The world's loneliest island, home to just 200 people, requires a 7-day voyage to reach the nearest continent

Standing on the volcanic rocks of Tristan da Cunha's main island—Edinburgh of the Seven Seas—I felt the tangible reality of being at "the end of the world." This place is extraordinary—a full 7-day journey from the nearest mainland in South Africa, with only a handful of supply ships docking each year. Over 200 residents guard Earth's most remote homeland, maintaining an isolated island life beyond our imagination. Though under British rule, it's said the islanders once tried settling in the UK but chose to return to their roots due to homesickness. Time here carries a peculiar density. By day, I cast fishing lines off the pier into the fathomless South Atlantic, hiked up an extinct volcano crater with clouds swirling beneath my feet, and savored piping-hot lobster tarts at the visitor center—their flavor more authentic than any trendy café. The island's tiny village is so small you can circle it five times in an hour, with supermarket freezers holding just a handful of goods—material scarcity etched into every inch of land. Yet the islanders' warmth outshone expectations. Hearing of our failed attempt to see penguins in the protected zone, several locals actually crossed grassy slopes to carefully bring us some adorable chicks. Their clumsy yet heartfelt hospitality instantly melted the island's chill. As our boat departed, churning wake behind us, I gazed back at those black cliffs embraced by endless ocean. Two hundred souls choose to root themselves here—guarding volcanoes, penguins, and mail ships that take months to arrive—defying geographical isolation with near-stubborn determination. But it's precisely this life that earns the title "end of the world"—a solitude untouched by worldly strife, a watch kept willingly.