The Island of Saint Helena

Type. Delete. Type. Delete. Where to begin writing about St Helena? Before I was asked to visit the island, I'll admit that I was completely ignorant of it's history, people and *whispers* even location. Obviously, all of you beautiful readers will be far more intelligent than me and will know that it's a tiny speck of land in the middle of the South Atlantic, providing a home for around 4600 inhabitants, known locally as "Saints". While it has had one particularly famous "guest", I'm going to buck the trend of every report ever written about the island and NOT mention them. Damn, I'm rebellious.

I was asked to visit the island by my editor after SA Airlink opened up the first regular flights to the island, which had previously only been accessible by days at sea aboard the RMS (Royal Mail Ship) St Helena. Now, with the weekly flights landing on the infamously pricey runway every Saturday, there's the chance of real change coming to the island. What better time to get in there quickly and have a look at how life is today for the Saints.

Watching reports flooding in from the first flight to St Helena taking place as I worked on other assignments in South Africa, my drive was a little dented. I imagined that I'd be a week behind on everything but was relieved to see that, while the inaugural trip was 90% journalists, nearly all of the them had returned on the special one-off flight to Johannesburg the next day. Also, the hit-and-run impact of a plane-load of journos to such a small community would have been quite a culture shock for the locals so, in the end, I was happy to board flight number two.

As I researched St Helena, there was no way at all to avoid the stories about the runway and the powerful wind speeds and shear that has forced the airport to forbid the larger passenger planes from attempting to land. With a little trepidation in my bones, I joined a mixture of local residents, business people and a handful of journalists as we set off to the rocky speck, via a re-fueling stop in Namibia. Any concerns about flight safety couldn't help but be increased as I overheard talk that there would be three attempts to land before returning to the mainland. Any airport where that element is factored in is going to face some questions but it was too late to change my mind now.

After a two-hour flight to Namibia and a four-hour flight to St Helena, the plane landed on its first attempt without anything to comment about. It's a small 100-seater plane landing on an island with some wind. Sure, it's not the same as being in an A380 landing at Heathrow, with it's train-like glide into touchdown but it's no worse than many landings I've had. I'm not sure I'd want to land in mid-winter but that's for someone else to experience. Anyway, enough about the airport. All you need to know is that, despite some journalists writing about how they risked life and limb to land on the island, it's fine. Moving on...

My original plan was to stay for seven days and to record the people, the places and just record as much about the island as possible. Being so far away from anywhere, it's not the kind of place that is easy to pop over to if I needed a photo of the local courthouse, for example. With that in mind, it was a case of breaking out the photo-hoover and sucking up as much island life as I could.

I stayed at the Consulate hotel, under the care of owner Hazel Wilmot, a lady who appears to know everyone and everything, giving names and phone numbers of anyone I asked about without referring to any notebooks or mobile phones. Speaking of which, if you fancy experiencing a place where you can truly switch off from Twitter, Facebook, TV, mobile phones and basically the outside world, get to St Helena quickly. Currently, the island's 4,600 residents share a single internet line of 20Mbps. By my dodgy maths, that means if everyone decided to check their mail at the same time, they'd get a blistering 0.4kbps each. Nerdy, I know, but it really does change your outlook on life when you simply can't access the internet. We've all been on holiday and gained a sense of Castaway-like superiority when we don't upload an image to Instagram for a day but this is the real thing.

The capital of St Helena is Jamestown, a small cluster of corrugated roofs and random buildings of various colours stretching along the valley from the hilltops down to the harbour. Winding roads twist and turn down the only two routes in and out of the centre with every car I passed qualifying for a wave and a nod. Currently, the island simply doesn't have the infrastructure to handle large quantities of tourists which only adds to it's appeal. A level of courtesy and friendliness that you simply don't get in major cities reaches through every part of daily life. Walking through Jamestown on the first day, I was immediately chatting, waving and being welcomed into the community, despite being as obvious an outsider as possible, with cameras hanging from every limb.

St Helena has a handful of "must-do" things and one of them happens to be right in the middle of Jamestown. Jacob's Ladder is a 699-step slice of masochism that allows the fit and the foolhardy to walk from the lowest part of the valley to the very top, pretty much vertically. On my first attempt, I rushed on up there, snorting at the suggestion that it would defeat me. By halfway, I was stopping for regular "photo breaks". By two thirds of the way up, I was seeing shapes and stars that weren't visible to anyone else. By four fifths of the way up, my photo breaks involved me laying as horizontally as possible on a ladder, wrapping my arms around the handrail supports and shouting for any God passing by to take me away from this life. From the very bottom, a lone figure had been standing at the top, watching my slow gasping progress and so by the time I wheezed past him, pleading for air and chasing the black dots in my vision, my pride forced me to stagger a few extra metres around the corner before collapsing, out of view. It was about this time that I knew I needed a Stairmaster in my life. My second attempt sliced 5 minutes from my previous record and even allowed me to stand upright when I reached the top.

