Maldives Luxury Resorts by Cynthia Rosenfeld

“Hands up, baby hands up. Give me your heart baby, gimme gimme your heart…” A roomful of people belting out Club Med’s enduring theme song shakes the ground as I make my way to the bar at Club Med Kani. It’s my first night here, and I savour the surroundings, from the soft, putty-coloured sand under my feet to the star-speckled night sky.

It’s also a homecoming of sorts for me. A decade ago, in my former life as director of development for Club Med’s Asia operations, I travelled throughout these islands to find a new home for the French brand’s local outpost. Its first resort here, Club Med Faru, had been located near the Maldivian capital of Male on land earmarked for an extension of the international airport, and the government had politely requested us to move.

In those days, most resorts in the Maldives were relatively simple, thatched-roof affairs. Each claimed its own private fushi (Dhivehi for ‘island’), and each seemed monopolized by a particular nationality of guest. I would hear only German spoken on one island then hop a speedboat to another where “buongiorno!” rang out in the salty air.

While those tanned tourists snorkelled and sunbathed, tourism officials back in Male lectured me that the optimal strategy for their Indian Ocean republic of 1,190 coral islands would be to develop resorts farther and farther away from the North Male Atoll, the archipelago’s geographic and political centre. I argued against banishing Club Med to the Maldives’ backwaters; who, I asked them, would want to spend countless hours on a flight from Europe or North America only to have to climb onboard a seaplane for yet another commute?

Clearly, I had failed to appreciate what the Maldives was destined to become. Fast forward 10 years, and I am back on an even more enviable assignment: to catalogue the newest luxuries among the dozens of resorts that stretch as far as those very atolls I once disregarded. But first I need to convince the customs officer in Male to let me in.

“You are travelling alone?” he asks with an incredulity that makes me wonder if I am the first person to ever do so. “No one should come to the Maldives by themselves. You will need two sets of eyes to appreciate its beauty.” I slink toward the baggage claim, hoping no one has overheard this backhanded welcome.

My mood elevates when I am met by two pigtailed young Thai women, Ploy and Tip, who scoop me up at the airport with signature Club Med enthusiasm. During the 45-minute speedboat transfer to Kanifinholu Island, I close my eyes as we slam into one wave after another, squealing “Are we almost there?” Ploy tells me that the weather in the Maldives has become unpredictable, and I learn later that over the past two years, monsoon rains during the lucrative high season months of November and December have sent a tremor of anxiety through the local tourism industry, which is still recovering from the 2004 tsunami.

Such sombre thoughts have no place at Club Med Kani, where the bar opens at 9 am and an activities signboard lists 20 different diversions, from aqua-aerobics to wine tasting. I follow Yumi, a Japanese G.O. (gentil organizateur), to one of the resort’s 77 new overwater bungalows. I am impressed by the high ceilinged accommodations, especially the bathtub, which looks out over the lagoon. I’m even more impressed by the fashionable turnout that night at the resort’s main restaurant. Sheik, the Maldivian chef, may be presiding over a Mexican buffet, but all I hear is “Oh la la!” from model-thin French women in diaphanous Dior mini-dresses.

After dinner, the catwalk crowd gravitates to the waterfront bar for Disco Night, where the groove is distinctly Parisian. I watch what I eventually judge to be the Maldives’ most attractive throng boogie the night away until jet lag sends me off to bed.
Early the next morning, Japanese honeymooners are already out in force as I make my way back to Male for the 75-minute yacht ride to the One&Only at Reethi Rah. Rumour has it that this 44-hectare resort island, which opened just after the tsunami, cost upward of US$200 million to develop; if true, it looks like money well spent.

Spread across a dozen beaches are 130 thatched-roof villas designed by Jean-Michel Gathy, a Frenchman who cut his teeth at Amanresorts. I’m met at the jetty by a butler named Yoosuf, who bundles me into a golf buggy for the quick ride to my room (where my check-in is accompanied by a foot massage). Never mind that all the overwater villas are booked and I’ve had to settle for beachside accommodation; the space is exquisite, and the bathroom sports a huge terrazzo tub. But my secret mission here is to have a pedicure: the famed French chiropodist Bastien Gonzalez runs a clinic at the Reethi Rah’s sprawling spa, and I’m in dire need of some fancy footwork. Erwan Simon, Gonzalez’s man on the scene, does not disappoint, gently attacking my toenails with his bespoke buffer and, for added shine, a dental drill.

