It’s the turn of the century: high summer and I’ve rented a compound of dammusi on Pantelleria. For the past week, friends and colleagues have been drifting in and out, local wine flowing and the pool scene full of afternoon games, tumbling routines (how limber I was then) and late-night nudie dips. Rustic architecture and cloudless days aside, the best feature on the property was the boxy little 4WD white Panda parked under the sunshades. While the staff did a good job keeping plates and glasses full, there were moments when you found yourself looking for any excuse to have a change of scenery. “Anyone need any cigarettes? Do we want the weekend newspapers? Running low on SPF 10? Anyone care to join me?” I asked late on a Saturday afternoon. “I’ll join you!” said Anne, jumping up and taking a quick dip in the pool. “I’ll meet you at the car.”Ten minutes later, I was cranking the little Panda into gear, spinning around in the driveway – and we were off. We sped down the gravel track, dust blowing in the windows, and Anne was fiddling around trying to find some music. “Do you think we’ll pick up Radio Tunis, Radio Free Libya?” asked Anne, static crackling from the speakers. By the time we hit the first village and poked our head into an alimentari for some basics, we’d found some tunes that sounded vaguely Maghrebi and the afternoon was set. We drove up to the Nato listening post and decided not to take any photos, we raced past Giorgio Armani’s lush set-up and spotted a few properties that we thought might be worth checking out for a future summer break. The Panda took a little getting used to but after a few tight turns, some open road and near misses with community buses and trucks, I’d found my way with the slightly baggy steering and relaxed braking. Armed with little more than a wedge of lire, towels, good eyewear and some mags and newspapers, we picked up in town. We agreed that we could happily just keep driving, save for the fact that the island was rather small and we wouldn’t get very far. “How amazing would it be to jump on the ferry, get off on Sicily, tour the island, get another ferry and head north up through Puglia?” I asked. On the drive home, I think that we both had thoughts about the dream of disappearing, albeit for a short time, and just relying on instinct: the feeling of invincibility and simplicity afforded by the little sun-bleached Panda.I still look back on that summer as a slightly golden age, when newspapers and radio were still essential for keeping abreast of things in a remote place such as Pantelleria. Mobile reception was rubbish and digital distractions were on a horizon far, far beyond the Western Med. For sure, there are many disconnected corners of the world where this might be possible. But do these luxurious outposts still have enough connectivity to fly in weekend newspapers from distant lands or ambitious local printers who see the value in printing special holiday editions for visitors who keep on seeing mastheads from the Netherlands, France, Germany and Sweden? I returned to Pantelleria about 12 years ago and while the island managed to deliver again, the terms were slightly different; the crowd new but the setting still faintly exotic. There was even a Panda in the driveway but in a more rounded form in keeping with the times. As I’m at that point in the spring/summer planning cycle, I’m thinking about where I could go that still has a disconnected charm, where locals are at ease with their daily rhythm and immune to the concerns of those in supposedly more evolved economies. If you have any thoughts where such a Shangri-La might still exist, I’m all ears. You can find me at tb@monocle.com and you can be sure that any tips will only be shared with the like-minded and appreciative.