Neil Island

It doesn’t buzz. It doesn’t even hum. The waves don’t crash — they whisper. The sun doesn’t rise — it gradually unfurls. Even the trees appear to breathe more leisurely here.

I went in looking for a brief respite. I departed feeling like I’d stopped the world.

And it was just what I required

Finding My Stay — A Cottage That Felt Like a Pause

I wasn’t searching for a resort. I wasn’t even searching for comfort.
I was searching for quiet. For something that seemed to feel more like a corner of the island than a destination to check into.

With cheQin.ai, I discovered a tiny bamboo hut hidden away close to Laxmanpur Beach. It was easy — I simply typed in what I required: quiet, near the sea, and locally owned. What I got wasn’t some high-end accommodation. It was more. It was authentic.

The cottage was woven bamboo, sloping roof, two chairs on the veranda, and just large enough for one bed and one window which opened directly into green.

A Beach That Belonged to No One

Laxmanpur Beach is less famous than Radhanagar or Havelock’s shores, but that’s its gift.

Each morning, I’d walk there barefoot, guided by the sound of the waves rather than any signpost. The sand was soft and wide, and most times, completely empty.

I recall rising one morning with no one in sight but a fisherman repairing his net way out in the shallows. The sky didn’t blast with color. It simply changed gradually — pink, gold, soft blue.

There was no throng oohing at the sight. No phones raised.
Only the sea, and me.

Living the Day, Slowly

There’s little to “do” on Neil Island. And that’s what makes it unique.

I spent hours just strolling under palm trees, reading on the porch, watching crabs burrow small holes in the sand. I met a girl from around here who made handmade shell bracelets — she didn’t offer to sell them to me. We just sat in the shade and we chatted about the weather, and how the sky here never seemed to be the same two days consecutively.

Food was plain. Rice, dal, fresh fish, occasionally cut fruits and black tea. All tasted as if prepared without rush.

I did not check the time. The island informed me when it was morning, when it was too hot, and when it was time to sleep.

No Schedule, No Wi-Fi, No Problem

There wasn’t much of a signal at my place. The Wi-Fi was occasionally functional, but I didn’t check.

I didn’t miss my apps. I didn’t miss updates.

What I received instead were peaceful evenings, the hum of the ocean in the background, and fireflies slowly blinking in the bushes around the porch. I wrote in my journal more than I had in years.

There was room — to think, to not think, to simply be.

When It Was Time to Leave

I departed Neil Island with sand adhering to my shoes, but a far less burdened mind. The return felt odd — noisier, quicker, more populated.

But I had something softer to bring with me: the murmur of the sea at sunrise, the wind through bamboo walls, the generosity of a place that never hurried me.

The accommodation I discovered on cheQin.ai wasn’t a reservation — it was the sort of place that keeps your quiet and returns it softly.

Final Thoughts

Neil Island does not impress. It gives you peace instead.
It does not present you with activities. It provides you with time to slow down, observe clouds drift by, and learn to breathe slowly again.

If sometimes you think that the world is turning around too fast, go somewhere where it doesn’t at all.
Discover a bamboo hut. Let the sound of the waves fill your ears.
And let the island inform you when it’s time to go again.

Unplugged and Unrushed: Slowing Down on Neil Island