Story: At home on holiday.

Like most people who like to travel, I'm terrible at staying still and relaxing. I've never felt the desire to spend days toasting on the beach or nights out partying; I prefer to be out seeing and doing. So a small group of islands off the coast of Cornwall famed for its beaches isn't the obvious choice for my favourite holiday destination. But that is exactly what it is: a tranquil getaway from the "Real World".

On my first visit to the Isles of Scilly, as a sophisticated three year old with a taste for cheesy wotsit crisps, I was sick on the ferry from Cornwall. I suppose my parents must have thought the holiday could only improve from there, and they would have been right. Apparently I adored it, trotting around with bucket and spade and eating ice cream at every opportunity. More to the point, my parents adored it too, and not just because it kept their demanding toddler happy. The islands became, and have remained one of the only places to which they return time and time again, even after I left home. I inherited my itchy feet from them, and yet it is a rare year when I don’t feel the need to travel the length of the country, jump on a boat or a plane and spend a long weekend on the Isles of Scilly.

Travelling to the Isles by the boat, Scillonian III, you leave Penzance harbour and head out into the Atlantic, passing the Penlee lifeboat station, the Minack theatre, Land’s End, and then the lighthouses, Longships and Wolf Rock. Around two hours later you spy first a red and white striped beacon, then a mirage of low lying islands will emerge, as you sail into the St Mary’s harbour at the heart of the archipelago. Your baggage is unloaded onto the quayside for you to collect and you head off to find your accommodation. Visiting, as I have done, for over twenty years, I have a ‘home’ island to which I return. Everyone who stays on Scilly does – you may, on occasion stay on another island, but it feels a bit like bailing on your best friend. So I wait on the harbour for the Voyager to arrive to take me, my bag and my tent to St Martins. The Isles of Scilly is probably the only place in Britain where the transport system is integrated, boats for the ‘off islands’; St Martins, Tresco, Bryher and St Agnes; arrive around fifteen minutes after the Scillonian docks at noon, and then again at four, in time for departing travellers to catch the boat back to the mainland. The boat trip to St Martins is the beginning of the unwinding, leaning over the side, gazing down through the crystal water to try and spot a crab and – hopefully – soak up a little of the warmth of the sun. By mid-afternoon, wherever you choose to stay – hotel, B & B, self-catering cottage or campsite – you’re settled in and ready for, well, whatever you choose to do.

Choices are fairly limited; primarily you’re deciding between a bright white beach, perfect for swimming, shrimping or sleeping, and a variety of paths criss-crossing the island, perfect for strolling from beach to beach and cafe to pub. The islands’ boats run trips daily, so that you can visit the others to see more gently spectacular beaches and wander across other heather-covered downs. Each island has its own character: St Martins, mellow and laid back; Tresco, sophisticated but friendly; Bryher, rugged on the outside, with a soft underside; St Marys, bigger, more bustling, the centre point of island life; and St Agnes, a little bit the outsider who is comfortable looking in, being different. If you’re only staying for a short time, Tresco is the island to see, its scenery gradually moving from the gentle northern tip, home to the famous Abbey Gardens, to the rugged northern downs, where King Charles and Cromwell Castles guard the entrance to the islands from the Atlantic, and you can scramble down the cliff and enter Piper’s Hole at low tide. Alternatively, if you like wildlife, take one of the afternoon boat trips to the outer islet and rocks to see the birds and beasts: puffins, seals, gannets, and the occasional basking shark, amongst many others.

For me, a good day on St Martins starts by wandering from my tent to the farmhouse in my pyjamas and flip flops to pick up fresh milk for breakfast, waking up as I walk, pausing for snatches of conversation with the other campers I meet on the way or Chris and Chris, the campsite owners I've known since I was pre-school age. The rest of the morning should revolve around walk along the beach, heading from Middle Town to Higher Town for coffee and cake at Polreath, before picking up a fresh baked roll for lunch from the bakery and heading across the island to Great Bay, a wide sweep of sand running along the curve of the island, sheltered from the wind by the hill behind. There I want to spend the afternoon with a book, dipping in and out of the sea if it’s a sunny day, building elaborate sand castles when I want to indulge my inner child. On an energetic day, beach cricket is the charm. In the evening, I head to the Seven Sisters pub or the bistro at the St Martins on the Isle hotel for great seafood and even better views. The views from the terrace at the pub is something particularly special, stretching from the Eastern Isles to Tresco and the tip of Samson in the west, and out to the Bishop Rock Lighthouse. With binoculars, you can sometimes follow the gig races, depending on the race course.

Better than watching through binoculars is to adopt your island’s gig and go on the evening boat trip to follow the race up close. Rowing a pilot gig is hard work, and the races are a big deal on the islands – each year they place host to World Gig Championships. Spectating is the easy option, and it’s just as fun as cheering on your team in any other sport. Some races will end with the chance to land on another island for an hour so at night, which you can’t generally do unless you have your own boat. Of course, you don’t want to do anything, except head to the pub with the crews and the spectators for the chance to mingle and chat with all and sundry, and listen to anecdotes about how certain crews have been known to get lost in the fog whilst out training and not been sure whether they were in the safety of the sound or drifting towards the wrecking rocks of Men-a-Vaur.

If your kind of relaxation is less about books and bird-watching, and more about blowing away the cares of daily life through activity, there’s wind-surfing, kayaking, sailing, snorkelling and diving on offer. Snorkelling with the seals on the Eastern Isles is a particular treat, and with no prior experience required, anyone can do it. I went out with a small group of four or five people to find a group of seals: it wasn’t hard. Within about twenty minutes we were plopping over the side of the little dinghy like so many corks in wetsuits and flippers. The most difficult thing was working out how to use a disposable camera underwater when wearing neoprene gloves and goggles – you can’t really see what you’re shooting, and winding forward the film can become an exercise in underwater juggling. The photos aren’t important though; it’s the experience, and the memory of swimming with the seals that’s important. With these beautiful creatures gliding gracefully around you, playing hide and seek in the kelp, you find yourself not the proverbial fish out of water as a splashing monster, incapable of coordinated movement as you spin in the water trying to keep your eyes on them. I wasn’t fast enough, and ended up with one seal trying to have a nibble on my wetsuit from behind. At the time it made me jump and squeak, which isn’t a good move when you’re breathing through a snorkel; now it’s one of my most entertaining memories from Scilly.

These islands are one of the last places in Britain you can leave your front door unlocked; they are safe and the islanders are open and friendly. If you return often, you find yourself meeting and chatting to the same people year after year, islanders and visitors. You become someone other regular visitors get know as well, part of an extended, ever fluctuating community centred on the strong roots of the people who live and work on the islands and make you a part of their home during your holiday. It's hard to tear yourself away at times, but at least you get to return to that other, busier world refreshed and reattached to the simplicities that life can contain.