Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts. I am Corn, and I am sitting here in our living room in Jerusalem with my brother, the one and only Herman Poppleberry.
That is me, Herman Poppleberry, at your service. It is good to be back at the microphones today, Corn. I feel like the energy in the house has been a bit different lately, especially with Daniel and his family settling into a new rhythm after everything we have been through.
Exactly. Our housemate Daniel sent us a voice note that really struck a chord. He was talking about how it has been years since he and his wife took a real vacation. Between the new baby arriving this past summer and that intense twelve day war with Iran we all lived through recently, the idea of getting away feels less like a luxury and more like a necessity for the soul. We are recording this in February of twenty twenty-six, and I think everyone in Israel is feeling that collective need to just... breathe.
It is that classic travel bug, right? But Daniel is not looking for a weekend in Rome or a quick flight to London. He is looking for the edges of the map. He mentioned Japan, which is a perennial favorite, but then he dropped some names that really got my research brain firing. Lampedusa, Svalbard, Pitcairn Island. These are not your typical tourist traps. These are places that require a specific kind of geographical stamina.
No, they definitely are not. And I think that is a fascinating place to start. Why do we crave the remote? Especially when you live in a place like Israel, which is so small and densely packed with history and, frankly, a lot of noise. The idea of going somewhere where the ratio of people to land is completely inverted is incredibly appealing right now.
It really is. And for someone based here in Israel, the logistics of reaching these places are part of the adventure. We are in a unique geographical spot, a bridge between continents, yet reaching a place like Svalbard or Pitcairn requires a level of intentionality that most travelers never have to exercise. You are talking about multiple flight legs, maritime crossings, and often, navigating complex permit systems.
So today, we are going to explore this idea of remote and under-appreciated travel. We will look at the specific places Daniel mentioned, but also branch out into why these locations matter and how a traveler from our neck of the woods can actually make it happen. Herman, I know you have been digging into the data on some of these spots. Where should we start?
Let us start with Lampedusa. It is the closest one to us geographically, but mentally, it feels worlds away. It is this tiny Italian island, the southernmost part of Italy, actually. It is closer to Tunisia than it is to Sicily. It is only about one hundred and thirteen kilometers from the North African coast.
Right, I remember seeing it on the news quite a bit over the last few years, mostly in the context of the migration crisis in the Mediterranean. But Daniel is looking at it through a different lens—the lens of a traveler looking for something raw.
Precisely. Lampedusa is about twenty square kilometers. That is it. It is a limestone rock in the middle of the turquoise sea. Most people think of Tuscany or the Amalfi Coast when they think of Italy, but Lampedusa is the Pelagie Islands. It is rugged. It is dry. It actually feels a bit like the landscape we see in parts of the Negev, but surrounded by some of the clearest water in the world.
I imagine the appeal there is the isolation combined with that Mediterranean culture. But is it truly under-appreciated? Or is it just difficult to get to?
It is a bit of both. From Tel Aviv, you are looking at a flight to Rome or Milan, then a connection to Palermo or Catania in Sicily, and then a smaller prop plane or a long ferry ride to the island. It is a journey. But once you are there, you have places like Rabbit Beach, or Spiaggia dei Conigli. It has been voted the best beach in the world multiple times, yet because of the strict access limits—you often have to book a slot just to step onto the sand—you do not see the massive cruise ship crowds you find in Greece.
That is the trade-off, right? The harder it is to reach, the more preserved the experience is. But let us push further. Daniel mentioned Svalbard. Now, that is a massive jump from the Mediterranean to the high Arctic.
Oh, Svalbard is my kind of place, Corn. It is an archipelago halfway between mainland Norway and the North Pole. We are talking about seventy-eight degrees north. This is the land of the midnight sun and the polar night. In fact, if Daniel went right now in February, he would just be coming out of the polar night, where the sun does not rise at all for months.
I have always been fascinated by the legal status of Svalbard. It is under Norwegian sovereignty, but because of the Svalbard Treaty of nineteen twenty, citizens of any signatory country, including Israel, have the right to live and work there without a visa.
