You’ve probably seen the photos. Those jagged, mist-covered cliffs in Portugal or the icy, desolate stretches of Tierra del Fuego where the wind rips the hat right off your head. Humans have this obsession. We want to know where the line is. For centuries, sailors were terrified they’d literally sail off the edge of a flat map, falling into a void filled with sea monsters. Obviously, we know better now. The earth is a sphere. There is no physical "drop-off." But if you’re looking for where the world ends in a geographic, atmospheric, or even symbolic sense, the answers are actually way more interesting than a simple horizon line.
It's about boundaries.
The Edge of the Map: Cabo da Roca and Finisterre
For the Romans, the world ended in Spain. They called it Finis Terrae—literally "End of the Earth." Today, we know it as Cape Finisterre. If you stand on those rocks in Galicia, looking out at the Atlantic, it’s easy to see why they thought that. There is nothing but a terrifyingly vast expanse of grey water. It feels final.
But they were technically wrong.
If we’re talking about the westernmost point of mainland Europe, you actually have to go to Cabo da Roca in Portugal. It’s a 150-meter-high cliff face that Poet Luís de Camões described as the place "where the land ends and the sea begins." It’s windy. It’s rugged. It’s a tourist trap, honestly, but it carries a weight that’s hard to ignore. When you stand there, you aren't just looking at water; you’re looking at the graveyard of a thousand myths.
South is a different story.
Ushuaia, Argentina, is widely marketed as "El Fin del Mundo." It’s the southernmost city on the planet. I’ve talked to travelers who’ve made the trek there, and they all say the same thing: the air feels different. Thinner. Colder. It’s the gateway to Antarctica. But even Ushuaia isn't the true "end." If you want to get technical, the Chilean hamlet of Puerto Williams is further south. And even then, you have the Antarctic continent itself.
So, where does the land actually stop? At the South Pole? Or at the edge of the ice shelf?
The Kármán Line: Where the World Ends and Space Begins
If you aren't satisfied with cliffs and oceans, you have to look up. This is the scientific answer to the question. Most experts, including those at the Fédération Aéronautique Internationale (FAI), recognize the Kármán Line as the boundary between our world and the Great Beyond.
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It sits at exactly 100 kilometers (about 62 miles) above sea level.
Think about that. If you could drive your car straight up, you’d reach the "end of the world" in about an hour. It’s shockingly close.
The physics are wild. Theodore von Kármán, the Hungarian-American engineer the line is named after, realized that at this specific altitude, the atmosphere becomes too thin for aeronautical flight. To stay aloft, a vehicle would have to travel faster than the orbital velocity. Basically, you stop being an airplane and start being a satellite.
NASA and the U.S. Air Force used to be a bit "it's complicated" about this. They traditionally pegged the edge of space at 50 miles. But for the rest of the scientific community, the 100km mark is the gold standard. Once you cross it, you've left the "world" of biology and weather and entered the "world" of vacuum and radiation.
Point Nemo: The Loneliest Place on Earth
There is another way to define the end. Not by where the land stops, but by how far away you can get from every other human being.
It’s called Point Nemo.
Located in the South Pacific Ocean, Point Nemo is the "oceanic pole of inaccessibility." It is the spot furthest from any landmass. To get there, you’d have to travel over 2,600 kilometers from the nearest tiny islands (Ducie Island, Maher Island, and Motu Nui).
Here’s the kicker: Point Nemo is so isolated that the closest humans to it are usually astronauts. When the International Space Station (ISS) passes overhead, it’s only about 400 kilometers away. The people on the islands are thousands of kilometers further.
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Space agencies actually use Point Nemo as a "spacecraft cemetery." Since there's basically no life there—the nutrient levels in the water are incredibly low because of the ocean currents—it’s the safest place to crash decommissioned satellites and stations. The Russian Mir station is down there. Hundreds of cargo ships and probes are rotting on the seafloor 4,000 meters down.
If you’re looking for where the world ends in terms of human civilization, this is it. It’s a watery graveyard for our highest technology.
The Cultural "Ends": From Mount Kailash to the Gates of Hell
We can't talk about the end of the world without the stories we tell ourselves. Every culture has a spot they consider the limit.
- Mount Kailash, Tibet: For Hindus, Buddhists, and Jains, this isn't just a mountain. It’s the axis mundi, the center of the world and the point where the earthly and divine meet. No one climbs it. It’s considered a physical boundary you shouldn't cross.
- The Darvaza Gas Crater, Turkmenistan: People literally call this the "Gates of Hell." It’s a collapsed natural gas field that has been burning continuously since 1971. It looks like a portal to another realm. If you’re standing on the rim at night, it’s hard not to feel like the world is literally ending right under your boots.
- The North Pole: It’s a shifting, floating sheet of ice. There’s no land. Just a theoretical point where every direction is south. It’s a psychological end.
The Misconceptions of the Horizon
Most people think the horizon is the "end." But did you know the horizon is only about 3 miles away if you’re standing at sea level?
That’s nothing.
The curve of the Earth hides the rest. If you climb a mountain, the "end" moves further away. It’s a moving target. This is why the ancient Greeks, like Eratosthenes, figured out the Earth was round way before we had satellites. They watched ships disappear hull-first over the horizon. If the world just "ended" at a line, the ships would just get smaller and smaller until they were dots. Instead, they sank.
Beyond the Physical: The End of Time
Scientists like Katie Mack, author of The End of Everything, talk about the "end of the world" in a much more permanent sense. We aren't just limited by geography; we’re limited by time.
Eventually, the sun will expand into a red giant. This isn't "maybe" territory; it’s stellar evolution. In about 5 billion years, the sun will swallow Mercury, Venus, and likely Earth. Our "end" is baked into the physics of our star.
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But even before that, the magnetic poles could flip. The climate could shift so drastically that the world as we inhabit it—the "human world"—ends long before the rock does.
Actionable Steps for the Modern Explorer
If you want to actually visit the places where the world feels like it's ending, you don't need a spaceship. You just need a bit of grit and a decent passport.
1. Visit Cabo da Roca, Portugal
Don't just take a selfie. Walk the trails away from the lighthouse. The wind there is fierce, and the sheer drop into the Atlantic gives you that "edge of the world" vertigo that sailors felt 500 years ago. It’s easily accessible via a bus from Sintra.
2. Explore the "End of the World" Train in Ushuaia
Take the Tren del Fin del Mundo. It’s touristy, sure, but it takes you into the Tierra del Fuego National Park. It was originally built to transport prisoners to the forest to cut wood. Standing in those sub-antarctic forests, you realize how small the "civilized" world actually is.
3. Use the "End" as a Perspective Shift
The concept of the world ending is usually scary. But geographically, these places are reminders of our scale. Whether it's Point Nemo or the Kármán Line, these boundaries remind us that we live on a finite, fragile marble.
4. Check the "Doomsday Clock"
If you're interested in the end of the world from a sociological perspective, follow the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. They update the Doomsday Clock every year. It’s a symbolic measure of how close we are to a man-made global catastrophe. It’s currently closer to "midnight" than it has ever been.
5. Look for the "Little Ends"
You don't have to travel to Argentina. Find the darkest spot near you using a light pollution map. When the "world" of city lights ends and the Milky Way becomes visible, you're looking at the true boundary of our planet.
The world doesn't end with a cliff or a wall. It ends where our reach exceeds our grasp. It ends at the 100km mark where air turns to void. It ends at the point in the ocean where you are more likely to see a satellite than a person. And honestly? Knowing where those lines are makes the middle of the world feel a lot more like home.