Gough Island

If you've ever wondered what it feels like to stand on the remotest edge of nowhere, hoping to glimpse creatures that look like nature's love child between Dr. Seuss and Darwin, then pack your bags (and seasickness tablets) for Gough Island. Marooned in the middle of the South Atlantic, Gough is essentially the animal kingdom's forbidden nightclub-exclusive, isolated, and populated by species you won't find on any respectable mainland zoo brochure. Here, you'll stumble upon charismatic oddballs like the Gough Moorhen, a flightless bird that somehow ended up on a volcanic dot thousands of miles from anywhere useful, and the Tristan Albatross, whose life involves soaring majestically over vast oceans only to return and bicker loudly over a muddy patch of grass. Plan at least six months ahead, since permits are scarce and voyages infrequent; budget generously-this isn't exactly a Carnival cruise, and isolation doesn't come cheap. Visit in the island's sunnier months (December through March), but still pack enough waterproof gear and patience to brave sudden storms and moody skies. Oh, and bring binoculars, sturdy boots, and a thick skin for jokes you'll hear afterward about spending your vacation hanging out with "bird nerds" in an island that sounds suspiciously like a cough. Still, go anyway-because standing among these odd, endearing creatures at the far reach of human exploration is precisely the kind of weird bragging rights worth enduring seasickness for.

There's something profoundly humbling-and oddly comforting-about standing on the gently swaying deck of a ship in the South Atlantic Ocean, craning your neck upwards into skies so dark and clear they seem photoshopped for dramatic effect. This isn't your suburban backyard glance-up; here, beneath constellations named by ancient navigators and myth-making philosophers, stars blaze with audacious clarity, offering vivid glimpses of galaxies millions of light-years distant. Sure, the South Atlantic may conjure images of marooned explorers and legendary sea routes, and yes, you should anticipate a slight nip in the salty air, so pack a thermos of hot coffee (or something stronger) and layer up. Plan ahead-ideally weeks or even months-to book passage aboard a ship or arrange a tour to remote islands like Saint Helena or Tristan da Cunha. Budget at least a few hundred dollars, because celestial wonder doesn't accept coupons. Aim for after midnight, when most passengers retreat to their cabins, and it's just you, the infinite cosmos, and perhaps a fellow passenger leaning conspiratorially close to whisper theories about alien civilizations. Bring binoculars and download a stargazing app for added context (and to avoid confidently misidentifying Venus as a UFO). Even if you're skeptical about overly romanticized activities, you should go-if not for the sheer awe-inducing beauty, then certainly for bragging rights and the priceless ability to slip casually into conversations, "Ah yes, the Milky Way does look different from the South Atlantic."

Visiting Inaccessible Island isn't the sort of undertaking you'd casually pencil into your calendar between yoga classes and brunch-it requires a reckless heap of optimism, meticulous preparation, and a fondness for damp socks. Despite its forbidding name, bestowed by a frustrated 19th-century British captain who clearly lacked your stubborn enthusiasm, this remote volcanic speck smack in the middle of the South Atlantic is paradise for those who geek out over feathered rarities. Set your alarm obscenely early to catch sunrise, pack sturdy binoculars (and a flask of something suitably warming-trust me), and budget generously-boat access from Tristan da Cunha is as rare as the island's native flightless rail, thought extinct until rediscovery thrilled bird nerds worldwide. Plan several months ahead, since getting permission is trickier than earning backstage passes to a Rolling Stones reunion tour. Still, standing windswept and bedraggled amid seabird cacophony, you'll feel a strange kinship with that old captain-and realize the undeniably quirky bragging rights alone are worth your trouble.

Visiting Edinburgh of the Seven Seas isn't just a journey-it's practically a dare, like casually swinging by Earth's loneliest island community for tea and biscuits. Situated on Tristan da Cunha, smack-dab in the South Atlantic Ocean, this tiny settlement makes remote places like Easter Island look like suburban convenience. Here, fewer than 300 resilient souls inhabit a rugged volcanic landscape, remarkably chipper despite their nearest neighbors living a breezy 1,500 miles away. Planning your trip? Brace yourself-you'll need at least a year's head-start, since the island is only accessible via a multi-day boat ride that departs infrequently from Cape Town. Pack plenty of patience, sturdy boots, and a heavy dose of humility, because Wi-Fi is nonexistent, roads are charmingly sparse, and your luxury accommodations feature the finest local hospitality (think rustic guest houses and freshly-caught fish dinners). Budget at least a couple thousand dollars for the passage alone and go during the Southern Hemisphere's summer months-December to March-to avoid storms fit only for Shackleton. Why undertake such madness? Because returning home with a story about the time you sipped home-brewed island ale under the shadow of a volcano, alongside people descended from shipwrecked sailors, is worth more street cred than any trip to Paris ever could.

On Gough Island-an island so remote and stubbornly isolated it makes Robinson Crusoe's exile look like a weekend at Disneyland-you can spend your morning monitoring albatross populations, alongside conservationists whose passion borders on delightful eccentricity. Forget leisurely birdwatching from a deck chair; here, it's a boots-in-the-mud, wind-whipped-hair, clipboard-in-hand expedition. These birds, famously unwieldy during take-off, are nonetheless astonishingly graceful in flight, gliding effortlessly above cliffs that have claimed more boots than your average quicksand pit. Book your adventure at least six months ahead, budget generously because isolation doesn't come cheap (think Antarctic cruise pricing), and pack sturdy waterproof gear and an abundant sense of humor-both will inevitably be tested. Gough Island's albatrosses-majestic, culturally emblematic, and sadly vulnerable-have a storied history of seafarers believing them to be the souls of lost sailors, making your early-morning trek feel like joining a centuries-old maritime ghost story. At worst, you'll leave with windburn and mud stains; at best, you'll earn bragging rights as one of the rare souls who've glimpsed the improbable adaptability of birdlife at the literal ends of the earth. Either way, it's worth it for the story you'll be able to casually drop at dinner parties for years to come.

If your idea of getting away from it all goes beyond turning off your phone and into the realm of existential isolation, look no further than a camping expedition to Tristan da Cunha-officially the most isolated inhabited island on the planet. Marooned somewhere between Cape Town and South America, this volcanic speck is a deliciously absurd place to pitch your tent, with winds strong enough to humble your ego and skies so clear they redefine your concept of stargazing. Plan this odyssey at least six months in advance (the locals, some 250 stoically hardy souls descended from shipwreck survivors, appreciate knowing you're coming), budget generously-expect a significant chunk of change to secure passage on one of the infrequent fishing vessels-and bring waterproof everything, a sturdy tent, a headlamp, and your best existential crisis face. Aim to land mid-morning; daylight is your ally when assembling a tent in wind that could lift cows off the landscape. Sure, you'll battle stiff breezes, curious islanders eyeing your folly, and the nagging suspicion that you've willingly marooned yourself simply for bragging rights. But trust me: campfire tales back home will never be the same once you've casually dropped the words "Tristan da Cunha," leaving your friends slack-jawed with envy and disbelief.