That is a detail most people miss! It is one of the few truly international places left on Earth. But for a vacation, it is about the wilderness. There are more polar bears than people in Svalbard—roughly three thousand bears compared to twenty-five hundred humans. In the main settlement, Longyearbyen, you actually cannot leave the town limits without a high-powered rifle for protection against bears.
That definitely qualifies as remote. But what does a person actually do there? Is it just staring at ice?
Not at all. It is about the scale of nature. You have the Global Seed Vault there, which is buried deep in the permafrost, designed to survive the end of the world. You can go dog sledding, explore ice caves, or take boat trips to abandoned Soviet mining towns like Pyramiden. It is like a ghost town frozen in time, literally. The buildings are still full of Soviet-era furniture and equipment, perfectly preserved by the cold.
I think for someone living in the heat of the Middle East, the psychological reset of being in a place where the ground never thaws must be profound. It is the ultimate contrast. But there is a practical side to this, too. Daniel has a new baby. How does one navigate the high Arctic with a family?
That is a great question. Longyearbyen is actually quite modern. They have a hospital, a university, and even a local brewery called Svalbard Bryggeri. But you have to be prepared for the elements. It is not a place where you just wing it. You need specialized gear. It is a trip that requires a lot of front-end planning, which, as we know, Daniel actually enjoys. He is a master of the spreadsheet.
He does. But let us talk about the big one he mentioned. Pitcairn Island. This one feels like the final boss of remote travel.
Pitcairn is legendary. It is a tiny volcanic outcrop in the South Pacific, thousands of miles from anything. It is famous because it was settled by the mutineers of the HMS Bounty and their Tahitian companions in seventeen ninety. To this day, the population is only about fifty people, most of them direct descendants of those mutineers.
Fifty people. Think about that. We have more people in our local grocery store on a Tuesday morning. How do you even get there? There is no airport, right?
None. No runway could fit on the island's rugged terrain. The only way in or out is by sea. Usually, that means flying from Tel Aviv to a hub like San Francisco or Auckland, then to Tahiti, then taking a domestic flight to Mangareva, and finally boarding a supply ship called the Silver Supporter for a thirty-two hour voyage across the open ocean.
Thirty-two hours on a supply ship. That is a commitment. It is not just a destination; it is a pilgrimage. And I think that is what Daniel is tapping into. The idea that the journey itself is a barrier that filters out the casual tourist.
It creates a different kind of community. When you arrive at Pitcairn, you are not just a tourist; you are a guest of the entire island. They do not have hotels. You stay in people's homes. You eat what they grow or what the supply ship brings every few months. It is also a designated International Dark Sky Sanctuary, meaning the stargazing is arguably the best on the planet because there is zero light pollution for thousands of miles.
It makes me think about the second-order effects of visiting places like that. When you go to a place with fifty people, your presence actually changes the demographics of the island for the duration of your stay. You are not just observing a culture; you are interacting with it in a very intimate way.
Exactly. And there is a responsibility that comes with that. You have to be self-sufficient. You have to be respectful of their resources. It is the opposite of the all-inclusive resort experience where everything is designed to cater to your every whim. In Pitcairn, you adapt to the island, not the other way around.
I want to circle back to something Daniel mentioned at the start of his prompt. Japan. Now, Japan is obviously a major tourist destination. Millions of people go to Tokyo and Kyoto every year. But he mentioned it in the context of his travel bug. Is there a way to do Japan that fits this remote, under-appreciated theme?
Absolutely. If you stay on the Golden Route of Tokyo, Hakone, and Kyoto, you are going to be surrounded by crowds. But Japan is an archipelago of nearly seven thousand islands. If you head north to the Shiretoko Peninsula in Hokkaido, or go deep into the Iya Valley in Shikoku, you find a completely different world.
I have heard of the Iya Valley. It is known for those vine bridges, right?
Yes, the Kazurabashi. They were originally built by the Heike clan who were hiding in the mountains after losing a civil war in the twelfth century. They made the bridges out of vines so they could be quickly cut if they were pursued. That valley is incredibly steep, misty, and quiet. It feels like ancient Japan.
Or even the island of Yakushima. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site known for its ancient cedar forests. Some of those trees, like the Jomon Sugi, are estimated to be between two thousand and seven thousand years old. It served as the inspiration for the forests in the movie Princess Mononoke. It is wet, it is green, and it feels primordial.