The next afternoon, I drag myself away from a lavish brunch buffet and head to the South Male Atoll, to visit the Thai-owned, family-oriented Anantara Resort. I’m just in time for an afternoon snorkel along the house reef, where I come nose-to-nose with a school of Oriental sweetlips. Later, as twilight engulfs the resort, I’m equally enthralled by the main pool, which is illuminated by a constellation of fibre optics. Dripping wet after a quick swim, I head back to my silk-filled bungalow to raid the Maldives’ best stocked mini-bar. I devour Margaret River feta, herb-marinated olives, and a block of Lindt chocolate before turning to the wine chiller and popping open a bottle of Moët & Chandon.

At the Hilton Maldives (soon to be re-branded as the Conrad Maldives Rangali Island), I check into the Spa Retreat, a “resort-within-a-resort” designed by Thai architect Lek Bunnag. Opened two years ago, its 21 overwater villas, which have a strict no-child policy, have cathedral ceilings and walls of glass and weathered wood. They also feature their own massage rooms, for those too seduced by their chambers to pad across the jetty to the spa.

The Hilton boasts plenty of gastronomic attractions, including Ithaa, a kitschy underwater restaurant, and the black-sand-strewn Wine Bar, home to no fewer than 101 different cheeses. But I’m just as happy dining on fresh fruit and fish at Mandhoo, the Retreat’s own restaurant, between visits to the spa. The latter is shaped like a long, cool tunnel, a design meant to symbolize the journey from urban stress to Zen idyll.

In a glass-floored treatment room one afternoon, a Thai therapist covers me with a pineapplepapaya scrub that could have doubled as jam on my morning’s organic wheat toast. Tara Hanrahan, the Australian spa director, tells me that “people are becoming more experimental with their spa-going, especially men.” Maybe so, but walking back to my room, I spot one potentially startling design flaw: from the spa’s jetty, I can see my neighbour lounging naked in his villa.

The next day I return to Male and catch a seaplane to the W Retreat & Spa, a stylish 78-room resort where New York’s latest lounge music is playing across the arrival jetty. I scribble down superlatives like “smartest buggies” and “sexiest staff” as Ann, the Japanese guest-relations manager, drives me around the island. I’ve booked a Beach Retreat, a fortuitous choice given that the overwater villas look entirely too close together. By the time I’m ready to depart two days later, I still can’t decide what I like best about my two-story residence: the upstairs deck with swinging daybed, or the ergonomic bathtub set outdoors among palm fronds the size of elephants’ ears.

While the W, which opened in late 2006, is as chic as can be, its nearest neighbour offers a more rustic—though ultimately no less memorable—experience. Dhoni Mighili has only six rooms, which turn out to be rather dinky bungalows that remind me of early Club Med designs: endearing, but hardly sophisticated. (At night, I have to cover my head with pillows to drown out the sound of the air conditioner, which is smack above the bed.) But each comes with its own 20-metre dhoni, a handcrafted sailboat outfitted with comfy day beds and Frette sheets, complete with captain and crew. And it’s here, on my dhoni’s plushly padded foredeck that I pass most of my time, watching soldier fish and mantas swim by in the shallows.

One day, we sail to a postcard-perfect desert isle on the horizon, where Saddam, my butler, sets up a picnic of chili lobster and grilled tuna. Another day, I have the captain take the vessel on a five-hour cruise to Huvafen Fushi, Dhoni Mighili’s sister property. I’ve spent quality time in Huvafen’s high-tech overwater villas before, but I’m keen to go back for another turn in the world’s first underwater spa.

Built 11 metres below the surface of the sea, the spa has just emerged from renovations that have recast the aquarium-like space as a sexy retro lair, complete with white-leather daybeds piled high with suede-fringed Gilles Caffier cushions and plumed Fendi pillows encircled by billows of gossamer chiffon. Virgin coconut oil and a gentle pummelling with indigenous wooden tools make my two-and-a-half-hour rubdown here the best I’ve had in the Maldives, with fish gazing—thanks to angled mirrors underneath the ergonomic massage tables—an added bonus.

My next stop is the Taj Exotica Resort & Spa, which, despite reigned-in expectations, turns out to be the dark horse of my tour. Blessed with one of the Maldives’ largest lagoons, the Taj has 62 handsome villas outfitted with Molton Brown toiletries and Ploh bathrobes. It also has a fabulous spa and one of the best restaurants in the Indian Ocean, the Deep End.

My dinner there one evening began with foie gras crème brulee topped with cinnamon-apple chutney, followed by Moroccan-spiced spiny lobster medallions, fresh-caught barramundi brushed with honey mustard, and Wagyu beef rubbed in garlic and morel jus. General manager Vikram Singh is especially proud of his weighty wine list, which includes Californian standouts like Robert Mondavi To-Kalon I-Block Fume Blanc. “Grown on 155-year-old vines!” Singh boasts. “We only got these bottles thanks to a special allocation.” I toast to his success.

