The Pitcairn Islands - Historic and Dauntingly Difficult to Get To

The historic Pitcairn Islands, of Mutiny on the Bounty fame, are my last big bucket list target. Getting there is truly daunting and involves concentrated coordination, working backwards from the weekly departure of the Silver Supporter ship, which carries visitors (and cargo) from French Polynesia, to the islands. This British colony lies further from a continental land mass than any other inhabited island. Even the Tahitians called it Hitiaurevareva, 'the island far away'. Fewer people now visit Pitcairn than climb Mount Everest, in a year.

I’m instructed that to get to Pitcairn I need first to fly to the Gambier Islands, the furthermost archipelago, in a country the size of Europe, and then take a ferry from Totegegie Airport, which is just a motu (reef islet), to Rikitea, on Mangareva atoll. There, I board the Silver Supporter; it's far more adventurous than I would have wished.

Starting from Tahiti

I've got myself to Tahiti, in French Polynesia, from Sulawesi, via Singapore and Auckland. The next hurdle, in my mammoth journey to Pitcairn, is Papeete Airport. It’s five o’clock in the morning and it’s chaotic. The Polynesian women all wearing frilly dresses, with flowers behind their ears, or the traditional head garlands. (Some have both.) I love the way the Pacific islanders dress up for flying.

There’s a massive queue for check in, but yet again I manage to circumvent it, with web check in. Doesn’t anyone here know about it? However, the check in lady delivers alarming news. You have to submit to being weighed, together with your carry on bags. before you can board. The ignominy. But it’s done in a small cubicle, where I don’t look at the scale. And whatever it is that’s being assessed, I pass.

Via The Gambier Islands

This is the first smooth flight I’ve had this trip, on a prop plane, which is larger than I expected, after all the weighing in. Almost three hours later, we land on a narrow atoll, Tureia, in the Tuamotos. It’s not the most picturesque of islands. There are earthworks all round. And we’re made to disembark for refuelling, which is more than annoying, as it’s free seating and I’ve managed to secure a very good spot, upfront. Garlands proliferate in the waiting room, this time mainly round the necks of the men.

The Gambier Islands - in a Nutshell

• The Gambier Islands form an archipelago, in French Polynesia, at the southeast terminus of the Tuamotu archipelago.
• Although geographically part of the (very long) Tuamotus, The Gambiers are considered a separate island group administratively, from Tuamotu, because a) their culture and language (Mangarevan) are much more closely related to those of the Marquesas Islands, and b) because, also like the Marquesas, the Mangareva Islands are of volcanic origin, with central tall islands, whilst the Tuamotus comprise several chains of coral atolls,
• The Gambier Islands consist of the Mangareva Islands, a group of high islands which are remnants of a caldera, along with islet,s on the surrounding fringing reef, and the uninhabited Temoe atoll, which is located 45 km (28 miles) south-east of the Mangareva Islands.
• Mangareva is the largest island in the Gambier Islands group, home to the town hall (mairie) of the commune.
• The population of the Gambier Islands was 1,431 people at the 2017 census, all living in the Mangareva Islands.
• Jack London wrote a story, The Seed of McCoy, based on an incident, in 1900, in which a burning ship, The Pyrenees, had been safely beached on Mangareva.

An hour later, we've arrived at Totegegie, in The Gambier Islands, the most remote of Polynesia's archipelagos. Our bags are shoved across a counter, in the minuscule/arrivals/departure/check in lounge and then we wheel them through the exit and directly onto the ferry. It’s a half hour barge ride, across the wide lagoon, islands forming the rim of an old crater, to Rikitea. We’re met in the quay by a seemingly organised and uniformed Silver Supporter Crew. But before we can board we have to divert down a rural lane, to get our passports stamped out, at the gendarmerie.

We have to wait for the officials to come back from their (unspecified) lunch break, so there's time to wander further, to the imposing but eerily quiet St Michael's Cathedral). This neo-Gothic church, built mainly of coral limestone (with the addition of whales' teeth and mother of pearl), dates back to the mid nineteenth century.

There's an interesting barrack-like building, adjacent to the cathedral. It was the House of the Weavers' Brothers (restored in 1998, in the traditional blue and white colour of Gambier religious buildings). This was also constructed by the missionaries and contained a spinning mill. They were concerned that the Gambiens were both very poor and normally almost naked. The traditional Tapa cloth (a plant-based fabric) was reserved for adornment and ceremonial clothing. So, cotton was grown and used to produce fabric and preserve everyone's modesty..

From the Remotest Archipelago, to One of the World's Most Remote Islands

From Rikitea, it’s a tender, out to the ship. Red, white and bobbing on the waves, this is alarmingly small. (51 metres). They winch the tender up, with us, sitting in it, and then we step out, onto deck. Five tourists, all staying for four days on Pitcairn and all male (American Leland who has had a knee operation and walks with a stick, German Kay, English Steve, Russian Konstantin, who’s a pilot in Dubai, and Chinese Yang), the new Pitcairn doctor and her sister, Heather, who’s an island resident ( actually, coincidentally, my host for my stay), and me.

I’m going to cut a very miserable part of this story short and simply pronounce the voyage to be dreadful. It’s 688 kilometres and is scheduled to take 32 hours - two nights and one day. There is absolutely nothing to look at except open sea, the whole way. Literally, 'Water, water everywhere'. The weather is rough, the boat smells dank and is claustrophobic and it rolls and pitches the whole way; I’m sicker than I can possibly imagine.

There are six cabins and most of us are sharing. One cabin is mysteriously officially unallocated, but there are pillows and bedding in there, being utilised. Food is plentiful, provided via the crew door (we don’t go through that on pain of death), and there are also fridges, full of goodies, we can help ourselves to. Even white chocolate Magnums. It would be Huzzah! if it wasn't for the nausea. There’s a small outside deck space, with benches, if you can steady yourself enough to get out there. I just want to die.

Bounty Bay

Finally, there it is, Pitcairn, suitably remote, but glowing, as the sun rises. It’s too choppy to take the ship close to Bounty Bay, the main harbour. We anchor a mile out to sea. But it’s deemed safe to send out the utilitarian, aluminium-hulled, long boat, halfway round the island to fetch us. This involves descending a swinging rope Jacob's ladder, clipped into a harness, before you're dropped onto the bouncing boat. You have to time your landing, for the up wave, and pray that the crew will swing you in safely. And they do, even if the dumping on the floor is a little unceremonious.