And that is the key for someone like Daniel. You can take a well-known country and find the pockets that are still wild. From Israel, Japan is becoming more accessible with direct flights from Tel Aviv to Tokyo, but to get to Yakushima, you have to take a ferry or a small plane from Kagoshima. Again, that extra step makes all the difference.
It is about the friction. We live in a world where friction is being polished away by technology. You can book a flight, a car, and a hotel in five minutes on your phone. But for these remote places, the technology only takes you so far. You still have to deal with ferry schedules that change with the weather or supply ships that only run once a week.
I think that friction is actually a form of luxury now. Being in a place where your phone does not automatically find a high-speed network, or where you cannot just order a car to pick you up. It forces you to be present in a way that is becoming very rare.
So, let us look at some recommendations for someone based in Israel who wants this kind of experience but maybe wants to explore something they have not thought of yet. We have talked about Daniel's list. What else is out there that fits this mold?
One place that has been on my radar is the Faroe Islands. They are an autonomous territory of Denmark, located between Scotland and Iceland. It is eighteen islands connected by an incredible network of tunnels, ferries, and even helicopters.
The Faroe Islands always look like something out of a fantasy novel. Those sheer cliffs dropping straight into the North Atlantic.
They are breathtaking. And here is the interesting part for us. You can fly from Tel Aviv to Copenhagen, and from there, it is a short hop to Vagar Airport. It is much easier to reach than Pitcairn, but it feels just as remote. They recently opened the Eysturoyartunnilin, which is a sub-sea tunnel that features the world's first underwater roundabout. It looks like something out of a science fiction movie.
I love the idea of the helicopter being a regular form of public transport there. Because the islands are so rugged, the government subsidizes helicopter flights for the locals to get between the smaller islands like Mykines or Fugloy. Tourists can book them too, as long as it is a one-way trip. It is probably the cheapest helicopter ride you will ever take, often costing less than sixty dollars.
It is a brilliant way to see the landscape. And the culture is so distinct. They have their own language, Faroese, which is very close to Old Norse. They have a deep connection to the sea and a very communal way of living. It is a place that feels sturdy, if that makes sense. It is built to withstand the elements.
That is a great recommendation. What about something a bit warmer? We talked about Lampedusa, but what about the Azores?
The Azores are a fantastic shout. They are an archipelago in the middle of the Atlantic, about fifteen hundred kilometers off the coast of Portugal. They are often called the Hawaii of the Atlantic.
I have heard the volcanic landscapes there are incredible. Huge crater lakes like Sete Cidades, hot springs, and incredibly lush vegetation.
And because they are so far out in the ocean, they are one of the best places in the world for whale watching. You are basically on a mountain peak sticking out of the deep ocean. From Israel, you fly to Lisbon and then on to Ponta Delgada. It is a long day of travel, but once you are there, you are in a place that feels like it belongs to another era.
I think there is a common thread here. All these places require a shift in mindset. You are moving away from the consumption of sights and toward an immersion in environment.
That is exactly it, Corn. And I think for Daniel, with a young child, the Azores could be a perfect balance. It is remote and under-appreciated, but it has the infrastructure you need for a family. You can hike, you can swim in natural thermal pools, and you can eat food cooked in the ground by volcanic heat.
Wait, really? Volcanic heat cooking?
Yes, it is called Cozido das Furnas. They put a big pot of meat and vegetables into a hole in the ground near the hot springs in Furnas on Sao Miguel island, and it slow-cooks for about six hours using the natural geothermal heat. It is as local as it gets.
That is fascinating. It is like the earth itself is part of the kitchen.
Precisely. Now, I want to touch on a topic that is a bit more challenging. Daniel mentioned remote travel, and sometimes that leads us to places that are politically complex. For example, the island of Socotra.
Socotra is part of Yemen. It is famous for its alien-looking dragon blood trees. It looks like another planet.
It is one of the most biodiverse places on Earth. About one-third of its plant life is found nowhere else. But, obviously, being part of Yemen makes it incredibly difficult and often dangerous to access, especially for travelers from Israel.
