When we talk about the 10 most isolated inhabited places on Earth, we picture people who have chosen to live far from the bustle of modern society. Throughout history, humans have trekked across vast continents to set up settlements, and some of those have remained tiny, secluded pockets where daily life unfolds far from the crowds.
10 Palmerston Island
About 3,200 kilometers (2,000 mi) northeast of New Zealand lies the diminutive Palmerston Island, home to just 62 residents, all descended from a single family line. Captain James Cook first sighted the island in 1774 during his second Pacific expedition, but he didn’t set foot there until his third voyage in April 1777, naming it after Henry Temple, 2nd Viscount Palmerston, then Lord of the Admiralty.
The entire population traces its roots back to William Marsters, who settled the island in 1863 with his Polynesian wife and her two cousins. After Queen Victoria granted him ownership, Marsters married his wife’s cousins as his second and third wives, and together they fathered 23 children. Before he died in 1899, Marsters divided the island into three parcels, one for each wife. Today, aside from three individuals, every inhabitant is a direct descendant of Marsters.
Life on Palmerston is defined by isolation and simplicity. There are no shops, banks, or markets; commerce occurs only between islanders or when ships arrive with external supplies. Money is used solely for trade off‑the‑island or for purchases from visiting vessels.
The island lacks a conventional water system. Residents collect rainwater for drinking, and two public toilets sit on the main street. Electricity is supplied for only six hours each day, though a new telephone station now eases communication with the outside world.
Fish and coconuts make up the staple diet. While ships visit a few times a year to deliver provisions, regular shipments are impossible due to the community’s extreme remoteness. Visitors are welcomed warmly; the islanders love guests and “adopt” travelers as part of the family, offering them accommodation in local homes because no hotels exist.
Reaching Palmerston is a challenge. The island sits roughly 500 km (310 mi) from Rarotonga, the capital of the Cook Islands, requiring a two‑day sail across open Pacific waters. Boats are scarce, making the journey a true test of endurance for anyone seeking the ultimate off‑grid island escape.
9 Supai Village, Arizona
The Grand Canyon draws millions, yet hidden within its side gorge, Havasu Canyon, lies the secluded Supai Village, home to the Havasupai tribe who have called the area home for roughly 800 years. The tribe’s name translates to “the people of the blue‑green waters,” a nod to the stunning waterfalls and springs that sustain them.
Supai sits on a protected reservation. In the 1800s, U.S. government policies shrank the tribe’s holdings from over 1.6 million acres to a modest 518 acre parcel, confining the community to its present tight‑knit footprint.
What truly sets Supai apart is its mail system: the 208 residents are the only people in the United States whose parcels still travel by mule. A convoy of linked mules shuttles mail and supplies in and out of the canyon, and any outgoing correspondence bears a unique Supai postmark.
Tourists can visit, but the journey demands stamina. Supai lies about 56 km (35 mi) from the main Grand Canyon visitor hub, and no paved road reaches it. Adventurers start at Hualapai Hilltop, then must trek, ride a mule, or fly by helicopter down a 13‑km (8‑mi) trail to the village floor. Hikers need to be fit, well‑hydrated, and prepared for the desert’s challenges.
Temperatures can soar to 46 °C (115 °F), prompting park officials to close trails for safety during extreme heat. Despite its isolation, Supai remains a hidden gem of the American frontier.
8 Tristan Da Cunha
There are no restaurants, hotels, credit‑card machines, or even safe beaches on Tristan da Cunha, the world’s most remote populated island. Nestled in the middle of the Atlantic, the archipelago and its main island share the same name and sit far from any major landmass.
The island lies 2,816 km (1,750 mi) from South Africa and 3,360 km (2,088 mi) from South America. The nearest neighbor, Saint Helena, sits 2,430 km (1,510 mi) away.
Tristan was first sighted by Tristão da Cunha in 1506, who named the island after himself but never set foot due to hazardous waters. The French frigate L’Heure du Berger mapped it 261 years later without landing.
The first true settler, American explorer Jonathan Lambert, arrived in 1810, proclaiming the islands “The Islands of Refreshment.” His brief rule ended with a fatal boating accident in 1812, after which the name reverted to Tristan da Cunha.
Britain annexed the islands in 1816. Today, 267 people live there, enjoying a hospital with dental services, an operating theatre, and a grocery store. However, groceries must be ordered weeks or months in advance, as everything arrives via ship from the nearest port.