The long boat is manned by virtually the whole of Pitcairn’s young(er) people and they've been honing their skills a long time. They helm us back round to Bounty Bay and the capital, or only town, Adamstown, forging through the waves with rather more gay abandon than I feel is necessary. I brace myself as best I can, as we collide with the breakers and then realise that I’m leaning on Leland’s bad knee. He’s remarkably tolerant, but I slide down to the aft of the bumping vessel and lie flat. The torture has to end at some point. Timing is all, cresting the breakers, to enter the diminutive port.

Immigration at Pitcairn is very straightforward. A trestle table by the dock, and I’m stamped in. The ground won’t stop moving though and it doesn’t for another 24 hours. Meanwhile, it seems that the whole of the island (those who weren't on the long boat) have come out, to meet and greet. The arrival of the Silver Supporter is a big event - visitors and supplies. Especially important today, as the ship has returned from its quarterly journey to New Zealand, to re-provision. The sloping strip down to the quay is alive with tractors and ATVs.

The Pitcairn Islands - A Brief Background History

• The earliest settlers of the Pitcairn Islands were Polynesians, who occupied Pitcairn and Henderson for several centuries, until the islands were abandoned.
• The first European to come this way was Portuguese sailor Pedro Fernandes de Queirós and it’s unclear which islands he actually visited. But Pitcairn Island was sighted on 3 July 1767 by the crew of the British sloop HMS Swallow, and named after midshipman Robert Pitcairn, a 15-year-old crew member, who was the first to spot the island.
• In 1790, nine of the fleeing mutineers from the British naval vessel HMS Bounty, along with the native Tahitian men and women who were with them (six men, 11 women, and a baby girl), settled on the hitherto unmarked Pitcairn Island and set fire to the Bounty, to minimise the chances of discovery.
• The settlers survived by farming and fishing, but the initial period of habitation was marked by serious tensions among them. Essentially, there weren’t enough women to go round. Alcoholism, murder, disease and other ills took the lives of most mutineers and the Tahitian men. Fletcher Christian, the mutiny leader, disappeared. It’s thought that he was murdered.
• Remaining mutineers, John Adams and Ned Young, turned to the scriptures, using the ship's Bible, as their guide, for a new and peaceful society. Young eventually died of an asthmatic attack and Adams became the leader, who steered the settlement to a more peaceful security. The town is named after him. When the island was finally rediscovered by the British, on 17 September 1814, John Adams, was granted amnesty, for his part in the mutiny.
• The islands of Henderson, Oeno and Ducie were annexed by Britain in 1902: and were incorporated into a single administrative unit called the "Pitcairn Group of Islands".
• The Pitcairn Islanders consider that their islands officially became a British colony on 30 November 1838, at the same time becoming one of the first territories to extend voting rights to women.
• By the mid-1850s, the Pitcairn community was outgrowing the island and its leaders appealed to the British government for assistance; they were offered Norfolk Island, closer to Australia. On 3 May 1856, the entire population of 193 people, set sail for Norfolk Island on board The Morayshire, arriving on 8 June, after a difficult five-week trip. However, just 18 months later, 17 of the Pitcairn Islanders returned to their home island, and another 27 followed five years later.

• In 1886, the Seventh-day Adventist layman John Tay visited Pitcairn and persuaded most of the islanders to accept his faith. He returned in 1890, on the missionary schooner, Pitcairn, with an ordained minister to perform baptisms. Since then, the majority of Pitcairn Islanders have been Adventists. Well attended services and Bible classes are still held in the little church, on Saturdays.
• The population peaked at 233, in 1937. It has since decreased, owing to emigration, primarily to Australia and New Zealand.
• There have been several sexual abuse scandals here. In 2004, charges were laid against seven men living on Pitcairn and six living abroad. This accounted for nearly a third of the male population, and half of the island's adult males. After extensive trials, most of the men were convicted, some on multiple counts of sexual assaults on children. The men argued that they were not subject to British law and that it was commonplace for Tahitian women to have early sexual experiences. Some of the women and girls told different stories. On 25 October 2004, six men were convicted, and imprisoned on the island - a substantial part of the workforce. By 2010, all had served their sentences or been granted home detention status.

Little Flower and Big Flower

Only the roads in the capital are paved. Red clay tracks lead across the rest of the island, navigated only by ATVs and quadbikes. This is definitely adventure country. Some of the residents have found scenic spots to build houses (you apply for a two-year settlement, ideally with Pitcairn heritage, and when this time is up, you can request residency). I’ve staying in my own delightful little chalet (I’ve been recommended it, as the nicest on the island), with panoramic views, above Adamstown. It’s called Little Flower.

Next door, is Big Flower, the home of my hosts, Kerry Young and Heather Menzies, both Pitcairn descendants, who have lived here for 20 years. Kerry has also lived on Norfolk Island - the links and toing and froing between the two are fascinating. Kerry deals with all official finances in the aforementioned treasury and Heather used to run the tourist board and coordinate the ship and homestay reservations. She’s just retired. Both have been members of the island council. My hosts are extraordinarily hospitable. I’ve chosen very well.

If Life Gives You Lemons

The first thing to say about this sub-tropical island is, unexpectedly, and appropriately, it is extraordinarily bountiful. The slopes are rampant with colourful flowers: candytuft, hibiscus, bananas, pandanus, morning glory, citrus, passion fruit. The fruit is literally dripping from the branches. There are so many lemons, of all shapes and sizes, that Heather is freezing juice and making lemon curd.

Around the tracks, the vegetation is so prolific that many of the views to the sea are blocked. I’m now nine hours behind the UK time wise and it’s sunny and very humid. But I hike up to Highest Point, slowly, on my first day, in search of vistas. I’m joined, one by one, by Kay, Steve and Konstantin. It’s like an Agatha Christie novel in reverse. There are some views through the trees (there are Norfolk pines) and no shortage of folk to take photographs. The Silver Supporter is bobbing, out on the waves. AAArgh.

