‘A balmy five-star luxury kind of normality’
The Maldives have finally come off the red list. After a mid-pandemic escape, Lou Barraclough asks… why did it take so long?
Apocalyptic thunder sounded around the pitched roof of our beach villa, waking me with a start. I sat bolt upright in bed and, for a split second, our belongings lit up in the blue flash of lightning. Biblical rainfall was audible over the low hum of our air conditioning, and instinctively I ran out, through the downpour and into the next-door villa where my two children slept, blissfully undisturbed by this tropical megastorm.
As thunder continued to crash overhead, I ducked back into our villa and, by now wide-awake, checked the time on my mobile phone. It was 2am, but that’s not what made my heart first stop stock still, and then start pounding in my chest. Top of my notifications was a headline from back home that I – and the rest of the UK – had dreaded seeing. We were heading for another lockdown, and much of the country was being placed in Tier 4.
The rage of the storm now seemed dwarfed by the dark times going on across the continents. Part of me felt lucky to be away from it all, if only for one idyllic week – but what would this mean for the rest of our stay? Would we – after months of will we/won’t we? – have to turn on our heels and leave as soon as we had arrived? An alltoo-familiar feeling of guilt, at being away in the first place, followed swiftly.
And, the truth is, despite all the hoops we had to jump through, the deliberation was by far the most stressful part of it. With tour operator Sovereign holding our hand all through the practical planning, and a reputable (if expensive) PCR clinic booked to test if we were fit to fly, there was very little else for us to worry about. Finally, we disembarked the plane, blinking like little post-hibernation moles as we emerged into the soft tropical breeze.
From here, the operation was Covidconscious in the extreme, the new measures so slick as to be almost imperceptible. Hand sanitiser-wielding hotel representatives greeted us at every juncture, from arrivals hall to speedboat to island (each resort operates strict quarantine laws: any staff member moving from one to another has to isolate for two weeks) never crossing into one another’s “patches”, every handover operated at a distance. And thus, with every guest arriving having tested negative (now double vaxxed and with a negative PCR test result), life on the resorts is operating at something like normality – at Anantara Dhigu, a balmy five-star luxury normality, with staff uncomplainingly wearing masks
We snorkelled, we swam, we swung on overwater swings and shady hammocks
so guests don’t have to. Return inresort PCR-test costs were 25 per cent of those in the UK at the time, with results within the hour. With this approach, it is no surprise that, despite borders around the world closing, the Maldives managed to keep its open.
And so, as you may have surmised, as our first full day dawned, so too did the realisation we would not be forced to prematurely curtail our trip, and as the clouds cleared, we mounted our island push bikes and set off for Sea.Salt.Fire, Anantara Dhigu’s overwater breakfast
These gentle, prehistoric creatures swam around us, allowing us to share their space
restaurant, where the buffet has been temporarily replaced by charming table service, hostess trolleys heaving with delicate patisseries, tropical fruit platters and cold cuts, and the theatre of a live cooking station, and where the outdoor restaurant tables are surrounded by more fragrant fresh air than usual.
As we lingered over shakshuka and coffee, bathing our eyes in the myriad blues that had replaced the wintry greys at home, a baby reef shark lazily swam past, and an excitable shoal of tuna took turns to flip out of the water in the middistance. I could feel the weeks and months of lockdown stress start to melt away, enhanced later that morning by a visit to the spa for Anantara’s signature Thai Four Elements Ritual, and, treat of treats, a pedicure (with all salons in the UK closed, both had the added allure of forbidden luxury, and I cosseted every moment).
A few days later, out of pure curiosity, I returned for the Purifying Sound Vibrations treatment. While friends wax lyrical about the impact of Tibetan singing bowls, I have remained sceptical. Muayad Najemeddin, Anantara’s Master of Wellness, cured my cynicism by delivering a profound experience that moved me to tears.
The week started slow, as we became acquainted with our surroundings – the two spacious villas (note: socially distanced even from our own offspring) with a private garden complete with resident fruit bats, a plunge pool perfect for mini volleyball matches and a floating breakfast on our second morning (ours eaten poolside, the children’s taken in bed). We passed hours swimming and walking in the bath-warm lagoon waters just yards from our door, which were waist-deep as far as the eye could see, but deep enough to attract rays, reef sharks, and a Dory-like fish that followed us for hours one day.
We snorkelled, we swam, we swung on overwater swings and shady hammocks, and we simply sat, skin gently stroked by the balmy island breeze, staring out to sea. Mornings and afternoons alike were punctuated by visits from the charismatic coconut milk man – we would ask for one, and end up with four as he urged us to compare the local fruit with imported. Local won out every time of course, we agreed, only good-naturedly to repeat the debate hours later. An extended family of hermit crabs were our companions for an afternoon, and each evening from her vantage point on our jetty “Erin the heron” shared her sundown seascape.
As our energy levels recharged, so too did the pace. Free speedboat shuttles and shared quarantine status linked “our” island with the adults-only resort of Anantara Veli and Naladhu Private Island. The three islands have recently been subject to an elegant design update, including the introduction of some timely and stunningly luxurious private hire villas on Naladhu – indeed, you can hire the whole island if you have the whim and the wherewithal to do so. The somewhat dated swimming pool at Dhigu now stands out accordingly, but with that lagoon stretching into the horizon, honestly, who needs a man-made one anyway?
The boat shuttle rides are a joy in themselves. Our bar was set high only moments into our airport transfer, when the skipper circled the boat so we could see a turtle (on our return transfer we were similarly treated to a school of playful dolphins). The in-resort shuttles also provided more places to explore and a total of seven dining options, from 73 Degrees at Anantara Veli – offering fresh seafood, and pizzas the children still reminisce about – to Baan Huraa, where the excellent Thai delicacies are matched by its exotic location and charismatic staff. Perhaps the most memorable, however, was our Dining by Design sunset dinner on the beach – a private chef experience saved for our penultimate night where our “table and chairs” were dug out of the sand, covered in white linen and lit by fire torches.
Dhigu is just big enough to get joyfully lost in and every time we set out on bikes, my husband and I would miss the turning and have to rely on the preteens to redirect us. It wasn’t long before we let them head off on their own, just one shot of newfound independence from which we could see their lockdownstunted confidence grow day by day.
Elsewhere, solo kayaking, sea bobs, and swimming and snorkelling close to nature all contributed too, leading to the incredible experience of snorkelling with sharks. With two nervous sea swimmers and a claustrophobic among us, the odds of a successful excursion were looking slim. But once out to sea, the crew quickly located a large shiver of sharks – tens of them – and once Dad was in (the most nervous but, of course, as far as the kids were concerned, the most hilarious: if Daddy isn’t eaten alive, it’s safe) it was fair game.
We all jumped in quickly, if tentatively, and spent a moving half-hour bobbing around in the water as these gentle, prehistoric creatures swam around us, occasionally bumping into us, but mostly just minding their own business while allowing us to share their space. Minds blown, we headed back to the resort in near silence.
We saved the best till last when we splurged on a Cinema under the Stars experience, where our family film of choice (Surf ’s Up, chosen as much for its exotic location as anything) was shown on a big screen on the beach as we lolled on oversized squishy sofas and were served drinks and popcorn. Simple idea, brilliantly executed.
As the credits rolled on the screen and on our week away, so too did storm clouds, gathering in dramatic contrast against the tropical sky for the second near-apocalyptic storm of the week. Our stay had been bookended by meteorological drama that seemed to reflect the turmoil we were returning to in the UK, but only served to emphasise just how lucky we had been to escape it all.