Simple island life

​Meaning​

Across cultures, islands have long represented escape, solitude and survival. By the sea, life is more exposed to the elements, and you quickly learn to adapt to them. Island life tends to be about keeping things simple and finding practical solutions. Sometimes a rediscovery of old ways of doing things. When everything is stripped back to essentials, much of what goes on in the world becomes noise and you make do with what is in front of you.

While island life has universal appeal, it is rarer in the upper northern hemisphere, where four seasons shape the weather. Nature takes a pause in winter when ice blankets the seas. Island life is a possibility in summer.

The Nordics are home to large archipelagos, islands scattering the coasts of Finland, Sweden, Denmark and Norway. In the Baltic Sea, Finland has the largest archipelago in the world with 50,000 islands, while Sweden has around 43,000. Norway’s coast and arctic terrain contain thousands more. Hundreds of islands also line the shores of Denmark, alongside the Faroe Islands between Iceland and the Shetland Islands.

Islands in the Archipelago Sea are relatively small, made of granite and gneiss rock, often uninhabitable. The climate in this part of the world is tough, the seas shallow and mostly unnavigable by large ships. During the Viking Age, travelling through these sheltered waters was preferred, avoiding open-ocean dangers like capsizing in storms. But even the Vikings found navigating these waters difficult and often bought steering services from local islanders. Today, there are some 54,000 permanent residents in the Finnish archipelago and Åland, while around 15,000 live in the Stockholm archipelago, relying on local ferries, schools and public services.The community is tight knit and there is shared responsibility in the wilderness. Overfishing and warming waters have changed fishing in the region and these days many local fishermen fish on demand.

During the short summer months, the region swells with visitors on sailing and motorboats. This weekend, Midsummer will be celebrated, a beloved national holiday in Finland and Sweden. Summer solstice marks the longest days of the year when daylight peaks and gets celebrated in island and lakeside cottages. Midsummer traditions vary, people sing and dance around the Maypole, often dressed in white wearing flower wreaths. There are long outdoor meals, bonfires and the ritual of sauna, followed by a plunge into the sea. In the Nordic region, this time also marks the start of summer holidays and with that, a return to the archipelago.

On islands accessible by bridges or ferries, houses are comfortable and equipped with electricity and running water. But the further you travel, the simpler the wooden cottages become, often with hybrid sources of energy and water supply.

As a Swedish-speaking Finn, I’m particularly fond of the remote islands in the Finnish southern archipelago accessed by small boat. Simple cottages were built by previous generations, and limited comforts are in place. The houses are often tucked further into the forest rather than openly along the shoreline, leaving the islands looking almost untouched from the sea until you come closer and notice some buoys, a rowing boat or sauna smoke rising between the pine trees. On smaller islands, there is no infrastructure, no bridges, not even dirt roads. No buses, no cars or scooters, not even cycling. Zero traffic. Natural winding paths have been traced by past footsteps and animals like deer and elk. Shoes can be abandoned entirely, bare feet adjusting to the earthiness of narrow footpaths, bilberry shrubs brushing against skin.

You grow accustomed to having no heating or running water, instead relying on gas cylinders for the fridge and cooking. Cool, fresh-tasting groundwater is pumped by hand from a well drilled into bedrock. There is a sea-view outhouse with a dry compost toilet. Reading lamps and mobile phones are powered by solar energy and on rainy days, there is candlelight.

The elements are everywhere, constantly balancing each other.

Morning dips in the cool sea. Hours spent under the fiery sun, eyes ploughing through books or resting on a boat crossing the blue distance. Lying on sun-warmed cliffs, rounded during the ice age thousands of years ago, a reminder of stability. Listening to waves rolling in. Clucking water sounds against the wooden jetty and the boats bobbing in harbour. Wood is chopped by axe for the sauna. Logs crackle and snap as they catch flame in the fireplace. Steam rising off skin when you go for a swim. Later in the evening, barbecues continue long after the sun begins to drop. After sunset, candles flicker around card games inside the cottage. Without anything dulling the sky, the stars and the moon seem to be closer, shining brighter.

Thunderstorms roll differently across open waters. Lightning that rips through shaking trees feels even more dramatic when you are stuck on an island. Here too, weather will test anyone’s patience. Living remotely can be isolating, but a boat trip away, there is a farmers’ market, library and basic conveniences, a brief return to civilisation.

Life moves at nature’s pace. You watch birds nesting and fledglings learning to fly. You notice squirrels race through the treetops overhead and sometimes at dawn you see a lone elk wandering the grounds. Hands find things to do, replacing the habitual drift of fingers across hypnotising screens. Days are instead spent writing, baking, drawing and making things. Removing that digital noise, even temporarily, is a reminder that we can manage without constant notifications, stimulation and passively fed news. The terrain turns everyday tasks into constant activity, from lifting and carrying to climbing rocky shorelines. The sea shapes daily movement: swimming, paddleboarding, waterskiing and windsurfing. Forest walks turn into foraging for wild blueberries and mushrooms, food gathered from the landscape, seasonal eating at its best.

Silence becomes a peaceful gift. In Tourizzzm, I took you on a tour of the fascinating forms of sleep tourism around the world. On a remote island, deep sleep arrives naturally. Days spent outdoors make it easier to fall asleep and stay asleep.

Eventually you return to simply being, and a sense of enoughness. You notice how many things normally taken for granted are in fact luxuries rather than necessities. The air becomes filled with nostalgia, and you often find yourself not wanting to leave. Yet every departure has a new feeling of cleared mental space, more creativity and gratitude. Some of that calm can be carried away through better sleep habits, staying close to nature and remembering how little is actually needed to feel whole.

Off-grid cottages, remote cabins and simple beach huts like these exist everywhere. The geography matters less than the intention: gratitude, simplicity and movement in nature.

Sometimes the most radical wellness decision isn't to add another practice, but to simplify your surroundings.