Tristan da Cunha

April 13, 2015

A group of islands on which a British garrison was at one point stationed with the sole purpose of preventing Napoleon’s rescue from neighboring Saint Helena.

In the morning, we received some bad news: there was a flu epidemic on the main island. So we couldn’t come ashore. Or rather, we could, but then we wouldn’t be allowed onto Ascension Island, from which many passengers had already bought their return tickets. They wouldn’t let us disembark on one of the smaller flu-free islands, either—quarantine formalities and such.

But we decided to at least take a closer look at a local settlement. At first, all you see is some seals in the distance.

Then lots of seals.

Then some caves appear.

And finally, some small houses that resemble garden sheds become visible. Perhaps fishermen use them to store their gear—we had no one to ask, it being a quarantine and everything. All we could do was sail past and observe from a distance.

Our expedition leader decided it was necessary to provide some kind of entertainment for the mob of crazy travelers (i.e., us) and organized motorboat rides around the islands and cliffs.

But some travelers found the thought of not stepping foot on such a singular and long-awaited territory so intolerable that they were ready to jump into the water and swim to shore just so they could check it off as visited. Seeing this degree of desperation, our leader gave permission to touch one of the uninhabited rocks. For many travelers, this is enough to technically count as a visit.

But in the end, a convenient lagoon turned up in one of the rocky outcroppings, and everyone who wished to do so was able to stand on land for three minutes.

Towards evening, we reach the main island.

The crew decides to pass along a box with medications to the island’s residents. All the travelers write well wishes on a piece of paper.

We have a Finnish captain who’s very afraid of absolutely everything on earth. He doesn’t dare come closer than five hundred meters to shore. A motorboat comes out to meet us.

We hand over the box with whatever we were able to scrape together from the ship’s first aid kit.

And the motorboat heads back towards the only settlement on the archipelago, a hamlet by the name of Edinburgh of the Seven Seas.

Get well soon, Tristanians!

This is still better than nothing—it’s so hard to visit Tristan da Cunha that even when there isn’t an epidemic, only one ship out of three can let its passengers disembark due to the constant heavy swells.