The train station

 The island was so small that you could see to all of its coasts if you stood on Mount Pasquale (laughing named as, while it was definitely higher than the surrounding terrain, it was barely more than a hill; a pimple in the local geography).  The land was mostly scrub grass and stunted bushes over dry, friable soil and soft rock.  To the west side of the island there were the remains of trees, cut down for fuel at first, and then because they got in the way of the rich people's houses having views of the sea, and on the east side of the island the erosion was worse.  While the island had no real hills or mountain, it certainly had the eastern cliffs where the sea was eating away at the land and pulling it down.  Every year another few metres of land crashed down onto the rocky, detritus-strewn beaches below and killed an unwary tourist or a bored local.

The capital city, which was in fact the only city on the island, but the locals (in an attempt to seem more continental) called all their village-sized settlements cities, sat astride a natural inlet that served as the island's port and docks.  Due to the deep waters around the island ships could make anchor here that couldn't get closer to the mainland so there was a busy trade in smaller ships ferrying goods across.  The buildings were tall for the island there, sometimes reaching 17 stories while across the rest of the barren landscape they rarely reached more than 8.  The winds, having no trees to break them up, scoured the whole island regularly and tore rooves away and threatened to topple any building that reached too high.

Central in the capital city was the main tourist attraction and the oddest sight imaginable for an island you could walk across in half a day: the Grand Regatta Train Station.  No train had ever left it, and the tracks that emerged from it failed spectacularly only two hundred metres away where the ground had opened up during a rainstorm and formed a gully that swallowed the tracks, eight cars and two entire families.  The station was a wonder of architectural madness though: grand stone pillars flanked every entrance and exit and though the carvings were already weathered to the point of imperceptibility the pictures of them after they were finished were museum-worthy.  Inside no expense had been spared: marble floors had been imported from the continent, glass-blowers had been brought it to design and make the six-metre high windows that looked out over poverty-ravaged and sewage-strewn streets, and luxury woods from half a world away had been imported to fashion the ticket kiosks and help-desks that were now silent and empty.

A single train sat in the station, never to leave, and had been converted into a luxury eight-bed mini-hotel for the richest of the tourists; spending their days on a train on an island where the only possible destination was into the sea.