The Italian paradise island with no roads, no phone signal — and almost no tourists

Palmarola is a beautiful, rugged island in the Tyrrhenian Sea, off mainland Italy's western shores. (Paolo Graziosi/iStockphoto/Getty Images via CNN Newsource)

Palmarola has no town and no roads. There is no electricity, no mobile phone coverage and no ferry terminal. On most days, the only way to reach the island is by small boat from Ponza, five miles away across the Tyrrhenian Sea.

It lies west of Rome, close enough that it can be reached in a day trip but far enough removed so that the Italian capital’s traffic, crowds and constant motion feel like a neighboring planet. While Rome’s forums, fountains and piazzas pull in millions of visitors, Palmarola remains largely absent from itineraries. Many tourists never hear of it. Many Romans never go.

What draws the people who do make the crossing is not infrastructure or convenience, but the absence of both. Palmarola rises sharply from the water in volcanic cliffs, broken by sea caves and narrow inlets. There is a single beach, a network of footpaths leading inland, and little sign of modern development.

Reaching the island from Rome involves a train to the port of Anzio, a ferry to Ponza and then negotiating with a fisherman or private boat owner for a ride in both directions. With no permanent residents, Palmarola is a destination shaped more by weather, geology and seasons than by tourism.

There is one restaurant, O’Francese, that serves fresh fish and rents out a limited number of basic rooms carved into old fishermen’s grottoes along the cliffs. Guests book months in advance and stay on a full-board basis, with nightly rooms starting at 150 euros, or $175.

Maria Andreini, a 44-year-old remote IT worker from Treviso in northern Italy, visits Palmarola each summer with her husband, Mario, a bank manager, and their 15-year-old son, Patrizio.

“There’s so much, and so little, to do,” she says. “We spend our days snorkeling and suntanning on the restaurant’s front beach, made of pink coral pebbles. At night we lie on the beach and stargaze, we walk around with torches. At dawn the owners wake us up to take us on a hiking trip to the isle’s highest peak to admire the sunrise. It’s stunning.”

Ancient ruins

Footpaths lead inland from the beach, climbing toward the ruins of a medieval monastery and the remains of a prehistoric settlement.

“For dinner, we eat fresh fish from the net. For an entire week, we feel as if we’re living a primeval, castaway experience, a bit like being the Flintstones family on holiday,” says Andreini, who advises visitors to bring hiking boots along with beachwear.

She says she has traveled widely, including to the Maldives, but finds Palmarola unmatched. Its scenery is “spell-binding,” she adds, “and it’s in my backyard — Italy. Hard to believe we boast such a fantastic place.”

Beyond the main beach, the island’s coastline is best explored by dinghy. The cliffs form sea stacks, tunnels, and grottoes, and the surrounding waters attract snorkelers, canoeists, and scuba divers. The only animals visitors are likely to encounter on land are wild goats, which shelter among the low palms that give the island its name.

“It’s a trip back to prehistoric times when cave men flocked here in search of the precious jet-black obsidian stone, still visible in the cliff’s black streaks, used to make weapons and utensils,” local historian Silverio Capone tells CNN. “Very little has changed since then in the landscape.”

Capone lives on Ponza, the nearest island, and the jumping off point for Palmarola, which he visits regularly, sometimes dropping off his teenage son for a wild camping weekend with his friends. He says the island has long remained unsettled.

“Palmarola has always been a desert isle, that’s what makes it special,” he says. “The Ancient Romans used it as a maritime strategic look-out post in the Tyrrhenian Sea for their imperial fleet, but they never colonized it.”

A sacred ritual

The island’s ownership dates to the 18th century, when Neapolitan families sent to colonize Ponza were allowed to divide Palmarola among themselves. Today, it is privately owned, split into numerous parcels held by families still based on Ponza.

Up on the cliffs, small caves have been converted into simple private dwellings, some painted white and blue. Fishermen historically used them as shelters during storms, and many owners still keep them stocked with supplies in case weather prevents a return to Ponza.

A small white chapel dedicated to Saint Silverius stands atop a sea stack. Silverius, a sixth-century pope, was exiled to Palmarola and is believed to have died there.

Each June, fishermen sail from Ponza to Palmarola for the feast of San Silverio, carrying flowers to the chapel and parading a wooden statue of the saint by boat. Participants take turns climbing steep rock steps to the highest niche, where the main altar is located, to pray and meditate.

“It’s a sacred ritual. We pray to him every single day,” Capone says. “Many Ponza men, like myself, are named after the saint, who’s our patron. We believe his spirit still inhabits the waters of Palmarola.”

Local legends tell of sailors caught in storms who prayed to Saint Silverius and were saved.

“An apparition of the saint, rising out of the waters, rescued them, guiding the sailors safely back to Palmarola, where they survived for weeks in the grotto shelters,” says Capone.