Electricity isn’t supplied to individual homes; instead, diesel generators sit centrally between cottages in the sole settlement, Edinburgh of the Seven Seas. The 70 families farm communally, and cows graze along the single road. Though modern comforts exist, the volcanic nature of the island adds an ever‑present risk.
7 Utqiagvik, Alaska
Utqiagvik, formerly known as Barrow, claims the title of America’s northernmost city and ranks ninth globally. Sitting well above the Arctic Circle, the town endures extreme cold and profound isolation.
Archaeological evidence shows people thriving in the area as early as AD 500. British explorer Frederick Beechey named the headland in 1826 after Sir John Barrow, a champion of Arctic exploration. The native Inupiat refer to the location as Ukpeagvik, meaning “Place Where Owls Are Hunted.”
The city rests atop permafrost up to 400 m (1,300 ft) deep. Warm months last a brief 3.3 months, with average highs of 2 °C (36 °F). The cold season stretches 4.4 months, averaging –16 °C (3 °F). From November onward, the sun sets for roughly 65 days, creating a polar night.
Despite the harsh climate, the 4,429 residents enjoy a high quality of life. Over 60 % are Inupiat Eskimo. Homes are heated by natural gas from nearby oil fields, and modern water, sewer, and trash‑pickup services exist. The town hosts seven churches, several schools, and Ilisagvik College, while phone, mail, radio, cable, and internet keep residents connected.
Visitors can stay in hotels, dine at restaurants, use a dry cleaner, bank, and even shop for furs. The community still practices whaling and seal hunting to sustain itself through the long winters. The only way to reach Utqiagvik is by plane, a costly but necessary journey for those craving extreme cold, solitude, and endless night.
6 La Rinconada, Peru
High in the Peruvian Andes, about 64 km (40 mi) north of Lake Titicaca, sits La Rinconada, the world’s highest permanent settlement at over 4,900 m (16,000 ft) above sea level. The town rests on Mount Ananea and endures sub‑zero temperatures for most of the year.
Visitors to this altitude must brace for severe altitude sickness—headaches, nausea, breathlessness, and, in extreme cases, death. Approximately 50,000 people now call this squalid town home.
Infrastructure is minimal: there is no sanitation system, no plumbing, and trash collection is nonexistent. Residents either bury waste outside town or leave it where it falls. The only roads leading in are dirty and ice‑covered for much of the year, making travel treacherous.
The lure? Gold. Between 2001 and 2009, the town’s population surged 230 % as word spread about abundant gold deposits. Mining operates under an informal “cachorreo” system: workers receive no wage but may keep any ore they can haul home after a month’s labor, never knowing how much gold lies within.
La Rinconada can be described as isolated, filthy, impoverished, and bleak. The town’s harsh conditions and lack of basic services make it a place most would avoid, even for the promise of gold.
5 Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland
Pronouncing Ittoqqortoormiit is a tongue‑twister; living there is an even bigger challenge. Formerly called Scoresbysund, the settlement is hailed as the western hemisphere’s most remote inhabited community. Its 450 residents nestle between the massive Northeast Greenland National Park and the colossal Scoresby Sund fjord.
For nine months each year, the surrounding sea freezes solid, cutting off all maritime travel. During those months, access is limited to hiking, snow‑mobile rides, or even dog sleds. The only exit routes are a rare helicopter flight or a boat during the brief three‑month thaw when the ice melts enough for ships to enter the harbor.
Despite its isolation, Ittoqqortoormiit enjoys several comforts thanks to Danish support: a power station, an engineering workshop, a small hospital run by a Danish doctor and nurse, and a school staffed by Danish teachers.
The town’s harbormaster stays in touch with Nuuk, Greenland’s capital, via satellite‑linked email and fax. Locally, there’s a grocery store, a few convenience shops, and a pub that opens just one day a week.
Most inhabitants are Inuit. During the frozen months, they rely on traditional hunting, whaling, and fishing to survive. Some also earn income by guiding Arctic tours for adventurous travelers willing to brave the extreme cold.
4 Migingo Island
Lake Victoria, Africa’s largest lake, hides a tiny speck of humanity: Migingo Island. Roughly half an acre in size, the island houses about 500 fishermen living in cramped, makeshift shacks made from salvaged tin and other scavenged materials.
