Edinburgh of the Seven Seas

If your idea of a good time involves trekking up an active volcano-one inconveniently located on the world's most isolated inhabited island-then Queen Mary's Peak on Tristan da Cunha should top your peculiar bucket list. Looming dramatically over the charmingly named settlement of Edinburgh of the Seven Seas (which is less "city" and more "rugged village stubbornly clinging to existence"), this volcano last threw a geological tantrum in 1961, temporarily evicting the entire population. These hardy islanders shrugged it off, happily rebuilt, and now casually invite adventurous outsiders to trudge 6,765 feet upward toward breathtaking vistas of emerald hillsides plunging straight into the eerily limitless Atlantic. Plan months ahead-this isn't a last-minute jaunt to the mall; getting here often involves hitching passages on cargo ships whose schedules are as shifting as the local weather. Start at dawn, armed with sturdy boots, waterproof everything, snacks, and preferably an extra sense of humor for navigating ever-changing clouds and volcanic rock that's sharper than your grandmother's tongue. Budget at least a few hundred bucks in provisions and passage, plus the gift of patience and flexibility. Why bother? Because standing at the summit of Queen Mary's Peak-wind-throttled, entirely at the mercy of earth's fiery whims, and gazing upon one of the globe's most improbable communities-is the sort of absurd, life-affirming experience you chase purely to annoy friends at dinner parties for the rest of your life.

If your bucket list involves trekking to the world's most absurdly remote island to gawk at oversized seabirds, congratulations-you've just stumbled upon its holy grail: albatross watching on Tristan da Cunha. This volcanic speck of British territory, marooned halfway between Africa and South America, isn't exactly teeming with nightlife or Michelin-starred eateries-unless you count the rare, majestic wandering albatross as fine dining company. Pro tip: Book your trip at least six months out-boat schedules here move at the glacial pace of a DMV queue-and aim to arrive during breeding season (around January through March, ideally early morning) to catch the albatrosses in full, feathered flirtation mode. Bring sturdy boots, patience in alarming quantities, binoculars, and snacks aplenty-the nearest Starbucks is literally continents away. Budget generously, since getting to Tristan da Cunha is neither easy nor cheap, but rest assured, the sight of a bird whose wingspan rivals your rental car is worth every penny. Even if ornithology leaves you yawning, you'll return home with an unparalleled bragging right: spotting a creature most have only heard of on crossword puzzles and wildlife documentaries.

If ever an island lived up to its stubbornly literal name, it's Inaccessible Island-a craggy, windswept speck marooned halfway between South Africa and Argentina, daring travelers to set foot on its antisocial shores. Forget Maldives indulgence-this isolated UNESCO World Heritage nature reserve is for adventurers who'd rather swap cocktail umbrellas for binoculars to spot the elusive Inaccessible Island rail, the planet's most obstinately flightless bird. Visits are strictly managed to protect this pristine haven, so expect paperwork, patience, and a generous head start: think months, not weeks, when planning your escapade. Aim for early morning arrivals, when sunrise dapples the basalt cliffs and penguins waddle ashore like hungover partygoers stumbling home at dawn. Pack sturdy boots, a waterproof jacket, and a dry sense of humor-storms here are legendary, as if Poseidon himself is trying to reinforce the island's inhospitable title. Budget generously, because exclusivity doesn't come cheap; anticipate dropping upwards of a few thousand dollars on permits, passage, and provisions. Yet-inaccessibility aside-standing there, windswept and smug, alongside strange wildlife utterly unafraid of your presence, is worth every logistical nightmare. Even if it's just so you can casually mention at dinner parties, "Oh, Inaccessible Island? Funny story..."

Bird watching on Nightingale Island isn't your grandma's leisurely stroll through the local park; it's a pilgrimage to one of the world's most isolated bird havens, lost somewhere between South America and Africa in the breezy nowhere of the South Atlantic. Discovered by a passing British captain who clearly had birds on his brain ("nightingale" indeed-there isn't a single nightingale here), the island instead hosts quirky, endemic avian oddities like the Nightingale bunting and the delightfully clumsy Atlantic yellow-nosed albatross. Be prepared for spray-soaked boat rides and sudden ocean swells; plan at least six months ahead, because the birds don't keep hotel rooms waiting-and neither, frankly, does the rest of humanity. Aim for an early morning landing when seabirds swirl in squawking, caffeinated clouds of feathers. Pack binoculars, of course-though even better, bring earplugs (these birds are loud), plenty of snacks, sunscreen (birdwatching is slow business), and budget generously-such remoteness doesn't come cheap, with boat tours setting you back at least $1,000. Is it worth the small fortune, queasiness, and effort? Absolutely. After all, how many people can casually slip the line "Last month, while birding on Nightingale Island..." into their next dinner party chat?