Scilly

Some seventy kilometres off the tip of Cornwall lies a small cluster of islands that seem to belong to another world entirely. The Isles of Scilly, scattered like jewels across the Atlantic, are both remote and familiar - unmistakably British, yet touched with a softness and light that feels almost Mediterranean. To visit Scilly is to step into a slower rhythm of life, where the air is scented with salt and flowers, and the sea - endlessly changing - shapes every hour of the day. I used to think it was the most exotic place on earth...

There are five inhabited islands - St Mary’s, Tresco, St Martin’s, Bryher, and St Agnes - and dozens of smaller, uninhabited islets, each with its own character. From the moment you arrive, whether by the little Skybus plane from Land’s End or the ferry Scillonian gliding across from Penzance, the sense of crossing into somewhere special is unmistakable. The light is softer, the air clearer, and the landscape - fringed with white sand and turquoise water - feels almost dreamlike.

St Mary’s, the largest island, is the natural hub of the archipelago. Its main town, Hugh Town, sits snugly between two beaches, with narrow streets, granite cottages, and a harbour that feels lifted from an old painting. Yet even here, “busy” is a relative term. The pace of life is unhurried; the loudest sounds are often the cry of gulls or the rustle of the tide. A walk around St Mary’s coastal path reveals a landscape both wild and welcoming - heather-covered headlands, windswept cliffs, and calm inlets where seals bask on the rocks.

Each of the other islands has its own distinct charm. Tresco, perhaps the most famous, is known for its Abbey Garden - a subtropical paradise that seems impossible this far north. Thanks to the mild Gulf Stream climate, palms, agaves, and exotic flowers flourish here in brilliant colour. Walking through the garden, with its lush greenery and distant sea views, feels like wandering through a living museum of the world’s plant life. Tresco also has a touch of quiet elegance about it - tidy cottages, art galleries, and a sense of understated refinement that attracts those seeking peace rather than glamour.

Bryher, by contrast, is rugged and elemental - a small, wild island where the Atlantic crashes against the western rocks while the eastern shore remains calm and sheltered. Its people are fiercely proud of its simplicity, and there’s something deeply moving about watching the sunset there - the waves roaring, the gulls wheeling, and the sky turning gold and violet. St Martin’s, with its sweeping beaches of white sand and clear blue water, could easily be mistaken for the Caribbean on a sunny day. It is a paradise for walkers, swimmers, and those who find joy in quiet beauty. St Agnes, (where I camped most recently) the southernmost inhabited island, is tiny but full of character - a place of winding lanes, wildflowers, and a sense that time itself moves differently. When the tide falls, you can even walk across a causeway to the neighbouring island of Gugh, a small and magical crossing that never loses its charm.

For centuries, the Isles of Scilly were shaped by isolation. Fishing, farming, and pilotage were once the main livelihoods. The waters around the islands have always been treacherous - countless ships have met their fate on the rocks, leaving behind wrecks and legends. The people of Scilly, hardy and self-reliant, learned to live at the mercy of the sea. Yet today, tourism has become the lifeblood of the islands, drawing visitors who come not for luxury, but for tranquillity.

Life on Scilly remains rooted in community and rhythm - the tides, the weather, the ferries that bring goods and visitors from the mainland. There’s an intimacy to island living here; everyone knows everyone, and the sense of belonging is palpable. It’s a place where the postman might arrive by boat, where children walk barefoot to school, and where a lost phone is more likely to be returned with a friendly note than stolen.

But what truly makes the Isles of Scilly so enchanting is their atmosphere - that rare combination of beauty, simplicity, and light. The sea seems to define everything: its moods, its colours, its ever-present hum. Even on a stormy day, when the waves batter the harbour walls and the wind howls across the dunes, there’s a kind of peace in knowing you’re standing at the edge of Britain, where the land gives way to the great Atlantic beyond.

The Isles of Scilly are a reminder of what England can still be when stripped of hurry and noise - a place of human scale, where life moves gently in tune with nature. Whether you’re walking barefoot along a quiet beach, cycling through flower-lined lanes, or watching the sun sink into the western sea, you can’t help but feel that this is a corner of the world where time still knows how to stand still.

Camping on Scilly was cheap in the 70's - hence, coming from Penzance, it was my family's annual holiday destination. In those days all our rubish smoldered stinkily on an open bonfire, visited casually by rats, and the loos were emptied into open pits... yuk! Gotta say it's actually too expensive for us now - shame...