I don’t know much about my next destination, the Rania Experience in the Faafu Atoll, other than the fact that it will be mine alone to enjoy. The Maldives’ first private island comes with its own 26-metre yacht, among other exclusive amenities. It’s designed as a romantic island escape for a single couple, but can accommodate up to 15 guests in a pinch—if you’re looking for a place to hold a lavish Indian Ocean house party, Rania is it.

This intimate, palm-fringed hideaway is wasted on a lone traveller—I can almost hear that Male customs officer sighing with exasperation. But the staff makes me feel right at home, from the yacht’s jovial captain, Mohammed, who knows just where to steer for the best sunset dolphin watching, to Gede, the Indonesian chef who wows me with his tuna sashimi and grilled lobster, not to mention his Belgian-chocolate crème brulee, to my mind the best dessert in the Maldives. And then there’s Senthil, my butler, who commits my complicated breakfast order to memory as I set out for a morning yoga session. He also manages to anticipate my every need, leaving charming notes outlining the day’s activities (should I want any) and confirming massage appointments at the open-air pavilion built over the shallow lagoon. For his grand finale, Senthil fashions a dinner table out of sand on the beach, tops it with bowls of fresh ginger lilies, and turns up with a Gucci pashmina to keep me warm.

Back in the north male atoll, I begin my Four Seasons double feature. First up is Four Seasons Maldives at Kuda Huraa, a perennial favourite among Maldives travellers even before its recent renovations (tsunami damage having shut it down for almost two years). The resort’s layout is described romantically as “a traditional Maldivian village,” though apart from the steeply pitched thatch that covers its 96 villas, I doubt that the native islanders would recognize much at this hedonistic playground. My east-facing bungalow enjoys unsurpassed sunrises.
My visit does not coincide with either weekly sailing of the Four Seasons Explorer, the resort’s 11-stateroom deluxe catamaran, so instead I hop aboard the newly refitted High Flyer sport-fishing yacht. Giant sailfish pop up from the riot of crashing waves during my cruise, but I’m even more impressed the following evening by the pilot whales that encircle the dhoni I’ve chartered, curving their dorsal fins above the water close enough for me to pet one before it slides back into the depths.

All too soon, a dedicated seaplane with white-leather seats is whisking me 25 minutes north to the Four Seasons Maldives at Landaa Giraavaru, in the Baa Atoll. If Kuda Huraa appeals to those who like their islands manicured and modern, this resort is definitely for jungle lovers. The 18-hectare former coconut plantation remains a tangle of leafy branches around which Sri Lankan architect Murad Ismail has erected some of the archipelago’s most captivating structures. Murad, a protégé of the Geoffrey Bawa, has done his best work on Blu, the hotel’s sand-floored lounge and Italian eatery, where shabby-chic meets the monumental grandeur of his signature open spaces and whitewashed interiors.

During my three days at Landaa Giraavaru, I manage not only to overindulge in Blu’s peerless seafood-topped pizza, but also to expand my waistline at Al Barakat, an Arabian-accented restaurant that serves a sublime chicken-cinnamon couscous. I also make several trips to the innovative spa, where the staff includes Indonesian therapists from an ashram outside Jakarta, who specialize in tantric massages. My own tantric treatment involves two female therapists chanting mantras and drawing ancient Indian symbols on my body in richly scented oils. Only later do they tell me that the massage is designed to stimulate the reproductive system. I can only guess at what the couples’ version entails.

My last stay is as the first guest at Naladhu. Set on an island adjacent to the Anantara (and owned by the same company), this brand-new 19-room property isn’t even finished when I arrive, but it already looks set to overshadow the Maldives’ more established properties. Latticework doors open onto glossy white, Bahamas-inspired villa interiors outfitted with woven-cane beds, outdoor bathrooms, and views straight onto teal waters. It’s the only place on my tour where I can actually see and hear the surf from my room.

As I take a seat one night on the deck of the Coconut Lounge, Maxime Rachel, the resort’s Seychellois manager, apologetically informs me that the futons and shisha pipes have not yet cleared Maldivian customs. Neither is the yoga pavilion finished, or the gift shop, or the dining dhoni. But I really don’t mind. I’m more than content to spend my days slumbering on my villa’s daybed swing, or skinny dipping in my private, celadon-tiled pool.

On my last afternoon, Abey, my shy but mindful butler, tells me about his home island of Gaafu Dhaalu, where “the sand is so soft and tiny, you can’t even feel if some gets in your eyes.” More than a dozen resorts are under construction down there right now, Abey says. “Those will be extra remote and even prettier,” he adds as I mentally start packing bikinis for my return trip.

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