Walking the Maldives’ superfine line

between breathtaking ocean and

glorious sand, it’s hard to imagine

The water ’s edge

the end of the world

Story by Amanda Jones

Photos by R. Ian Lloyd

54 55
 he sunlight hits the gin-clear ocean
and dances geometrically on the sandy floor
around my feet. I’m standing in the world’s most beau-
tiful water, the exact color of rare blue topaz. Behind
me, a graceful, palm-lined arc of blindingly white sand
stretches to a thin peninsula, not a footprint on it. I’m
alone here, but this remote paradise is under siege.
The peril that threatens the Maldives reads like
a Vonnegut plot: An island chain in the middle of
nowhere defines the stuff of human dreams — sugar
sand, crystal water, caressing breezes, fruit-laden trees and
exotic fish. The peaceful locals do their best to live in har-
mony with nature. But average elevation on the islands is four
feet above sea level. You can stand on a chair and summit
the entire nation. Meanwhile, the multitudes go on burning
fossil fuels worldwide. Air and water temperatures go up;
ice begins to melt. And the oceans, which cover most of this
midsize planet, rise. If current trends continue, millimeter
by millimeter over the next hundred years or so, the tide will
swallow the island nation, leaving only legends.
A small minority of pundits claim climate change is a myth,
but we can’t bank on them being right. And now that I’m here,
knee-deep in the amazing blue, it seems outrageous that we’d
even risk letting this and the planet’s other remaining jewels
disappear due to our own behavior. Yet I come knowing full
well that my old friend Sally Tagg and I jetting halfway around
the world to stand here adds to the problem. So can we justify
own organic vegetables and supplies drinking water in ­reusable
visiting a place if traveling there contributes to the problem
glass bottles. The hip new Maldivian president, Mohamed
that threatens it? Perhaps we can if seeing it helps us save it.
Nasheed, who appears more concerned about global warming
Conscious of the paradox, I check into the Soneva Gili by
than Waheed, would give a thumbs-up to Six Senses.
Six Senses, the first of three resorts we’ll be staying at. Six
Nasheed believes the threat to his country is potentially
Senses walks the walk when it comes to green hospitality.
dire, so he’s investigating the purchase of sovereign territory
And they buy carbon credits to offset guests’ flights. But I
in India, Sri Lanka or Australia. If the worst comes to pass,
admit, looking out from the upper-floor deck of our over-
his people will at least have somewhere to go. Meanwhile
water villa — the scene before me like a Wim Wenders dream
in 2008, Nasheed unveiled a plan to make
sequence, all blue and shimmery, hot and slow — I do find
it challenging to remain focused on carbon footprints. It’s
the Maldives the world’s first carbon-neutral
nation by 2020. What 400,000 Maldivians
I admit, looking out from our over-water
easier to listen to Waheed, our handsome, sarong-wearing
do for carbon neutrality may have negligible villa, I do find it challenging to remain
villa host, explain how to operate the cappuccino machine.
Waheed doesn’t seem too concerned about global warm-
impact on the melting icecaps, but as Nasheed focused on carbon footprints.
says, “We can only hope the world follows suit.”
ing. “But aren’t you worried that all this might wash away
Similarly, the disappearance of the Maldives
one day if we go on polluting the world?” Sally confronts
might not influence life for most of the world’s people, but
him in her unvarnished way, snapping me back to reality.
rising sea levels will. Parts of New York, Los Angeles, Sydney,
“I don’t know, madam,” he says earnestly. “I do not think you
London and other seaside cities, plus populous coastal areas of
need to worry about it right now. We are taking measures.”
India, China, Brazil — parts of everywhere — could go under-
Soneva Gili epitomizes eco-chic, built entirely of sus-
water, displacing millions of people and affecting quality of
tainable materials like bamboo and palm wood. The resort
life for billions. The Maldives’ peril could be our peril.
employs solar energy and waste-to-methane power, grows its
Back in our over-water villa, Waheed is explaining to us
how we can make reservations at the resort’s all-organic,
over-water spa. Waheed’s soothing nonchalance in the face
With breathtaking seas everywhere, seaplanes fly guests to remote
resorts in the archipelago, including Banyan Tree Madivaru (left and of what are potentially earth-shaking changes has me think-
preceding page) and Soneva Gili by Six Senses (opposite). ing about another twist in the plot. | double-edged tide >>