Adamstown, Capital of Pitcairn Island

The Landing, on Bounty Bay in the north hardly qualifies as a harbour, a small dent in the shoreline, with water deep enough only for small boats without keels and a microscopic sea-level landing area. There are two longboats kept under cover on the shore, confusingly launched by tractors, towing a line in reverse. The harbourmaster has to give permission for the boats to be deployed – deciding if conditions are safe enough. It's continually battered by the waves. This is where The Bounty was scuttled, still visible, below the waves, in calm weather. Not today; the bay is foaming.

Bounty Bay is connected, via the Hill of Difficulty to Adamstown, the cluster of houses which forms the main settlement. The only paved road is found here and it’s more utilitarian than eye-catching. Most of the buildings are corrugated metal. Some old storage sheds definitely need tidying up. The general store melds into the government treasury, (two huge safes) and the Post Office.

The general store will be closed all week. They’re restocking, after the big delivery. It’s literally a store for the islanders’ provisions, as they keep most of what they have ordered in here. It's usually open three times a week. I'm told that the islanders live well and there are plenty of treats, like chocolate. Though they are exceptionally resourceful and grow most of their own vegetables, as well as the fruit I've already noted. These, together with fish, have formed the mainstay of the diet, for many years. Meat and dairy produce is also available now, coming in on the ship.

Goats were imported, but had to be radically culled, after they quickly caused massive erosion issues. There was resistance and tethered domestic animals are now allowed. And of course, the ubiquitous cockerels. Pampered cats wander territorially; Heather and Kerry have five, all brothers and none looking alike.

Opposite, is the medical centre. Farther along, the now covered Adam Square, the focal point of this special community. Adventist church to one side, Adam’s house was on another. The public hall, stands on the other side of the square, behind the Bounty’s Anchor. It acts as court house, council chambers, and social meeting place. Everyone socialises round here, or at the General Store.

Follow the track out of Adamstown and you reach the old (Pulau) school, and an eco-trail through dense bamboo and other vegetation and eventually come to Fletcher Christian’s Cave. He either used to contemplate his wicked ways here, or to watch out for passing ships, depending on which story you believe. It’s not very deep. Other paths from Adamstown take you to various memorials and Adams' grave.

There’s a pub called the Whales Tooth, in one of the homes, which is open on Fridays. Here you are challenged to drink tequila out of a whale's jaw bone. But its off season. No cruise ships around ( the locals make plenty from those) and the owners are off island. There’s also Andy’s Pizzeria, open once a month, on payday, so the locals can celebrate and stock up for the next few weeks.

Mutiny on the Bounty

• Up behind Adam Square, is the museum, which they open specially for us. It unsurprisingly focuses on the tale of The Bounty, a hotch potch of artefacts, once aboard the ship, and copies of articles about the island, from magazines like National Geographic.
• It's a fascinating story, a 1789 mutiny on a boat, transporting breadfruit from Tahiti to the West Indies. It's romanticized in book and film (especially in the 1962 version with Marlon Brando portraying Fletcher Christian and Trevor Howard playing Captain Bligh as a tyrant).
• The crew of the Bounty had spent five months on Tahiti, being entertained by the women and were loathe to abandon their hedonistic lifestyle. The breadfruit was destined for the West Indies, for trial plantations and is also said to have played a part in the problem. About a thousand potted plants were being carried in Bligh's 'great cabin', so the crew's accommodation was limited.
• Whatever his faults, Captain Bligh was an excellent navigator. The mutineers set him and 18 loyal crewmen adrift in a small launch, from (what is today) Tonga. He successfully steered the boat 4,000 miles to Timor and eventually returned to England and then Tahiti, to pursue the mutineers. This is why some fled from Tahiti and ended up at Pitcairn. Others were captured and three were hung.

Exploring Pitcairn Island

Kerry kindly takes me on an ATV tour of the island. It’s mainly various viewpoints - there are foaming waves, spilling over turquoise seas and inky black rock formations. Whales are fluking in the far distance. Kerry says that it’s early for them. In season, they float offshore, in rows up to three deep, calling, blowing and banging their tails, to the extent that they keep the little town awake.

In the east, a panoramic view point at Ha Point, above Stinking Apple (some great names). Then, Tom Block Lookout, above Down Rope. This is a beach beneath an orange sand cliff, and, as the name implies, you can only get down on a rope. It's also slippy, to boot. Steve tries, but abandons the attempt half way. I’m not even entertaining it. I’m happy to watch the tropic and frigate birds wheeling and the boobies tending their nests, on the cliff shelf. The only endemic bird is the Pitcairn warbler, which the locals derisorily refer to as sparrows.

The highlight is St Paul’s Pool, where the sea really does cascade, over a naturally formed pool, surrounded by pillars and chimneys, home to assorted crustaceans and a large sunshine yellow fish. It’s very picturesque. Konstantin has been swimming there (super fit and unable to sit still for longer than five minutes, Konstantin had run round every track on the island in about two hours) but it’s too rough today.

Back across the centre, past the tennis court (proudly signposted) and the old radio and weather station. There’s no mobile signal on Pitcairn, but everyone has Wi-Fi. Formal announcements are made over walkie talkies, which everyone keeps turned on, in their homes. 'The museum will open at 10 tomorrow.' 'The last load from the ship, will arrive at 8 a.m. at Bounty Bay.'

The main feature of the west end is Gannet Ridge, which Kerry insists, I clamber along, despite the fact it’s falling away steeply on both sides. He mocks that I’ve only achieved the G, but I’ve seen enough to appreciate the views of the headlands beneath, above Tedside, and the island’s relatively new back up Western Harbour. In the other direction, the folds of the cliffs down to The Edge and Adamstown. The waves are ferocious here today, rolling in and crashing on the shore; Kerry tentatively turns the ATR around, on the spray lashed harbour arm.

The Galapagos Miz Tery

We also search for Miz T, the islands’ resident Galapagos tortoise, basket of bananas in hand (the island has much in common with St Helena, despite being much smaller). But she’s in hiding.