Right, and that is a reality of remote travel. Sometimes the most remote places are isolated not just by geography, but by conflict or policy. It is a reminder of how lucky we are when we can travel freely.
It also highlights the importance of doing your homework. Remote travel is not about being reckless; it is about being informed. For a place like Socotra, there are sometimes organized expeditions through third countries like the United Arab Emirates, but it is a high-stakes journey. It is probably not where you want to go with a new baby.
Definitely not. But it is worth mentioning because it represents the extreme end of the under-appreciated spectrum. It is a place that many people dream of seeing but few ever will.
Let us bring it back to the practical. If Daniel is sitting there in our kitchen, looking at his map, what are the actual steps to making a trip like this happen? Especially coming from Israel, where we always have to think about connections and security.
I think the first step is identifying the hub. For almost all of these remote locations, there is a gateway city. For Svalbard, it is Tromso or Oslo. For the Faroe Islands, it is Copenhagen or Reykjavik. For Pitcairn, it is Papeete.
And for us, that usually means a flight to a major European hub first. We are lucky that Ben Gurion Airport has so many connections to places like Frankfurt, Istanbul, and London. From there, the world opens up.
But there is also the timing. You cannot visit Svalbard in the dead of winter if you want to see anything other than darkness. And you cannot visit the South Pacific during cyclone season without taking a big risk.
This is where the nerdy research comes in. You have to look at the climate data, the ferry schedules, and the local holidays. Some of these remote places basically shut down for parts of the year.
And what about the cost? Remote travel is often more expensive than a standard city break, simply because of the logistics.
It is. You are paying for the scarcity. A flight to a tiny island in the Atlantic is going to cost more than a flight to Berlin. But I would argue the value is higher. You are paying for an experience that is unique. You are not just one of ten million people seeing the Eiffel Tower that year. You might be one of only a few hundred people visiting Pitcairn.
I think there is also a hidden cost, which is time. You cannot do a remote trip in four days. You need at least two weeks, maybe more, because the travel time itself can take several days. For someone like Daniel, who works hard and has a family, carving out that time is the biggest investment.
But it is the investment that pays the highest dividends. Think about the stories he will have. Think about the perspective he will gain. After being cooped up during a war and the intensity of a new baby, that kind of space and silence is a form of healing.
I agree. And I think there is something to be said for slow travel in these remote spots. You do not go to the Faroe Islands to check off ten different sights in a day. You go there to sit on a cliff and watch the puffins, or to walk through a village of thirty people and talk to the person knitting a sweater on their porch.
It is about quality over quantity. It is about the depth of the experience. And I think that is what Daniel is really asking for. He wants to feel something real, something that has not been packaged and sold to everyone else.
So, Herman, if you had to pick one of these for Daniel and his family, which one gets the Poppleberry seal of approval?
Oh, that is tough. But I think I have to go with the Azores. It hits that sweet spot. It is remote enough to feel like an adventure, it is stunningly beautiful, it is relatively accessible from Israel via Lisbon, and it is family-friendly. Plus, you get to eat food cooked by a volcano. You cannot beat that.
I like that choice. For me, I think the Faroe Islands are the most intriguing. There is something about that North Atlantic isolation that feels very poetic. It is a place that forces you to respect nature.
You really cannot go wrong with either. And hey, even Japan. If they go to Hokkaido and drive through the national parks there, they will find all the wilderness they could want.
It is about the intention. If you go looking for the remote, you will find it. Even in a crowded world, there are still places where the wind is the loudest thing you hear.
That is a beautiful thought, Corn. And I think it is a good place to start wrapping this up. We have covered a lot of ground today, from the high Arctic to the South Pacific.
We really have. And I hope this gives Daniel, and all our listeners, some food for thought. Travel is not just about where you go; it is about how it changes you. And these remote places have a way of changing you more deeply than most.
Before we go, I want to say a quick thank you to Daniel for sending in this prompt. It is always a pleasure to dive into these topics, especially when they come from someone we know so well. It makes the discussion feel much more personal.
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This has been My Weird Prompts. I am Corn.
And I am Herman Poppleberry.
Thanks for listening, everyone. We will see you in the next one.
Goodbye!
