Getting out here is half the fun and most of the negotiation. From Boulbinet (you'll also see it spelled Boloobinnet) in the Kaloum district, small motorised pirogues run throughout the day toward Kassa, the nearest island, a crossing of about twenty minutes. Boats leave often, filling up as passengers gather. A public ferry also sails to Kassa from the harbour on the far side of Kaloum, though it runs infrequently and on its own schedule. Reaching the smaller islands takes more patience: either wait at Boulbinet for enough fellow travellers to share a boat, or hire one outright - expect to bargain, with private charters running upward of 250,000 Guinean francs. Pack what you need; the islands hold only small villages, not supply runs.

The archipelago's three main islands each have their own character. Kassa is the closest and easiest, the one most weekenders aim for. The smallest sits in between the two larger islands, a green sliver glimpsed from Conakry. Tamara, the farthest out, is crowned by the Île Tamara Lighthouse and carries the bones of an old colonial-era prison - a quiet, weather-beaten reminder that these gentle islands have a heavier past. For most visitors, though, the appeal is gloriously simple: forested interiors to wander, paths between fishing villages, and beaches that on a weekday you may have largely to yourself.

There is not much to do here, and that is precisely the point. People come to swim, to lie on the sand, to wander between villages and fall into conversation with the islanders or with Conakry residents who decamp here for the weekend. The food question answers itself: this is fishing country, so seafood is the obvious and best choice - fresh, often grilled simply over coals, eaten with your feet near the water. The pace is the local pace. You eat when the catch is ready and you swim when the heat builds, and the afternoon stretches out as long as you let it.

Most visitors come for a single day and ride the last pirogue back to the city. But the islands reward those who linger past sunset, when the day-trippers have gone and the beaches empty out completely. A handful of modest hotels offer rooms, typically in the range of 300,000 to 500,000 Guinean francs a night - enough to wake to the sound of the surf rather than Conakry's traffic. There is little nightlife and less to organise; the islands offer rest, not spectacle. For anyone worn down by the capital's intensity, that is the whole, considerable point - a few kilometres of water buying a different world entirely.