57
The resorts in
the ­Maldives
­orchestrate their
accommodations,
amenities and
cuisine to impact
guests rather than
the nature that
surrounds them.
>> tourism is the largest, most lucrative industry
in the Maldives. The Maldivians need us to feel so stressed
out by our busy lives that we will fly to their remote homeland
to decompress. The islands remain a playground for the well-
heeled, some of whom made their fortunes on the same fossil
fuels whose consumption now threatens the nation. In a way,
the Maldives relies on the very source of its own destruction.
If I become so green that I forgo my travel plans, people like
villa host Waheed won’t be able to eat. And for that matter,
it’s my tourist dollars that will buy that higher-ground sanc-
tuary should rising water force the population to flee. So do
I expect the islanders to lose sleep about the millimeters the
Indian Ocean rose last year or the storm surges predicted for
the future? No. Like most humans, the Maldivians I’ve met
nod at doom and carry on with their daily lives.
But at the very least, in light of the environmental cost,
I feel a responsibility to get as much as I can from every
­moment I have here. This isn’t always easy. Lovely as the
resorts are, there’s not much opportunity to
leave them once you’ve arrived. You can’t just The resorts impart a sense of true
wander out of resort bounds and get down
with the locals. The Maldivians, for their part,
welcome and deep indulgence.
seem fine with this separation. Other than as But we’re still missing something.
part of their jobs, they are not terribly inter- The resort is not the island.
ested in mixing with tourists. They’re predom-
inantly Sunni Muslim; seeing women in bikinis isn’t really
their thing. Approximately a fifth of all Maldivians live on
the capital island of Male, about a mile square and one of the
world’s most densely populated cities. The rest live scattered
in small, traditional villages on 200 of the 1,190 islands.
From Banyan Tree Madivaru, our second resort, we can’t
even see another island. Built on a tiny four-acre atoll of
smooth sand and mangrove trees, the resort features six
extremely luxurious safari-style villas, each a cluster of can-
vas tents on an elevated deck with a plunge pool and massage
tables. We never see another person other than our villa host
and the spa staff. We step from the deck through a wall of
foliage onto a private beach. We swim, snorkel and stare out
to where blue-topaz water meets peacock-blue sky. “We are
forced to have daily massages,” Sally declares. Nizam, our
dignified villa host, summons spa therapists who dispatch
us into bliss using fresh herb bundles and hot oil.
Banyan Tree and the other resorts impart a sense of true
welcome and deep indulgence, but we’re still missing some-
thing. The resort is not the island. We need to see what lies
beyond the walls, or in this case across the waves. We need to
meet the people whose lives are at stake. | single village >>

Shades of indulgence define the Maldives, from the sand and spa at
Manafaru Maldives to (opposite page) the tent villas at Banyan Tree
Madivaru and impeccable service at Soneva Gili by Six Senses.
>> fishermen are mooring their boats for the
night as we arrive at the island of Muladu, 20 minutes by
boat from the Beach House at Manafaru Maldives. Women
wearing headscarves and long robes gossip as they sweep
the paths with twig brooms. Boys play soccer on a dirt field
while girls in colorful tunics stand on the sidelines and giggle
behind raised hands. Trees line wide sand roads free of cars.
Ibrahim Shareef meets us on the dock. “A-her-angie nam-kee
Sally,” Sally says, gamely testing her Dhivehi, the Maldives’
official language. Ibrahim pauses. “Hello,” he says in English,
looking amused. He parades us proudly past the school, the
generator, the well and two cement-block mosques, one for
men and one for women. The pace in the small village seems
slow and content. Bare-chested men carrying machetes saunter
from the jungle with mangoes, taro or coconuts slung over their
shoulders. Toddlers play with toys fashioned from sticks and
bottle caps. Older houses built of coral blocks with thatched
roofing give way to utilitarian concrete structures built since
the government conscientiously banned coral harvesting.
“When the resort opened in 2007, I was working in Male,”
says Ibrahim, “and I hated it. I came running back here to my
village to work at the resort. I am so happy to be away from
the crowds and competition of the capital.” He throws out
his arms as if to demonstrate his newfound space. “Foreign
tourists are very important to us here in the Maldives.”
Ibrahim seems surprised when, true to form, Sally inquires
about the odds of his nation disappearing. “Yes, I have seen
the president on TV,” he says, “but I have seen no proof.”
“What about the sandbags on all the beaches?” I ask.
“I don’t think the water is rising. We just have problems
with erosion.” Clearly, Ibrahim hasn’t read the articles in
The New York Times and elsewhere. “None of this talk has
changed the way we live,” he replies. Mind you, his village
runs off one generator; residents get water from a community
well and eat locally produced food; they fish from sailboats,
and they don’t drive. There’s not much carbon
to neutralize on Muladu. So, perhaps ­justifiably,
book
Ibrahim seems more concerned with keeping now
p. 92
his job, sustained by solace-seeking travelers.
That night at the Beach House, I watch the moon cross the
ocean. Here lies tangible motivation to give up bottled water,
eat less beef, carpool, etc. The Maldives shouldn’t have to suffer
from the industrialized world’s negligence. Yet we can’t stop
coming to places like this, for their sake — and for ours. When
you come, choose resorts that act sustainably, then act the same
way at home. But do come see what beauty the world stands to
lose. Come see a paradise worth saving. | islands.com/maldives

The people of the Maldives live on islands such as Muladu, a

short boat ride from the Beach House resort (top). The way they
live includes bright hopes for the Maldives’ future.