Ten quiet tropical islands nobody talks about yet

Every famous island was obscure once, and somewhere right now a ferry is puttering towards the next one. The ten below sit in plain sight — some minutes from major tourist hubs — yet remain gloriously under-visited, whether through awkward transfers, limited rooms or sheer good luck. Expect patchy Wi-Fi, honest prices and locals who still seem pleased to see you. Go before the beach clubs do, and resist the urge to post about it too enthusiastically.

Moored in the middle of Phang Nga Bay, half an hour by longtail from Phuket, Koh Yao Noi has somehow watched the region's tourism boom from its hammock. Rubber plantations, fishing villages and rice paddies fill the interior; the east coast looks out over the bay's famous karst towers. Hire a bicycle rather than a scooter — the island is flat, quiet and made for pedalling. November to April is driest.

Filipinos know Siquijor as the island of witches and healers, which has conveniently kept the crowds at bay. What they're missing: the triple-tiered turquoise pools of Cambugahay Falls, a century-old balete tree with a fish-spa pool at its roots and white-sand beaches like Paliton that empty by late afternoon. Ferries run from Dumaguete in under an hour. Circle the island by scooter in a day, then slow right down.

Between party-minded Gili Trawangan and sleepy Gili Meno, Gili Air gets the balance right: no motorised traffic, turtles grazing off the east-coast reef and just enough good cafés to keep the days structured. Horse carts and bicycles handle logistics; the sunset view of Bali's Mount Agung handles the evenings. Take the public boat from Bangsal on Lombok rather than pricey fast boats from Bali if you're already nearby.

Seventy kilometres off Nicaragua's Caribbean coast, Little Corn has no cars, no roads and no airstrip — you fly to Big Corn, then take a panga across open water. The reward is a Creole-speaking island of coconut groves, lobster dinners and reef diving at prices the rest of the Caribbean abandoned long ago. Electricity is rationed and nobody minds. The panga crossing is bumpy; sit at the back and keep valuables dry.

Africa's second-smallest country hides its masterpiece on its smaller island: Príncipe, a UNESCO biosphere of volcanic spires wrapped in rainforest, with beaches — Banana Beach chief among them — that once starred in Bacardi adverts yet still sit empty. Endemic birds outnumber tourists most weeks. Flights from São Tomé take thirty-five minutes and sell out, so book them before your international leg. June to September is the dry gravana season.

Ninety minutes' flight east of Mauritius, Rodrigues is what its big sister was fifty years ago: a volcanic speck inside a lagoon twice the island's size, where octopus curry is the national dish and Saturday's Port Mathurin market is the week's main event. There are no resorts to speak of — family-run guesthouses do the hosting. Walk the coastal path to Trou d'Argent beach, routinely rated the Indian Ocean's loveliest and reliably deserted.

Fiji's fourth-largest island has barely any roads — transfers happen by boat, which sets the tone. Kadavu fronts the Great Astrolabe Reef, one of the world's largest barrier reefs, where manta rays feed year-round and dive sites go unnamed for lack of visitors. A handful of eco-resorts and village homestays share the coastline with birds found nowhere else. Fly from Nadi or Suva to Vunisea, and pack soft bags for the boat.

Two volcanoes rise from Lake Nicaragua joined by a low isthmus, and that hourglass silhouette — Ometepe — hosts one of Central America's gentlest island scenes: banana farms, petroglyphs, kayaking the Istián river between the peaks and swimming in the mineral-clear Ojo de Agua pool. Ferries cross from San Jorge in an hour; motion-sensitive travellers should take the larger boat. Climb Maderas, the greener volcano, with a guide. Dry season runs November to April.

In Okinawa's far-southern Yaeyama chain, tiny Taketomi preserves a whole village of red-tiled Ryukyu houses, coral-walled lanes raked each morning and water-buffalo carts creaking between them to sanshin music. Kondoi Beach offers shallow turquoise swimming; nearby Kaiji Beach hides famous star-shaped sand. Ferries from Ishigaki take ten minutes, yet almost everyone day-trips — stay overnight and you'll have the lanes and the star-strewn sky to yourself. Visit April to June, before typhoon season peaks.

A thousand kilometres east of the Indian mainland, Havelock — officially Swaraj Dweep — rewards the two-flights-and-a-ferry effort with Radhanagar Beach, a sweep of white sand and forest regularly ranked Asia's best, plus elephant-green jungle and some of the Indian Ocean's cheapest diving. Mobile signal is patchy and nightlife means bioluminescence. Take the government ferry from Port Blair or a faster catamaran. Visit December to April, between monsoons, and book huts ahead for January.