Honeymoon for One in the Maldives

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Lets chase those island screensavers, enter the world of the paradise wall calendar, taste the soft milk of the tropical coconut. At university, I had once torn the photo pages of an old calendar and plastered the images over my desk. Images of crystal white seas mirrored by deep blue skies, coconut trees flirting with silky white beaches. There might be a hammock, a yacht, or a sunset, but whatever the variation, the symbol remained the same. This is freedom. This is warmth. This is success. Sitting at my desk, weighted by the pressure of an assignment, I couldn’t feel the intense heat of the sun, the life-draining humidity, the mosquitoes, or sand between my toes. Instead I could simply gaze up every few seconds and embrace paradise, the Garden of Eden, a longing to find myself at home on a tropical beach, even though I grew up in a city surrounded by mine dumps. The title of the calendar was “Islands of the Maldives,” and 14 years later I’m still working on an assignment. Only this time, I get to leave the desk, rip apart the fabric of my cosmic dream wall, and finally put myself in the picture.

The Republic of Maldives consists of 1200 coral islands, the smallest country in Asia, the flattest country on the planet. With only 200 of the islands actually inhabited, and with the highest land point being just 2.3m, word on the Indian Ocean is that rising sea levels will result in Maldivians being the first environmental refugees. One People, Under Water. In the meantime, it’s a strictly conservative Islamic country that bans tourists from bringing in any other form of non-Muslim religious worship, dogs (deemed unclean), pornography, or alcohol. All major credit cards are however accepted. Since hotels are known to mark-up liquor up to 2000%, I bought some rum at the duty free in Manila only to find it confiscated by Maldivian customs at the airport. I could retrieve the bottle before my return flight, a small consolation knowing that Maldivian custom officials are not getting loaded the way female US airport security guards only wear expensive perfume. If you come to paradise, you play by its rules. Foreigners in the capital of Male are only permitted to buy alcohol with a special permit, and limited to 60 cans of beer a month. But catch a sea taxi or powerful speedboat to one of the luxury resorts, and anything goes. Fortunately, that’s exactly where I would be going, leaving Male minutes on arrival, and bee-lining it from the airport to the Soneva Gili, one of the world’s most luxurious villa resorts.

Oh yes, there are perks to this job. Jetting around the world, one exotic adventure after another, endless gourmet meals, a wealth of experience (says a fellow travel writer I met in Costa Rica: “experience never paid my rent.”) No doubt this was a dream assignment, the chance to sample life within a $2000 a night ocean villa, happily attended to by an army of resort staff in its immaculate surroundings. After the beaches of the Philippines and the service of the Grand Hotel in Taipei, you can bet I would not be easily seduced. This would not be a case of a teenage girl hanging around with a college grad on a motorbike (or more accurately, a backpacking travel bum hanging around a 5 star luxury resort). See I pay attention to detail, notice the quirks, the funny things about the other side of the coin, the surface that shines with wealth and privilege. Well, it’s a few minutes after our late night arrival, and you can call me Tiffany, and watch me giggle on the back of the older boy’s Kawasaki. Oh my!

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