Away from the paparazzi
Laucala Island is where Oprah holidayed with mates and Elle tied the knot. discovers first-hand just how the super wealthy unwind.
I’m riding through dense, sweetsmelling foliage, my horse pausing every so often to swipe a mouthful of low-hanging papaya leaves. The only sound is the clopping of hooves on cobblestones. Aside from Heather Harrington, Laucala Island’s resident horse whisperer, I might as well be the only soul in this far-flung corner of the Pacific Ocean.
We’re on the trail of the orange fruit dove. It’s found on just six of Fiji’s 332 islands, and Laucala – pronounced full and soft, laa-u-thaa-la, the vowels sitting low in your mouth – is one of them. Once owned by publishing magnate Malcolm Forbes, now by Red Bull founder Dietrich Mateschitz, this island promises an ultra-luxe experience for the most discerning clientele.
I made an offhand comment about the dove on my first night, and it’s since become the staff’s personal mission to find one for me. They’re no strangers to outlandish demands, but can they conjure up a rare bird on cue? I have my doubts.
Harrington stops her horse, cranes her neck, and points to the very top of a breadfruit tree. ‘‘There it is,’’ she says, triumphantly. At first, all I can see is sky and leaves. Then the dove takes flight, unmistakable: the underside of its wings like a ball of flame.
Laucala sits about 50 minutes’ flight from Nadi Airport, and is ringed by a blue-white reef – a sheltered oasis. Mateschitz bought the island in 2003 and originally kept it only for the use of family and friends.
In recent years, it has been opened to the discerning public as the most exclusive of getaways. Elle Macpherson married her property mogul beau Jeffrey Soffer in one of the 25 luxury villas. Prince Carl of Sweden honeymooned there. Oprah Winfrey was a guest in December, ordering 12 different Christmas cakes – one glutenfree, one dairy-free – for her entourage.
Some people arrive in private jets; others moor their super yachts at the marina. But most arrive on one of the island’s seven-seater planes, all leather and polished wood. Every guest is greeted at the airport by a singing group and adorned with a fragrant lei.
I’m bunking in one of the Plantation villas – so named because they sit among the coconut trees that take up a sizeable chunk of the 1400 hectare island. I have my own private pool and a bedroom bigger than most Auckland apartments. Just metres from the door is the beach, a gently curved stretch of golden sand.
A night’s stay in the cheapest villa on the island will set you back about $8400. For an extra $7000 a night, you can hunker down in the ‘‘overwater’’ villa, the warm sea lapping beneath the floorboards.
Those who’d like to splash out can hire the three-bedroom Hilltop Estate, billed as ‘‘a resort within a resort’’, for $79,000 a night. Or, for a cool $297,000 a night, you can ‘‘buy out’’ the whole island for you and 70 of your closest friends.
Prices like these attract a certain breed of customer – so it’s no surprise when Edvena D’Souza, the resort’s marketing manager, tells me that many clients spend their stays hidden away in their villas, enjoying a wellearned break from the paparazzi. I have no need for such seclusion, and drive my electric golf buggy from restaurant to beach, bar to spa, rocketing down paths made of imported Italian brick.
Unlike some resorts, where you pay for your meals and activities, most expenses are included in Laucala’s hefty price tag. And there’s plenty to keep me busy – for starters, there are five restaurants on the island, staffed by 45 chefs.
I eat Scotched quail eggs at the Pool Bar, overlooking the 25-metre lap pool that rises out of a diaphanous lagoon. At the Beach Bar there are lobster tacos; zesty kokoda; sliders stuffed with red onion and softshell crab.
At Plantation House, a different eight-course menu is offered every night.
I make my way, slowly, through celery mousse, watercress salad, wagyu beef, and a deconstructed Black Forest dessert. For breakfast there is beef tartare, whisper-soft coconut yoghurt and bowls of fresh fruit and nuts.
Jean Luc Amann is the resort’s executive chef. Originally from France, he has previously catered for the British royal family and King Abdullah of Jordan.
On my first full day on the island, I take a tour of the herb garden, where greens are picked fresh for the day’s table. Amann crushes sweet basil and lemongrass between his fingers, shows me where the vanilla pods grow low to the ground. ‘‘It’s a dream for a chef,’’ he tells me.
On my second day, I visit the island’s working farm, where wagyu cattle doze in the scrubby grass and spotted Fijian piglets push at my hand with their snouts. There is a flock of Sulmtaler chickens, imported from Austria because of their bright orange yolks. Chef Patric Gigele says his team makes more than 1200 meals a day – three for each guest, of course, then three for each of Laucala’s 400 staff. That means 9800 eggs each month and about five tonnes of meat.
Eighty per cent of all the food eaten here is grown on the island. The sea also yields a rich bounty; the fishermen’s catch – trevally, tuna, kingfish – determines the day’s menu. That, Gigele says, means the chefs need to think on their feet: ’’It’s not like you order it – what is here is here, and from there we go.’’
A raft of activities are available on Laucala, each with its own expert to show me the ropes. A tennis pro, flown in from Nadi, lets me win an earlymorning match. A yoga instructor is on hand for sunrise asanas.
The more adventurous can try diving, stand-up paddleboarding, or even a ride in a two-seater submarine. I race a jet-ski around the island, the sea so clear I can see the starfish on the rocks below. There’s also an immaculately manicured, 18-hole golf course.
At the on-site spa, workers mix flowers and spices to make bath bombs, shampoo and conditioner. The masseuse bathes my feet in water scented with flower petals, then eases my muscles with a mixture of coconut oil, cinnamon and sandalwood.
As I drift away, I can feel her gently arranging my hair into a French braid. Beyond relaxed, I find myself wishing I had weeks more to spend at this blissful Fijian oasis.
The writer travelled courtesy of Laucala Island.