The Pitcairn Islands - Facts and Factoids

• The Pitcairn Islands (officially Pitcairn, Henderson, Ducie and Oeno Islands), are a group of four volcanic islands, in the southern Pacific Ocean, which form the sole British Overseas Territory, in the Pacific Ocean. That, of course, makes them strategically important. The four islands are scattered across several hundred kilometres of ocean, but have a combined land area of about 47 square kilometres (18 square miles).
• Henderson Island accounts for 86% of the land area, but only Pitcairn Island is inhabited. It’s the sole island with water sources and even here, the semi-permanent springs are seasonal.
• Today, there are roughly 35 permanent inhabitants, rendering it the smallest territory in the world, in terms of permanent resident population. Two school age boys are boarding in New Zealand.
• Pitcairn is the centre of a 200-mile radius bio marine reserve, one of the largest in the world. So no fishing is allowed, except for the islanders, within the usual 12-mile limit.

• Pitcairn is distinctly volcanic, jutting steeply out of the ocean, to a peak of 1,106 feet. The main spine runs east-west with steep slopes, on each side, falling to the shore, seemingly a stone's throw in any direction. It's a mere 2 miles (3.2 kilometres) long and 1 mile (1.6 kilometres) wide.
• There’s very little beach, plenty of wave lashed rocky shores and some impressive rock formations, guarding the coast.
• The islanders speak the official language English and the local dialect, Pitkern. Interestingly, the accent is nowhere near as strong as that on Norfolk Island.
• The islands are run by an administrator, who represents the British government and an island council, of ten, (including the mayor and deputy mayor), who act as a democratically elected mini parliament. There has never been a resident governor and the title sits under the duties of the high commissioners of the United Kingdom to New Zealand.
• Bounty Day, to mark the burning of the ship by the mutineers, is celebrated with fireworks and burning model ships, annually on January 23.
  

All Good Things on Pitcairn...

We’ve done very well, weather-wise, this week, especially considering it’s winter. It’s been sunny most of the time, the odd cloud rolling over and considerately raining at night. But now it’s time to leave and the wind is getting up again. What’s more, I’m covered in more exceptionally itchy mosquito bites. The mosquitoes here are vicious, seeking out the smallest gap in the repellent spray I’ve applied, on what I thought was every exposed part of my anatomy. The back of my wrist and my finger joints are favourite spots.

I’m looking forward to the return trip with less enthusiasm than I summon up for the dentists. We’ve all stocked up on sea sick pills. Leland delightfully pronounces the Nausicalm, Nawseekum. I’m trying Sea Legs this time, taken six hours in advance, rather than the assortment of medication I swallowed last time. Kay announces that he has acquired bed bugs, at his homestay. It’s the best argument ever, for having a cabin to yourself

It’s a very pronounced roll on this return journey, but much less pitching. The ship still smells. My Sea Legs stop me throwing up at least, but standing again makes me nauseous. I remain confined to my bunk. Until, finally, I've made it back to Rikitea and the journey from Papeete unfolds in reverse. This has undoubtedly been a unique adventure, historic, exhilarating, terrifying and uncomfortable. But I did journey to the Edge of the World..

Saint Helena - The World's Most Useless Airport

Saint Helena, best known as the place where Napoléon Bonaparte was exiled, is one of the world's most isolated islands. Its closest neighbour is Ascension Island, 700 miles to the northwest. Africa (Angola) is 1200 miles to the east and Brazil is 1800 miles to the west. Yet, in a bid to develop self sufficiency, the island (currently very dependent on the UK) has set itself a target of 30,000 tourists per year.

So far, it's been a tortuous path. Before 2018, the island was only served by boats, principally the supply ship RMS St Helena, which took five days each way. That limited tourism to dedicated hikers and retirees. The airport was commissioned in 2011 and completed (at great cost) in 2016. One reason for the delay was that the British decided to fill in a valley 'with some 800 million pounds of dirt and rock', to create flat land for the runway. More importantly, though, it was discovered that planes could not land. because of 'dangerous wind conditions' which made landing large aircraft unsafe. This was dubbed 'The World's Most Useless Airport' and the opposition had a field day in the British Parliament.

But it was quickly realised that it was the 737s for whom the airport had been designed that were the problem. More powerful 757s could land.  So, it was eventually decided to adapt smaller aircraft, with a refuelling stop, in order that a return could be managed, if wind conditions worsened en route. Wikipedia writes that 'only a special, stripped-down Embraer 190 jet with the best pilots in the world can stick the landing. More than one approach is not uncommon.'

You can imagine how much I'm looking forward to this Airlink flight from Johannesburg. St Helena Tourism outlines the unique selling points of the island as nature (whale sharks and wirebirds), Saint culture (safer environment), walking and hiking, diving, arts and crafts, photography, running, history and heritage (Napoleon), stargazing, and food and drink. I hope it's worth it.

Flying to St Helena - The World’s Most Useful Airport

As is so often the way, this flight is nothing like as stressful as the previous day’s journey from Bloemfontein to Johannesburg, when we flew round a thunderstorm. To start with, it’s really friendly. The folk waiting at the airport gate all seem to know each other (other than the odd tourist) and there are hugs and smiles. Russell and Liz are coming out for their winter six month sojourn. They bought a house, a few years ago, having never set foot on the island. Fortunately, they love it here. The governor, Nigel, is returning (he’s sitting in economy), very low key and friendly, unlike other governors I’ve seen on-board planes.

And another charismatic  lady, who’s sitting next to me on board, even hugs the crew. She gets special attention and plenty of wine to quaff. I think I counted 10 glasses. She drinks them two at a time, but still stays sober, it appears. Her name’s Gwyneth and it turns out she’s the airport manager.

So, Gwyneth fills me in on the airplane and crew - six certified pilots trained exhaustively to fly this route and deal with the problematic crosswinds and three of the most senior cabin staff, all very cheerful and dispensing drinks throughout the flight. (As I’ve already noticed). I stick to water. Gwyneth claims, as the planes replace the cargo ship and the already many times used medivac is a lifesaver, that this is now The World’s Most Useful Airport.

We refuel at Walvis Bay, on the Namibian coast. (I can see the giant sand dunes here, as we land. I passed them on the ground twenty years ago.) And the pilot announces that he’s confident that there will be a landing today, at St Helena. He has to finally decide at the halfway point between Walvis and St Helena.

We continue to fly west, so assume we’re going to the island. (By the way, everyone from St Helena simply calls it The Island). The captain (there are two, one for each direction)  says there’s 'A bit of cloud'. It looks like quite a lot of cloud to me. We can’t see much of the land mass, just a rocky promontory (Sugar Loaf) emerging from the east. We fly close to the soaring cliffs and then pop into a gap and over the 1,000 foot high valley. There’s only one bump and we’re there. Huzzah!