For the retail-therapy lovers out there, you may need to control your urges somewhat. The RMS delivers supplies once every three weeks so food and vital provisions take a priority on the ship. Despite this lack of the latest things, the "youth" dress with New York style, adopting the limping swagger of the outside world as they socialise on Saturday night. However, even with their hoods up and crossing paths in a darkened alleyway, the Saints' ingrained friendliness can't prevent the shadowy figure from giving a wave and a quick hello.

Having been told about photographer Jon Tonks' book "Empire" before leaving the UK, I was aware of the weather station and the photo possibilities that it offered so I headed down to meet up with "Huggy Bear" and witness the daily weather balloon launch. Located near to the airport in Prosperous Bay, the Met Office weather station is on a desolate spot of volcanic land, with winds blowing between the pre-fabricated buildings and research stations. On arriving, Station Manager Lori Bennett led me round to the hangar where Garry Mercury (There's a name for a meteorologist) was busy inflating the balloon with hydrogen gas. It should go without saying that I loved taking these pictures.

After having a wander around the sprawling metropolis, I decided to stray outside of town and explore the countryside. Being only 121 square kilometres in size, the roads pretty much dispense with the tradition of signposts. I initially worried about this until noticing that there's always a road sign when there's a turn worth taking. This minimalist approach actually makes life a little easier as you soon mentally split the island into zones and regions, knowing that you need to go to "St Paul's" for the Plantation House or head to "Longwood" to see the tomb of... NO! I'm not going to mention him.

On the subject of getting around, it's worth booking a car very early if you wish to explore the island. The Mighty Hazel warned me that it was advisable but my slight hesitation resulted in me driving one of the most interesting hire cars I've ever had. While other visitors whizzed around in the ubiquitous Ford Focus, I was to be found praying that the engine would start each day, repeatedly filling the tyres and wondering where the ever-present odour of Rosemary was coming from. A most unusual drive.

Returning to the issue of tourism and St Helena for a moment, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that they might currently be aiming their adverts and promotions at the wrong audience. Anyone who thinks the island may be a tropical paradise with coconuts and golden sands where you can sip cocktails as you watch the sun set will currently be left a little disappointed. However, this isn't to say that the island isn't worth visiting. If you want breathtaking hikes, incredible diving opportunities, friendly accommodation and pure peace, you may have found the right place. Following my stay at the Consulate, I found myself checking into the Farm Lodge, owned and impeccably run by Stephen and Maureen, due to my flight home being cancelled for two days in a row. Hey, I didn't say the airport was perfect.

The lounge of the Farm Lodge will forever be a very special place to me. It was very easy to achieve a sense of total zen-like calm as the classical music played from another room, the grandfather clock chimed in the corner and I sipped coffee from the Arabica beans grown a few metres away. Being away from the relative bustle of Jamestown, the Farm Lodge truly is the place to unplug from the world. No TV breaks the bubble of isolation. UK mobile phones don't work. Other guests chat, play scrabble and read. The only noise to break the moment is the ringing of the small bell at 6.30pm to mark the opening of the bar for pre-dinner drinks. Ommmmm...

Residents of the island have some fears that the opening of the airport will bring a swarm of tourists, forever changing the speed and lifestyle of St Helena but I think that there won't be the influx that they're concerned about. The new links will provide fast access and will see tourism increase but it's highly unlikely that thousands upon thousands will be hitting their shores. I think the biggest threat to life on the island will come in 2020 when the island gets a high speed internet connection. Yes, I know. I'm going on about the internet again but the dearth of data is such an integral part of it's charm, it will be a shame to see that change. It was noticeable that everywhere I went, people talked. Conversation was everywhere in a way that isn't seen anymore. Couples having a meal out would sit and talk all evening, while those waiting to be served in queues spoke to the person next to them, without checking their Facebook page for the twentieth time that hour.

I can understand why the population is crying out for a connection to the outside world but I hope they're aware of the isolation that it can sometimes bring.

So, there we go. I can honestly say that I've come away from the island a slightly changed man. St Helena; a place that sets itself Bon-aparte from anywhere else. Damn it! So close...