But you may have a different goal in mind. Perhaps your life’s dream is to put as much distance as possible between yourself and a property that bears the president’s last name. If that’s your goal, we have to do a little math.
There’s a thing called a Voronoi diagram which, simplified for our purposes, defines regions based upon how far they are from other points. The upshot is that the boundaries of the regions define places that are the farthest distance between two or more points. Using the mapping program QGIS, we can create Voronoi regions around Trump’s properties.
If you want to escape Trump’s presence permanently, we’ll look for a place where the Voronoi lines take you as far away as possible from Trump properties.
Based on the map above, it may seem like the best place is somewhere in northern Russia, or, perhaps, in the outer regions of Australia. But it isn’t. The best place on Earth, the place farthest from any of these properties, is right here:
(This is excluding Antarctica, which we assume is not somewhere that you’d like to live.)
The closest Trump property from that location is 4,100 miles away, the golf club in Dubai. (There are actually two golf clubs in Dubai; this is the more western one.)
There is, in fact, the perfect location for those adventurous enough to seek it out: a small island off the coast of Angola that the Voronoi passes directly through. It is called Baia dos Tigres, once a sandy spit of land near the Angola-Namibia border that became an island in the 1960s when a heavy storm washed away the connection to the shore. (The “Tigres” refers to the striped pattern formed by darker and lighter sand.) The storm also washed away the pipeline that was providing the island with fresh water, leaving the small population in the town of São Martinho dos Tigres having to ship in water from the mainland. When civil war broke out in Angola in the 1970s, the town was abandoned.
And now it awaits you.
The town comes complete with an abandoned hospital, abandoned church, abandoned housing, abandoned industry — mostly fishmeal and fish oil — and an abandoned movie theater. In his September 2014 look at the town, reporter Dolf Els explains that a lot of the buildings have peeling paint and holes in the walls, but his photographs of the area depict an eminently livable space, if you don’t mind a lot of sand and having not-a-lot of potable water.
Getting there is tricky. I reached out to three tourism companies, none of which provides packages taking people to Angola. Those answering my queries were generally gracious in explaining why they avoid the country, but all clearly were echoing a similar theme: You may not want to be a casual tourist in Angola. The State Department is blunt: “Militant groups have indicated their intention to continue to conduct attacks on foreigners and occasionally attack police and Angolan Armed Forces convoys and outposts.” Also: “Armed assailants have killed some victims of muggings, robberies, and carjackings, which occur frequently in all areas of the country.”
Happily, you’ll be safely ensconced in your abandoned town on a desert island. The main street in the town doubles as an airstrip for a small plane, which is good news. But if you lack access to a small plane — a fair assumption, given that you’ve made your way to southern Africa, you’ll need to get there by land. One route, the one Els took, involves starting at the Flamingo Lodge outside of the town of Namibe on the southern Angolan coast. From there, you travel south along the coast, along a stretch of what’s called the “doodsakker.” That trip looks like this.
You’ll need to bring a boat with you, of course.
But! Once you’re there, you’ve escaped. There’s no cellular phone service in the area, according to OpenSignal, meaning that you’re cut off from everything. No Internet. No communications. Just you, a lot of salt water and a lot of fish. And the nearest possible Trump-brand property is farther away than anywhere else on Earth.
For some, this truly describes paradise.