Saint Helena - Facts and Factoids

• Saint Helena (pronounced Sinteleena) is one of the three constituent parts of Saint Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha, a remote British Overseas Territory.
• Saint Helena is the United Kingdom's second-oldest overseas territory, after Bermuda.
• St Helena today is ruled by a governor, on behalf of the British monarch
• Saint Helena has its own currency, the Saint Helena pound, which is at parity with the pound sterling
• Saint Helena measures about 10 miles by 5 miles and has a population of roughly 4,000.
• People of the island are known as Saints
• Saint Helena is a volcanic and tropical island, in the South Atlantic Ocean, so the climate of Saint Helena is tropical, marine and mild.
• Saint Helena is famous as the site of Napoleon's second exile, following his final defeat in 1815.
• The national bird of Saint Helena is the Saint Helena plover, known locally as the wirebird, on account of its wire-like legs. It appears on the coat of arms of Saint Helena and on the flag.
• The average (median) annual wage on Saint Helena is around £8,500
• Saint Helena issues its own postage generating an income (hence the large post office). Saint Helena also controls domain names under the top-level domain .sh.
• Traffic in Saint Helena drives on the left and road signs are based on British standards.
• Telecom services in St Helena are comparatively expensive. Once on hotel Wi-Fi though I delighted to find I can access all the BBC channels, with none of the usual blocks when I’m travelling.

Jamestown

Jamestown is, grandly, the capital city of the British Overseas Territory of Saint Helena, Ascension and Tristan da Cunha. It spills down the narrowest of valleys, to the sea, on the northwest (warmer) coast, the historic main settlement of the island. For some time, it was the island's only port and the key to St Helena’s strategic importance. It’s also the centre of the island's road and communications network.

Jamestown was founded when colonists from the British East India Company (BEIC or EIC) settled on the island, in 1659. The first governor, Captain John Dutton, arrived and a fort and houses were built. The town was called Jamestown, ostensibly in honour of the newly restored Royal family. James was then Duke of York, later King James II. He was also a founder of the Royal African Company, which brought the first known cargo of slaves, ever in the world, from Africa, to St Helena.

Jamestown was briefly occupied by the Dutch East India Company, in 1673, before being recaptured. Many of the buildings built by the East India Company, in the eighteenth century, survive and give the town its distinctive Georgian flavour. Some would say it has remained firmly in that era. The town briefly hosted Napoleon in 1815 during his exile on St. Helena and later redeemed itself somewhat, as a base for the Royal Navy's efforts to suppress the slave trade.

There are two pubs, though hardly recognisable as such, with unprepossessing exteriors, and a string of shops along the broad Main Street and narrower Market Street. They have suitably archaic names, like The Emporium. Some establishments have already whole heartedly embraced Christmas, decked within an inch of their lives. Others proudly display shampoo and washing powder, on draped stands, in their windows. There are several gift shops, beauty salons, a DIY and other businesses managed by Solomon’s, one of the island’s well-established families, a supermarket (The Star) and several of those establishments that are an eclectic glory hole of food, drink and other bits and pieces. If you want something you just have to try them all until you find a place that hasn’t yet run out.

The port, with bobbing fishing boats, in the bay, is arrived at through an arch, at the bottom of Main Street. Also in this area, on Grand Parade, St James (of course) the oldest Anglican church in the southern hemisphere (though I’m not sure that isn’t cheating - it’s been renovated and rebuilt a few times). It’s an ugly building with cement walls and very point spires. Opposite, the castle (home to the governor’s office) with more fortifications and arches, the court house and the public library. Hidden in one corner, behind the church (and so, incidentally behind my room) is the prison. Home to 18 inmates currently. I chat to the superintendent, as he brings his shopping back down Main Street. He’s very happy here, reporting that it’s much more peaceful than his last job, in Essex.

Tucked right under the cliff is the St Helena Museum. It’s a galleried building, one of those collections, which is best described as quirky. There’s everything from African spears, to governors uniforms, crockery retrieved from shipwrecks and a dentist’s chair. You’re encouraged to sit on that.

During the day, for most of the time, Jamestown is no rowdier than quiet. In the morning shoppers gather in small knots on the pavement to pass the time of day. Hardly anything moves, after six pm.

Stone and lime walls and ramparts form effective defences above the cliffs, and around the beaches and ports, enabling control over smuggling ‘or illegal free trade’, as it was euphemistically called.) Before the arch (there’s an intricate winching system, to lift off the top where necessary) there was just a small door in the wall here. Small forts sit atop all the strategic peaks.

To each side, of the harbour, lofty cliffs, where the mountains tumble into the sea. To the west, Jacob’s Ladder. Named after the Biblical story (Jacob’s Ladder led to heaven), this is the remains of an 1800s cable railway, up Ladder Hill, to the settlement of Ladder Hill, on the edge of the more built-up area, known as Half Tree Hollow. There were 700 pedestrian steps alongside, used for maintenance and they left those behind when the railway fell into disrepair and was removed. There are 699 now (one was destroyed by termites) and climbing the ladder is on the tourist Must Do List. The record time is 4 minutes 40 seconds. It was set last week, in the annual competition. Snowy tropic birds wheel, pencil thin tails wafting over an almost vertical drop. (I borrowed the tropic bird picture from fellow avid traveller I met at the Mantis, American Dave Greenwell, shown alongside, with his wife Sue).

The Mantis and The Consulate

The island's first ‘luxury’ hotel, the Mantis, opened in 2017, in a converted 'former officers’ barracks on Main Street, in Jamestown (built in 1774). The prices seem reasonable and that's where I'm staying. I’m always pleased to see that they’ve increased, after I’ve booked, by about £300 for the week, this time.

I’m in a lovely wood floored traditional room, with a view of Jacob’s Ladder and the mountain, as well as the back of the old Anglican church. The staff are very friendly and there’s a bar,which serves cocktails, outdoor terraces and a nice looking restaurant. What more could I want?

Four South Africans I meet, in town, are staying at the Consulate Hotel, just up Main Street. This one oozes character. It’s quirky and crammed with memorabilia, pictures of Napoleon and display cabinets replete with china.

