77AUGUST / SEPTEMBER 2019 – DESTINASIAN.COMto know was: What’s on the next island?
I would have to wait more than two years to get my answer.
Private-island resorts have transformed the Maldives from a
chain of mysterious coral atolls strewn awkwardly in the path of
intercontinental ocean trade, into a globally recognized luxury des-
tination. From a sailor’s nightmare to a holidaymaker’s dream, the
very mention of the Maldives now conjures images of tall palms and
powdery white beaches, despite the fact that most people still can’t
point to it on a map. Our resort was actually just under a thousand
kilometers from Colombo, but even after you’ve located Sri Lanka
on your atlas, the nation known to its inhabitants as Dhivehi Raajje
(“the country of the Dhivehi people”) is still hard to spot, with a
combined 298 square kilometers of land making up less than one
percent of its area. The official number of islands in the constantly
evolving (and eroding) archipelago is 1,192, with those leased to pri-
vate resorts rapidly approaching 150, and accommodating 1.5 million
tourists each year. Few of these travelers will experience life in the
187 island villages of Dhivehi Raajje, whose entire population num-
bers little more than 350,000.
As I gazed across the channel to the secluded islands opposite
the Six Senses, they seemed a world away. Despite having spent
years writing about the Maldives’ manic politics and majestic tour-
ism from its congested capital, Male, it suddenly dawned on me that
I hadn’t really seen Dhivehi Raajje either.EARLIER THAT YEAR, in March 2016, I had gotten married to
Aishath Naj, a Maldivian photographer from the southernmost of
the 26 atolls, Addu. Having already enjoyed a number of blissful
trips to Naj’s home island, it had become increasingly difficult each
time to return to the urban chaos of the capital. Within weeks of the
wedding, our growing desire to capture the culture hidden away in
the atolls led to the launch of our blog, which we called Two Thou-
sand Isles. The name was taken from one of the few travelogues to
have ever been written about the country, by a fellow Briton named
T.W. Hockly in the 1930s, back when the islands had yet to be con-
clusively counted. By the time we borrowed the title, the Maldives
had long since been quantified, yet the true
qualities of its far-flung island communities
remained in the shadow of their luxurious
neighbors. While married life had started with
the supposed dream job—man and wife pro-
ducing resort reviews—by the turn of the year
we decided to relocate to the real raajje, intentTHE RESORT WAS SENSATIONAL. Nestled in the nook of an an-
cient coral atoll, adrift in the middle of the Indian Ocean, it offered
fathomless luxury a thousand kilometers away from the rest of
world. We ate breakfast over the reef, lunched at the sunken pool-
side bar, and enjoyed dinner by candlelight on the beach, stopping
shamelessly at the all-day ice-cream bar in between. At the spa, I
consulted with an in-house Ayurvedic therapist and had my bio-
markers analyzed before cycling back through the perfectly mani-
cured oasis to our overwater villa. Inside, the turquoise lagoon was
never out of sight: beneath the hammock, from the shower, even
from the toilet. Best of all, it was entirely complimentary, as I was
writing a review for a Maldives travel website.
As our wonderful hosts at Six Senses Laamu showed us around
their paradisiacal playground, however, there was something else
constantly vying for my attention. Somewhere just beyond the end-
less breakfast-buffet horizon, small boats were being swallowed up
by a busy little harbor. Over the shoulder of water sports instructors,
languid plumes of smoke drifted up from an otherwise dormant
isle, just out of reach. As I jotted down notes about the resort’s fabu-
lous room options or the 42nd flavor of ice cream, all I really wanted
Opposite: Tourists
may be drawn
to the Maldives’
gamut of water
sports, but for
young locals,
football is the
pastime of choice.