tortoise and he’s been on Saint Helena since 1882. He’s seen world wars, the invention of the internet, and the rise and fall of empires, all while slowly munching on lettuce. He’s over 190 years old. Touching him is strictly forbidden, but standing near a living creature that likely saw the 19th century is a weirdly humbling experience.
The island has shifted from a maritime fortress to a destination for "slow travel." The internet is better now—thanks to a massive subsea cable—but the pace of life remains tethered to the arrival of the weekly flight.
Tristan da Cunha: The Island That Shouldn't Exist
If Saint Helena is remote, Tristan da Cunha is impossible.
It is the most remote inhabited archipelago on Earth. The main settlement is called Edinburgh of the Seven Seas, but locals just call it "The Settlement." Everything here is communal. The land is owned by the community. Every family has a plot to grow potatoes. You can’t just move there. You can’t buy a "holiday home." To even visit, you have to email the Island Council months in advance and get a background check.
Why? Because if you get stuck there—and you might, if the weather turns—the community has to feed you.
The Logistics of a Six-Day Boat Ride
You don’t fly to Tristan. You go to Cape Town and board a South African research vessel like the SA Agulhas II or a commercial fishing boat like the MFV Edinburgh. Then you sail for six days across some of the roughest water on the planet. The "Roaring Forties" aren't a joke. You’ll see waves the size of apartment buildings.
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When you arrive, there’s no harbor. The ship anchors offshore and you’re lowered into a small RIB (Rigid Inflatable Boat) to be zipped into the small breakwater. If the swells are over a certain height, the boat doesn't stop. It just keeps going. People have traveled six days only to be told they can't land, and they have to sail six days right back to Cape Town.
The Economy of Isolation
How do these places survive? It’s not tourism.
For Saint Helena, it’s a mix of British government subsidies, a fledgling coffee industry (which is world-class and incredibly expensive), and "Saints" working abroad and sending money home. The coffee is grown from Green Tipped Bourbon seeds brought from Yemen in the 1700s. It’s smooth, acidic, and usually costs about $20 for a small cup in London or Tokyo.
Tristan da Cunha is different. They are remarkably self-sufficient. Their "gold" is the Tristan Rock Lobster. They export it primarily to the US and Japan. If you’ve ever had high-end cold-water lobster tail in a fancy steakhouse, there’s a decent chance it came from a guy named Glass or Swain living on a volcano in the middle of the Atlantic. They also make a significant amount of money from selling postage stamps to collectors. Because the island is so hard to reach, its mail is a prized commodity.
Life on a Volcano
In 1961, the volcano on Tristan erupted. The entire population had to be evacuated to England. It was a massive culture shock. They lived in the UK for two years, but almost all of them hated it. They hated the noise, the crime, and the "unfriendly" way people lived. As soon as the Royal Society deemed the island safe again, they went back.
That tells you everything you need to know about the spirit of these islands.
Life there is about the "Fishing Signal." When the weather is good, a radio signal goes out across the settlement. Everyone drops what they are doing and heads to the boats. You don't work in the office when the lobster are biting. You don't tend the shop when the sea is calm. The ocean dictates the schedule.
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The Reality of Visiting Today
Don't expect luxury. There are no resorts. On Saint Helena, you’ll find some lovely guesthouses and the Mantis Hotel in Jamestown. On Tristan, you’re likely staying in someone’s spare room or a small self-catering bungalow.
You’ll eat a lot of potatoes. On Tristan, "The Patches" are the lifeblood of the island. They are protected by stone walls to keep the wind from blowing the soil away. Every family has their own, and the harvest is a community event. It’s a level of social cohesion that simply doesn't exist in the West anymore.
Essential Tips for the Masochistic Traveler
- Book Saint Helena flights early. They only run a few times a week from Johannesburg (and occasionally Cape Town). If the "wind shear" is bad at the airport, the flight gets delayed. Don't book a tight connection on your way back.
- The Tristan Council is your boss. Email them (officemanager@tdc-gov.com) before you even look at boat schedules. You need their "okay" before you can book a berth on a ship.
- Bring cash. While Saint Helena is getting better with cards, Tristan is largely a cash and local credit society. The Saint Helena Pound is 1:1 with the British Pound, but you can’t use it back in London. Spend it before you leave.
- Pack for four seasons. In a single day on either island, you will be sunburnt, rained on, and blown over by a gale.
Why These Islands Still Matter
In a world that is "hyper-connected," Tristan da Cunha and Saint Helena represent the few remaining places where you can't be reached. There is something deeply healthy about being in a place where you have to wait for things. Wait for the boat. Wait for the harvest. Wait for the weather to clear.
It’s a reminder that humans are actually quite small. We like to think we’ve conquered the planet with our satellites and fiber optics, but the South Atlantic doesn't care about your 5G signal.
Actionable Next Steps for Planning Your Trip
If you're serious about visiting, stop browsing Instagram and start doing the paperwork.
First, decide which island fits your "risk profile." If you have two weeks and want some comfort, choose Saint Helena. Check the Airlink schedule for flights from Johannesburg. You’ll need to prove you have medical insurance that includes "aeromedical evacuation"—because if you get sick, a flight out costs upwards of $100,000.
If you have a month or more and want the ultimate bragging rights, aim for Tristan da Cunha. You need to check the shipping schedule on the official Tristan website. Ships like the MFV Edinburgh only take about 12 passengers per trip. These spots fill up a year in advance with researchers, locals returning home, and the occasional extreme traveler.
Once you have a ship date, email the Island Council for entry clearance. Only after you have that permit should you put down a deposit on your boat berth. Be prepared for the ship to be delayed by days or weeks. This is not a trip for people with tight schedules or a low tolerance for seasickness.
Lastly, bring a high-quality camera with a solid weather seal. The salt spray and humidity in the South Atlantic are brutal on electronics, but the photos of the Milky Way from the deck of a ship in the middle of nowhere are worth the gear repair bills. This isn't just travel; it's an expedition. Treat it with that level of respect and you'll have a story that very few people on this planet can top.