A Brief History of Saint Helena

• St Helena was uninhabited (though there were trees and fresh water) when it was discovered by the Portuguese, enroute to the Indian subcontinent.
• Tradition has it the island was named, in 1502, by João da Nova, a Galician navigator, serving the Portuguese Empire, after Helena, mother of Constantine I. But there is some debate about dates and possibilities and there are alternative theories as to who and when.
• For about four centuries, the island was an important stopover for ships from Europe to Asia and back, while sailing around the African continent.
• The Portuguese didn't make any permanent settlement although the Dutch, French and English all took an interest. Eventually, in 1657, Oliver Cromwell granted the British East India Company (EIC or BEIC) a charter to govern Saint Helena. The British led by Captain John Dutton in the Marmaduke arrived at St Helena in 1659.
• It wasn't an easy time. There were tussles with the Dutch and settlers were hard to attract. The population crept slowly up, from 66 in 1670, to 1,110, in 1723 (610 of these were slaves.)
• But colonisation attempts persisted and developed, as the island was so important strategically.
• In the peak era, about 1,000 ships per year, stopped there.
• Chinese labourers began arriving, in 1810, to replace the emancipated slaves.
• Napoleon Bonaparte was exiled here from 1815 to 1821, when he died.
• In 1834, control of Saint Helena passed from the EIC to the British Crown, and it became a crown colony. Subsequent administrative cost-cutting triggered a long-term population decline, fuelled by the fact that steam was replacing sail on the seas and steam ships did not need to follow the trade winds. Then, in 1869, the Suez Canal opened, reducing the number of ships calling into port even further.
• In 1840, Saint Helena became a provisioning station for the British West Africa Squadron, preventing the transportation of slaves (mainly to Brazil ), and many thousands of slaves were freed on the island. These were all African, and about 500 stayed while the rest were sent on to the West Indies or Africa.
• So, over time, Saint Helena has developed a unique culture blending European, African, and Asian influences.
• Two Boer prisoner of war camps were established on the island during the South African wars, vastly increasing the population of the island.
• A local industry manufacturing fibre from New Zealand flax (the island's monocrop) was successfully re-established in 1907 and generated considerable income during the First World War.
• Ascension Island was made a dependency of Saint Helena in 1922, and Tristan da Cunha followed in 1938.
• During the Second World War, the United States built Wideawake Airport on Ascension in 1942, but no military use was made of Saint Helena, except for maintenance of its defences.
• The flax industry ceased operation in 1966. String had to a large extent been replaced by the elastic band. After that the islanders struggled for income and many more left to seek their fortune abroad.
• Emigration to the UK was stemmed, when British citizenship was removed from the Saints, in the 1980s, when the islands were deemed Dependent Territories. The Falkland Islands were for some time the emigrants' destination of choice. Citizenship was then re-awarded, in 2002, when the islands became Overseas Territories. After that, there has been a steady trickle of emigration to Britain. By 2018,Swindon, in Wiltshire, had so many people originating from Saint Helena, it was given the nickname "Swindolena"

Plantation House

A tourist must-do is a visit to the Governor’s residence, Plantation House. The 35-room mansion, built in 1792 during the EIC era was initially only the governor’s residence in summer. It was called Plantation as they grew lots of vegetables there, especially yams. These were used to trade for spices from the ships. There are royal portraits of nearly very monarch, from Victoria onwards, in the foyer. Prince Andrew has been demoted to the bathroom. (The local high school is named after him - he laid the foundation stone) and Edward VIII’s fate isn’t quite as ignominious. He is propped up, on a shelf, in the coffee shop. Princess Anne’s portrait hangs in the General’s Room, where she stayed when she visited. It’s said to be haunted, but the royal guest didn’t have any unusual sightings to report.

It's one of those tours where the guide explains about every object in every room. Fortunately most of them are quite interesting, but it's a lot to take in. Coffee and scones, with cream, are served afterwards - it’s all very British.

The most famous inhabitant of the Plantation House grounds though is Jonathan, a giant Seychellois tortoise. He is at least 192 years of age and is said to be the world’s oldest living land animal. So, he was born during the reign of King William IV. He lives alongside David, Freddie and Emma. (Myrtle and Speedy died a few years ago.) And Jonathan is very lucky to have survived, at all. Tortoises were carried on board ships to provide sailors with fresh meat- but these were spared and left behind.

Napoleon Buonaparte on Saint Helena

The tourist industry on St Helena is, of course, most heavily based on the promotion of Napoleon's imprisonment. Napoleon Buonaparte was put on St Helena, so he couldn’t escape again, and there’s no escaping him either. There’s a statue at the airport and another peering over the balcony of the Consulate Hotel. But it’s a fascinating story, hero or not.

Napoleon’s journey to St Helena, in 1815, took many months. The British were desperate to make sure he didn’t set foot on foreign soil, where he might be able to claim asylum. The EIC were relieved of their duties on the island and Admiral Cockburn was put in charge. They authorities undertook the necessary paperwork, when he arrived (on The Northumberland), in record time. Napoleon spent his first night at Porteous House, the only decent hotel in Jamestown at that time. (It’s now demolished).

Ironically, (great joke), the Duke of Wellington stayed here, when he visited, in 1805. He wrote, to the admiral in charge, of St Helena, in 1816, ‘You may tell Bony that I find his apartments at the Elysee-Bourbon very convenient and that I hope he likes mine.’ There’s nothing like gloating. However, the first part of his story tells that Wellesley (as he was then) had fallen overboard, when he came here, and had to be nursed back to health. So, if it wasn’t for St Helena, the course of history might have been very different.

Briars Pavilion

One night in Jamestown was enough for Napoleon and, for his first few weeks on St Helena, Napoleon was lodged in the Briars, a pavilion in the garden of a merchant’s house. It was built to house officers of the EIC. Napoleon saw it on his way to inspect Longwood, the residence being prepared for him, and was enchanted by the idyllic valley and heart shaped waterfall behind. (No water, today, it’s been dammed.) He immediately requested a move there, as Jamestown was hot and the Saints much too curious.

