As night falls, Captain Farouq guides his ferry away from the illuminated terminal of Bandar Abbas, steering into the darkness of the Strait of Hormuz. His vessel, carrying roughly 100 passengers—about half its usual capacity—navigates through waters marked by the steady, rhythmic beeps of the radar. For the 39-year-old captain, who has spent 18 years on these routes, the strait has served as a second home, though the journey from the mainland’s Haqqani Port to Hormuz Island has transformed significantly since the US-Israeli conflict with Iran began on February 28. Its bright lights flickering in the distance, capt Farouq turns the wheel as he watches the ferry terminal of Bandar Abbas grow smaller. Farouq, 39, sits comfortably in his cabin, overlooking the pitch black horizon as he sails towards Hormuz Island, a short commute of about half an hour from the Iranian mainland’s Haqqani Port, for 340,000 toman, about £1. He is relaxed and smiles as he pulls into the deeper waters. Hassan, 28, cafe owner – has run a cafe on the island for eight years.
Farouq notes that while crossings continue, they have become increasingly perilous. During the passage, he often hears distant explosions, leaving him to wonder whether they stem from air defenses or direct military strikes. Inside the cabin, passengers appear to have adapted to this environment of tension, sharing tea or resting amid the humid, heavy air. The economic toll is clear; Iranian government reports indicate that 760 fishing and commercial vessels have been damaged by strikes on the southern port, and Farouq himself has had his own ferry repaired after suffering shrapnel damage while docked. Passengers say they have gotten used to the sounds too, and, to an extent, the war itself, inside the ferry. They drink tea and smoke cigarettes. The air thick, the windows fogged with condensation, it’s hot and humid.
The strategic importance of the strait remains high, with Iranian forces frequently targeting shipping vessels. In the first week of October alone, authorities recorded at least 12 attacks on oil and gas tankers, a development that pushed global oil prices beyond $100 a barrel. With speculation growing that President Donald Trump might consider further strikes before the US midterm elections, local residents remain in a state of uncertainty. However, for the people of Hormozgan province, the strait is more than a geopolitical flashpoint; it is their primary economic artery. According to in the first week of October alone, at least 12 attacks were, Against oil, liquefied natural gas and liquefied petroleum gas tankers, sending oil prices back above $100 a barrel.
The conflict has severely disrupted traditional livelihoods. Anvar Sadat, a 38-year-old fisherman based in Bandar Abbas, reports that business has plummeted as safety concerns restrict their ability to navigate as freely as they once did. He notes that several colleagues have lost their lives in the violence. Similarly, Abdul Salam, a 45-year-old garbage collector, describes the period at the height of the conflict as “hell,” with the beaches near the port becoming dangerously volatile, forcing him to halt his work to stay safe. According to anvar Sadat, a 38-year-old fisher who works at Bandar Abbas’s fish market,, Business has slowed and that making ends meet has become increasingly difficult. Fishers in Bandar Abbas selling their catch on the street. Ports have come under attack, and many people fled Bandar Abbas in the early months of the war for smaller, more remote villages in search of safety, fishers can no longer venture as far out. The beaches, particularly those near the port, were among the most dangerous places during the height of the war, he says, describing heavy attacks that forced him to stop working almost entirely to avoid the risk. Writers and painters find space to work, and life moves slower, artists and creatives moved here from bigger cities in search of peace; women swim in bathing suits.
On Hormuz Island, known historically as a creative sanctuary for artists and free spirits, the atmosphere remains distinct. Yashar, a 35-year-old surfer, describes the island as a place of “love and magic,” where roughly 8,000 residents strive to maintain their unique sense of freedom. While the army has imposed restrictions in the north, life in other areas largely persists. Residents generally avoid the militarized zones to minimize friction with security forces, continuing their daily routines despite the occasional sound of explosions echoing across the water. Some nap, while others entertain their children. The roughly 8,000 residents are trying to support each other, and to preserve the sense of freedom that has set the island apart, he adds. Life here has changed little, Yashar says, although the war has brought some new restrictions, and a handful of attacks, mostly on infrastructure. Also known as Rainbow accommodation, is one of Hormuz’s attractions, the Majara hotel.
The local economy, however, has suffered a severe downturn due to the collapse of the tourism sector.
Omran, a 45-year-old tour guide, explains that guesthouses, cafes, and popular spots like the Majara hotel remain shuttered as visitors have stopped arriving. According to “The tourism sector has taken the biggest hit,”, Omran, a 45-year-old tour guide, adding that he prefers to go by his first name only. “Guesthouses and homestays remain closed, as do restaurants and many cafes.
Despite these hardships, many residents refuse to leave the island.
From the higher elevations of the island’s unique landscape, locals can sometimes see the mountains of Khasab in Oman or observe stranded tankers in the strait.
When asked about the possibility of abandoning her lifelong home at the start of the war, 67-year-old painter Khaleh Kaniz simply laughed, emphasizing her resolve to stay in the place that has defined her life. Here on the coast, it has barely felt as though the war has stopped, even with a fragile ceasefire in place.
