Islands on My Mind

My last post about our trek to Madeira got me thinking. About islands. About why they call to us the way they do. Islands somehow manage to feel adventurous and peaceful at the same time. They are remote yet intimate. They invite both exploration and stillness. A speck on the map becomes, for a while, an entire world.

“When we contemplate the whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted with continents and islands, flying through space with other stars all singing and shining together as one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm of beauty.“

John Muir

At Home in California

Santa Catalina was the first island we visited together and I’m thinking it was sometime in the 1970s. And I know we’ve been to Coronado Island a time or two. There doesn’t seem to be any photographic evidence of these island adventures and while the details have softened with time, the feelings have not. Sunlight on water, the sense of being just far enough from the mainland to feel removed from the ordinary—those impressions remain. Years later, we returned to Catalina with our children. I remember wonder, and the shared experience of discovering something beautiful together.

Westward Bound

Hawaii followed, and with it a dreamscape of color and motion—palm trees swaying in warm breezes, surf rolling in endless rhythms, bright hibiscus against deep blue skies. There is an ease to island life there that seeps into your bones. Days feel lighter. Smiles come quicker. It is impossible not to feel changed by that kind of natural generosity.

North, East and South

The islands of Puget Sound offered a different beauty—quieter, softer, wrapped in mist and evergreen. The water, the skies, and the evergreen-covered hills rising out of the sea soothe the soul. There’s a softness to life there that still lingers in my mind.

On Deer Isle, Maine, autumn had arrived in full glory. Lobster boats in chilly harbors, turning leaves along narrow roads, crisp air filled with salt and wood smoke—it all felt like stepping into a painting. It was on this trip as naive Californians we discovered that most businesses were closed for the season already in early September. Who knew? And this is where we tasted our first lobster roll.

Cozumel, on the other hand, dazzled with warmth and motion—turquoise water, coral reefs alive with color, sunlight dancing on sand, exotic jungle, and ancient ruins. It was a place of laughter and easy choices: swim or snorkel, shade or sun. The gift there was joy, pure and uncomplicated.

Land of the Gaels

Iona appeared like a whisper—gentle light, ancient stone, and rolling green hills. Off the western coast of Scotland, it’s just a short ferry ride from Oban to a place steeped in history as a center of early Christianity, with its monastery established in 563 AD. Iona has a special kind of quiet beauty.  It is the kind of place that stays with you long after you leave.

Inisheer (Inis Oír), in Ireland’s Aran Islands, showed me the meaning of rugged living — stone walls, wind-whipped fields, and a simple, harsh beauty. Every cottage, path, and pasture felt shaped by generations of weather and will. When I ordered our lunch at a tiny café, I was greeted by a young woman with an unmistakable Minnesota accent  – she had fallen in love with an Irishman from Inisheer and never looked back.

On Islay, the southernmost island of Scotland’s Hebrides, the rolling hills cut through with dark peat bogs, low stone fences, and a wild, salty wind are unforgettable. Also unforgettable is the smoky single malt whiskey that still transports me back with every sip. Leaving Islay became one of our all-time adventures as we boarded a twelve-person inflatable boat to cross the North Sea just ahead of an approaching storm.

Islas de Espaňa

Moving to Spain opened a whole new chapter of island wanderings. It took us almost no time to realize that the Canary Islands are just four hours from Valencia — a simple hop and suddenly you’re somewhere else entirely. Our first stop, Lanzarote, felt like arriving on the moon: black volcanic rock stretching for miles, vineyards cradled in ash, mountains shaped by fire, and surreal landscapes.

Gran Canaria dazzled us with dramatic cliffs and lush pockets of green. What surprised us most was the incredible biodiversity – pine forests, rolling desert-like sand dunes, an extensive cacti garden, and golden sandy beaches all on a single island.

Mallorca welcomed us with golden Mediterranean light, gothic stone cathedral rising from the sea, and evenings that seemed made for lingering. Olive groves, limestone cliffs, shimmering water, and the simple genius of Joan Miró all coexist effortlessly here. Mallorca is an island of elegance and warmth, where art, landscape, and daily life blend seamlessly.

The Island of the Sun

Sicily doesn’t whisper its beauty—it sings it, boldly. The contrast is intoxicating – lively, layered Palermo with wonderful markets and an edgy energy, and then the elegance of Taormina perched above the sea with ancient ruins and sweeping views. In the distance, Mount Etna smolders like a watchful god, reminding you that this island is shaped as much by fire as by water. The way history, coastline, and raw nature swirl together makes you want to stay longer than you planned.

Incomparable Greece

And then there’s Greece – the grand collection that provides a tapestry of culture, myth and color. Blue-domed villages, charming harbors, ancient stories, and stunning beaches make for a particular kind of magic. The water is so clear it hardly seems real and each island we visited seemed to have its own shade of blue. The magic there is timeless.

From wind-lashed cliffs to sunlit coves, from storm crossings to silent harbors, each island has tested us and rewarded us in its own way. Yet the gift has always been the same: the freedom to wander, the invitation to notice, and the quiet nudge to dream again. The islands, endlessly patient, continue to call.

“How I wish that somewhere there existed an island for those who are wise and of good will.”

Albert Einsten