Merchant William Balcombe and his teenage daughter Betsy were both suspected of being too close to Napoleon, for different reasons. She was the only English person there who spoke French (she had been away to school). Napoleon also befriended a slave, Toby, the same age as himself, (45). Toby was originally from Mozambique, but had lived in Madagascar and so also spoke French. Toby hoarded 20 gold coins which Napoleon gave him, only to have them stolen; the thief was hanged. And the Balcombe family was deported, in 1818.

Napoleon asked to live, not in the main house at Briars (also now demolished), but in the pavilion, which had been built as a ballroom. It was small, surrounded on every side by a patio. Napoleon ate, slept, wrote, bathed and sat in the one room. No curtains, but no need for privacy. His secretary took the attic upstairs. A guard slept over each of the doorways. The rest of his entourage, of 25, to his delight, had to remain in Jamestown. Later, they added a marquee to the front, to act as a dining room.

Since then, the house has been donated to the French, more rooms have been annexed and hour-long tours are conducted twice weekly, by a very informal, beanie wearing French consul. He tells us that Napoleon was at his happiest here, during his imprisonment, where he was relaxed.

In the garden, the ruins of stone dwelling house, where the seven slaves lived cramped together, is being reconstructed. It’s part of a National Trust plan to tell the story of slavery, on the island. Napoleon tried to buy Toby’s freedom. Even though it was he that was responsible for re-establishing slavery in France.

Longwood House

Longwood House was Napoleon’s long term residence on St Helena, until he died, in 1821. It started life as a barn, for the Governor's use. There are various stories about the inadequacy of the building and around the death of the Emperor (as he always styled himself). He is said to have perished from arsenic poisoning, (possibly even via the wallpaper) though the official and most likely explanation, is stomach cancer. Another, more sheltered house, was being built for him. (Longwood was exposed and very damp) but was not completed, and he never moved there.

Longwood has been restored so as to replicate the decoration and furnishing when it was Napoleon’s home. You can visit three mornings a week, for a couple of hours and buy an audio guide for two pounds.(I bargained for mine, as I didn’t have much change.)The allocated numbers for the guide are a little confusing. Some of them don’t seem to exist at all.

There’s a parlour/billiard room, then a drawing room, (where he drew indeed, but it was his last breath, on a green canopied bed). . There seems to be some debate over Napoleon’s last words. It seems they were garbled and may or may not have included:' Head of Army, France, Josephine.' I'm most excited to see the iconic hat propped up there. Along with drawings of it, from every angle.

Next, is the dining room ( the map room to begin with), converted to the chapel on Sundays and feast days. The study, like other rooms, is liberally sprinkled with death masks. Here, there's the field bed, where his body was laid out, on a purple covering. (That was the only time the residents of the island ever got to see him.)

Another old field bed, in the bedroom. His specially imported four poster was rejected as being too rickety and awkward and British and designated to become firewood. A bathroom. He liked to read, eat and talk in the bath. And several smaller rooms used for storage and accommodation for others. His will is laid out in one. .

Guarding Napoleon

The British were paranoid about making sure Bonaparte didn’t escape. Two garrisons were deployed on St Helena, doubling the population of the island and initiating the need to import food and goods (mainly from Cape Town). They even went so far as to claim the island of Tristan da Cunha, so it could not be used as a base to expedite a rescue.

And, even after his death, the British were worried about Napoleon becoming a figurehead. They were not keen to release his body to the French, for some years. Eventually, in1840, Napoleon’s body was returned to France and buried in Les Invalides, a tomb you absolutely cannot miss, dominating the skyline, in Paris. His fame and notoriety have still not waned. In 1858, French emperor Napoleon III purchased Longwood House, by a convoluted route, from Queen Victoria, who wanted to foster relationships with the French.

Napoleon’s Tomb

Napoleon’s original tomb, in the Sane Valley, is the third piece of French property, on St Helena. You can visit, using a steep, kilometre long track, but there’s only a rail enclosed concrete slab, at the end. And you’re not allowed to go very close to that. Twenty four garrison soldiers took it in turns to carry Napoleon’s body to this, its first resting place and it was still guarded, day and night.

Celebrities on Saint Helena

Napoleon (and Wellington) were by no means the only famous visitors to St Helena. Amongst many notables, a young Halley made his observations of the southern night skies here. Explorer Dampier called by; Captain Cook visited on the return legs of both his round the world voyages, with his men documenting the vegetation and upsetting the locals, with criticisms of the treatment of the slaves. Horatio Nelson was on the island, in 1776, followed by Fletcher Christian and later Captain Bligh (they little knew what was to follow). The nineteenth century brought Raffles, Thackeray and Charles Darwin. February 12th is known as Darwin Day on St Helena, but no-one knows why and he’s not venerated, as he failed to notice St Helena’s famous wirebird.

Exploring the Island

I gather much of the above information from my amazing guide, Aaron, of Aaron’s Adventure Tours. He’s lived here all his life and is exceptionally knowledgeable. The Atlantic weather is wildly unpredictable and he patiently shows me around the island criss-crossing the maze of roads and retracing our route to take in views which have earlier been obliterated by rolling cloud. It’s well worth it. The scenery on this isolated, natural fortress of an island has to be described as breath-taking. It’s stunning, with the steepest of slopes either emerald and velvety or a vibrantly contrasting palette of multi-hued ash, cascading into the sea.

South West St Helena

We career along Sandy Bay (black volcanic sand and dangerous currents) and through an arch over a stream - more defences. The view back down to here, from Blue Hill and the South Western Point is arguably the most impressive of all - vivid ash and an azure horseshoe bay presided over by the two peaks, Lot and Lot's Wife. (I thought he avoided petrification in the Bible story?)

There are some 22 named rocks and islets to be spotted off the coast. Their names both prosaic and utilitarian: Castle Rock, Speery Island (spear shaped) the Needle, Lower Black Rock, Upper Black Rock (South), Peaked Island and so on.

Once, the island's interior was a dense tropical forest, with green coastal areas. The Portuguese introduction of goats and pigs (sheep, rats. mice and rabbits followed) soon put paid to that. Today, there’s mainly bare volcanic rock, in the lower areas, and an astonishing mix of introduced vegetation higher up. Prickly pear flourishes alongside Scots and Norfolk Pine. Neglected New Zealand flax undulates, as it drops down steep slopes. Nasturtiums and fuchsia add a riot of colour, along with hibiscus, bougainvillea and morning glory.

