I'm attending a vision conference on Kihnu Island, listening to presentations on fish, wind turbines, wind energy and much more. I'm here because I was invited to speak about indigenous peoples. And I have to finish this piece before I catch the ferry. Honestly, it's a shame to leave, because there's a party tonight. Untsakad and other folk music groups are playing. Kihnu always throws a good party.

I first ended up in Kihnu years ago, completely by chance. Mare Mätas, once described to me as "the face of Kihnu in Estonia," happened to attend one of my seminars. Somehow we hit it off and she invited me to Kihnu — so one dark winter night, I came.

Back then, the only thing I really knew about Kihnu was the stereotypical image of women in red striped skirts riding motorcycles with sidecars. And there's actually an interesting story behind those motorcycles. I recommend reading Mare's book, "Kihnu mootorrataste lugu" ("The Story of Kihnu Motorcycles"), which began as her master's thesis.

Motorcycles first arrived in Kihnu in the 1950s. At first, they were just ordinary bikes used by a few men to get around. Over the decades, motorcycles with sidecars became increasingly popular because they were practical for transporting all sorts of things — from groceries to fishing nets to the beach. At some point, these sidecar motorcycles became a symbol of Kihnu. That same image of women in red skirts zipping along sandy roads even made it onto the covers of prestigious magazines. Today, though, it's mostly young men riding around on those old Soviet IŽ bikes — you can still see quite a few of them here.

It all speaks to the adaptability of tradition. The sidecar motorcycle isn't some ancient custom, yet it has become an inseparable part of Kihnu's image around the world. Documentary filmmakers from Italy, France, the UK and other parts of Europe come to capture this image.

But Kihnu is much more than that. It's a tight-knit community with a strong identity, relatively affluent (many local men work on international ships), and it boasts rugged natural beauty and the salty air of a coastal region. Every time I come here, I discover something new. And I've become increasingly convinced that Kihnu stands in total contrast to the stereotypical idea of a rundown, alcohol-ravaged backwater.

At the Kihnu Vision Conference, Lenno Uusküla — chief economist at Luminor and associate professor of microeconomics at the University of Tartu — opened his talk by saying, "Estonia lacks vision." Uusküla pointed out the result of this absence of vision: for the wealth it has, Estonia is too expensive. But that's another matter.

When it comes to visions and regions in Estonia, the situation varies. A good example is the contrast between Setomaa and the Peipsiääre region. Over a decade ago, Setomaa was already skillfully tapping into every kind of funding — national and EU money alike — and used it to build and modernize quite a bit. Tourist farms, bus stops, bandstands — many of them bore signs stating the project was funded with European Union support. Meanwhile, in the Old Believer villages along Lake Peipus, I saw neither such signs, nor new buildings, nor upgraded infrastructure.

It all comes down to this: the state and condition of any given peripheral area depends on visionaries and their visions. Some regions have them; others don't. Kihnu has been seeking new visions through its vision conference for the second year in a row.

Kihnu is a good place to reflect on certain seemingly eternal and unchanging truths. All that right-wing, conservative talk about tradition and the threats posed by foreign ideas. On Kihnu, people still talk about tradition — and they do so in the Kihnu dialect.

At the same time, Kihnu is as modern as a place can be. As it was emphasized to me, Kihnu residents have always embraced new and modern tools and technologies, and they've always been quick to seize new opportunities to earn a living.

That, in fact, is how you keep traditions and a deeply rooted culture alive. History has shown that communities or peoples that become too insular and rigid in their ways tend to decline. Yes, there are successful examples of self-isolation, like the conservative Amish communities in the U.S., but more often than not, such stories don't end well.

In short: go to Kihnu and see it for yourself. Most Estonians actually don't know the country's outlying areas very well — or even some of the more remote spots in central Estonia. The country isn't that big, and it's perfectly doable to explore a few less central places over the summer (or in other seasons, for that matter). The Kihnu Vision Conference is over for now, and time will tell whether this year's gathering yielded visions that will be put into action.

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