The island’s modern story began in 1991 when two Kenyan fishermen claimed to be the first permanent settlers, turning an uninhabited weed‑laden rock into a bustling fishing hub. In 2004, a Ugandan fisherman also laid claim to the island, sparking a cross‑border dispute.
Its allure lies in the surrounding deep waters, teeming with Nile perch, providing a lucrative catch for the island’s residents. However, the limited space forces homes to be tightly packed, and the community includes four bars, a hair salon, several brothels, and a tiny port.
Living conditions are harsh: the island is essentially a fishermen’s slum, with rampant prostitution and pervasive filth. Some residents possess cellular phones, but signal strength is unreliable at best. Migingo is far from a tropical paradise; it’s a compact, chaotic enclave of survival.
3 Villa Las Estrellas, Antarctica
When Antarctica conjures images of endless ice and waddling penguins, people rarely think of permanent residents. Yet Villa Las Estrellas—Spanish for “Stars Town”—is a Chilean settlement perched on King George Island, part of the President Eduardo Frei Montalva Base.
The town consists of 14 homes, a bank, a post office, a school staffed by two teachers, a gym, a church, and a modest souvenir shop for tourists. Population fluctuates: 15 people during the summer months and up to 80 in winter, with each resident serving a maximum two‑year stint before returning to Chile.
The on‑site hospital can handle basic lifesaving procedures, featuring a lab, anesthesia machine, operating theatre, sterilizer, X‑ray unit, and dental clinic. A small pharmacy also operates, but major emergencies require evacuation to medical facilities in South America.
Life here comes with a unique stipulation: prospective long‑term residents must have their appendix removed before arrival, as the settlement only has a doctor with limited surgical training. Average temperatures hover around –2 °C (28 °F), making Villa Las Estrellas a truly extreme, yet fascinating, place to call home.
2 Coober Pedy, Australia
The Australian Outback is infamous for its scorching heat, relentless red sands, and a menagerie of dangerous wildlife. Yet the town of Coober Pedy thrives by literally going underground.
Opal fever sparked the town’s birth in 1915 when a teenager stumbled upon the precious gemstones. While many prospectors were hunting gold, they instead uncovered a massive opal deposit, eventually accounting for about 70 % of the world’s opal production. Coober Pedy proudly bears the title “Opal Capital of the World.”
To escape the blistering daytime temperatures, miners carved subterranean homes—known as “dugouts”—that stay cool in summer and warm in winter. Today, roughly 2,500 permanent residents live in these underground abodes, with about 60 % of the populace of European descent and more than 45 nationalities represented.
The town offers essential services: water, electricity, law enforcement, medical facilities, and education. The local hospital provides 24 beds and collaborates with nearby medical practices, while schools range from pre‑kindergarten through year 12, offering diverse programs and community projects.
Beyond mining, tourism fuels the economy. Visitors can stay at the Desert Cave Hotel, explore galleries, cafés, underground shops, and even try their hand at “noodling” for opals in the desert. Coober Pedy proves that even the harshest environments can foster vibrant, resilient communities.
1 Oymyakon, Russia
Eyelashes freeze mid‑blink, frostbite stalks every step, and car batteries die in an instant—welcome to Oymyakon, Russia, the coldest permanently inhabited settlement on Earth.
Home to roughly 500 hardy souls, Oymyakon earned its title as the world’s coldest town, with the nearest city, Yakutsk, a distant 927 km (576 mi) away. Positioned just south of the Arctic Circle, the village endures up to 21 hours of darkness each day during winter. In 1933, temperatures plummeted to a record‑low –68 °C (‑90 °F).
The permafrost layer, up to 400 m (1,300 ft) thick, makes agriculture impossible. Residents survive on high‑protein fare: raw, thinly sliced frozen fish called stroganina, reindeer meat, frozen horse liver, and even ice‑cold horse blood mixed with macaroni.
Because the ground is permanently frozen, traditional water pipes and sewage systems cannot exist. Residents must dash to an outdoor outhouse for basic needs. Burying the dead is a monumental task; fires must be lit to melt the icy soil enough to allow graves.
Every aspect of daily life is challenged by the extreme cold: cars must be kept running constantly to prevent batteries from freezing, ink in pens solidifies, and electronic devices often fail. Thick animal furs provide the only reliable protection against the relentless chill.
For those seeking an escape from sweltering heat, Oymyakon offers the ultimate cool‑down—though you’ll likely beg for warmth after a few minutes in this frigid frontier.