There are rapidly decreasing patches of St Helena’s unique indigenous vegetation, including a remarkably spiky cabbage tree species, most commonly found around Diana's Peak, the highest point on the island. There are panoramic views from here and to here, but the peak is thickly forested and there's a cloud forest microclimate. It's more commonly obscured than visible.

The Roads (and Off-roads) of St Helena

The roads are the epitome of steep and narrow, mainly built on the original goat and horse tracks. They have stone walled edges, to prevent cars careering over the edges and the craziest of narrow hairpin bends. The maximum speed limit is 30 mph but, despite the twists and turns, some of the taxis don’t take a lot of notice. There’s one mobile speed camera. We off-road for much of the time, teetering over mini crevasses along ridges and over grassy knolls, beside precipitous drops. It’s definitely an adventure tour.

It’s raining at lunchtime and we eat our packed salads on a small covered terrace by a grocery store. Kindly owner Marcus isn’t at all disgruntled at being disturbed on a Sunday. He opens up, so I can buy a Coca-Cola and then brings us delicious tiny roasted potatoes, from his own kitchen. This is one of those places where everyone smiles and waves at each other. The Saints aren’t hugely easy to understand though. They have accents, with very long-drawn-out vowels, like stuck records.

East St Helena

There are also (if you are lucky - I have mixed fortunes)) views from Flagstaff Hill and The Barn Hill, to the north east. All the peaks are linked by so called Post Box Walks. You can stamp your log book at the beginning and/or end of each trail at the specially built stands.

To the southeast, towards the airport, in an especially bare area, are the Millennium Forest replanting project, the most glorious painted ash and the wirebird nests; they poke fluffy heads out of holes in the ground.

North Central St Helena

To the north from High Knoll Fort, built on a hill 584 meters above sea level, another viewpoint. There’s a roughly grassed golf course (nine holes with two tees on each) and more historic buildings to admire. Alarm House, home to the main signal guns, which sounded every day to mark the time and also to warn of danger. Halley’s observatory. Hutts Gate Store and St Paul’s Cathedral. This main church was built out of town, because, in its heyday, Jamestown was 'too raucous with its taverns and brothels’. Things have certainly changed.

Aaron finishes up on the top of Ladder Hill, above Jamestown. I quickly realise that there’s no way I can climb this ladder without a bad attack of vertigo. Aaron laughs, drapes himself across the railings and slides down. Watch him slide here!

Aboard The Enchanted Isle

The last tourist must-do is a boat tour. There’s swimming with whale sharks later in the summer, but I’m too early for that. And the humpback whales have departed, for this season. But there are still plenty of dolphins. I’ve been invited along with Anne-Marie and Marina, from South Africa, and their husbands, Harvey and Daniel. Harvey was the engineer on the runway building.
We depart from the quay at the end of the harbour, past the Happy Fisherman and The Yacht Club (home of the weekly fish-fry.) The port is humming in the morning. A dinosaur like monster of a machine lumbers along the waterside, containers grasped in its mouth.

A great opportunity to see those volcanic walls, gun metal grey stone fortifications and narrowest of valleys from the water. We embark on The Enchanted Isle and sail southwest along the coast dropping round Southwest Point, where Aaron scared me with the precipitous slopes. Round Speery Island. It’s far more impressive from the water. We’re about halfway round St Helena now.

The cliff faces are spattered with guano and black noddies chirp from their ledges, tiny fluffy chicks waiting anxiously for lunch. The highlight is a huge pod of pan tropical dolphins. These are small and porpoise like and wheel around us, leaping out of the water in unison, or throwing themselves up to extraordinary heights and flopping back, a very welcome cirque de soleil performance. Watch the dolphins here.

Food on Saint Helena

I’ve read that ‘Most of the food on the island is a version of international staples adapted by the diverse population’. I’m struggling to find anything that tickles the palate. Tuna is popular, as it’s the most common fish caught locally. Other fish on offer, like wahoo, is mostly of the tuna family. Fishcakes are ubiquitous, but dense and bland. I’ve also been told that an island favourite is a risotto-with-curry dish called pilau (or plo), based on the Asian varieties of that name. I’ve not seen it on any menu yet.

The Orange Tree Oriental Restaurant, next door to the Mantis, says it opens at five, but there’s no sign of activity at six. Anne’s Place, in the peaceful Castle Botanic Gardens, is the go-to, with tender and flavoursome lamb and pork chops. Originally the government stables, this is now a yachtie hang out, the rafters decorated with pennants and flags. My new South African friends ply me with food and alcohol in here.

Native juniper berries are used to flavour the local (very antiseptic tasting) gin. The St Helena Distillery his the most remote distillery in the world, but it's not currently operating. The owner died recently. Saint Helena has also produced and exported Tungi Spirit, made from the fruit of prickly pears, (Tungi is the local Saint Helenian name for the plant), though demand has fallen lately. There are also coffee plantations. The green tipped Arabica bourbon coffee (originally from Yemen) is often touted as the best in the world and is amongst the most expensive in the world. It costs five times as much in Harrods (£150 per 250 gram bag), as it does here. Ironic that the alcohol abjuring Buonaparte, who said , 'I would rather suffer with coffee than be senseless', should end his days here.

The Leaving of St Helena

Great excitement on my last day in St Helena. There’s a cruise ship in port. Jamestown is swarming with visitors and with Saints watching the visitors. There are stands dispensing leaflets by the harbour wall and all the gift shops have opened their doors expectantly.

We’re off to the airport mid morning and anxiously monitoring the airwaves from the departure lounge, after a ploddingly slow check in, to make sure that our plane has taken off and is expecting to land. Farewell to the second most remote island on earth. It definitely is a world apart.

But not so fast. Our plane has landed, and apparently it’s not going to take off again. The weather is closing in and there is no other fall back airport in case of an emergency. So the day is spent tediously awaiting immigration to get set up, so we can get stamped back in, after the lucky new arrivals, and then receive instructions and transport back across the island. It doesn’t help that the cruise ship folk have commandeered all the island taxis. I’m finally at the Mantis again at four in the afternoon. So now I’ve visited St Helena twice. (Though they didn't make me pay the £20 entry permit again.) And tomorrow is another day…