Much Addu

Much Addu
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Desert island deals on the southernmost Maldives' sleepiest atolls and its immense beauty

Sheetal Vyas
March 28 , 2014
12 Min Read

When we come across places whose first characteristic is immense, startling beauty, we tend to sigh — and we tend to want. The sharp equatorial sun of the Maldives, the many-layered shades of blue, the eternal shadows of coconut palm contrast so keenly with our own grey streets that comparisons are human and inevitable. But the poet Wordsworth has an admonition for travellers who do that: “But covet not the abode,” he tells us sternly, “O do not sigh/ As many do, repining while they look.” He was right. These islands are best approached with a firm intention to sample but not crave. For which purpose, my three days in Addu Atoll were perfect.

 Addu is the southernmost atoll of the Maldives — a little apart culturally from the rest of the islands. It is the only atoll (the country has twenty-six such natural groups) to fall just south of the equator — a fact that took me in an Anne of Green Gables kind of delight. I forgot, however, to check if water does swirl down the sink counter-clockwise.

 I was here with MakeMyTrip’s very first charter to the Maldives. The package is designed to render these isles more affordable to the Indian tourist and there is one sure way to do that: make up the numbers. Special flights from Mumbai make their way straight to Gan International Airport from where Herathera, our resort, was twenty minutes away by motorboat. I slightly feared a claustrophobic three days — would this resort be large enough to hold over a hundred holidaymakers without making it seem like something out of Honeymoon Travels Pvt Ltd?

 In the event, it was just right. Herathera is a thin, elongated island with a four-kilometre-long beach and it uses its features wonderfully. About 300 villas are arranged along its length; hedges and design guard your privacy and give you your own access to the beach that practically laps at your doorstep. Mealtimes were communal but comfortably so and, for the rest, I could almost imagine myself Robinson Crusoe if I cared to. Very nice.

 But I was lost to all this the first morning. The red-eye flight, followed by a cradle-mimicking motorboat ride…when I got to the room, I noted that it was bright and pleasant but succumbed to sleep many fathoms deep. Privately, I have a scale of how much I take to a place by marking how well I sleep there — the Maldives has performed superbly. I did nothing more strenuous that morning than lounge in the patio, gaze at the sea, read, take photographs and take in lunch. As I returned along the garden way, I spied a quick furtive movement on the ground just outside my front door. A small slanting hole but its occupant was now hidden from view. A vole or shrew, maybe?

 Shrugging, I detoured to the waves that formed the backdrop to everything. I like the sea but, I must confess, am not overly fond of sand. One visit to the beach and you’re coming up against gritty particles all day — some that sneakily go so far as to infiltrate bedclothes even. But that was before I walked on this soft whiteness they have laid out here. And on the back-steps leading up to my room, forestalling just such a complaint as mine, stood a mud pot of cool water and a ladle craftily made of coconut shell and a crook of wood. So I was able to happily wash off every time before stepping in and, in consequence, rushed out to the water as often as the mood came upon me. I took my morning coffee out to the waves every day — the simplest thing, but so exotic!

 About a dozen of us clambered into a local dhoni boat that evening and chugged into the sunset. I was looking out especially for a particular bird; the white tern, or the dondheeni as they call it, is a resident and they make quite a symbol of it in Addu. I couldn’t see it on Herathera and I was told they were likelier on other islands with generous supplies of breadfruit. But there was no hint of the white bird, there were no dolphins either at Dolphin Point. However, to compensate, as the sun sank, a patch of golden-yellow leached spectacularly into riven bands of purple and orange.

 During dinner, at the mellowly lit Kilhi restaurant, there was music. Young men from nearby villages came to sing, accompanied by drums and beats. They wore white shirts and lungis that they call feyli in these parts. Dark-bodied, lithely muscular, their smiles friendly but a touch sardonic. The songs tugged at me — the language curiously familiar but elusive.

 There is some Arabic, some Persian, some Sinhalese and I could swear to similarities with Kannada. The airs were familiar too; I discerned a Salil Chowdhury tune, which put me in a quandary. The composer was known for being widely influenced but music in the Maldives draws heavily from Hindi movies — which was the original? In the face of the joyous recitals, it didn’t seem to matter.

 The next day, as I ambled around the island looking up at fruit bats, a bizarre sight met my eyes. A resort cart glided by and I glanced at it idly: it was occupied by some six people, all blindfolded with black tapes. Yes. Blindfolded. Terrorist attack! Wild incoherent images of slavery or bulk kidnappings! Well, not. Mercifully for my nerves, I had been told the day before that I might encounter this extraordinary cartload. What was actually happening was that we were sharing the resort with the crew of Survivor South Africa. These captives were contestants of the show, who were let loose on one of the neighbouring uninhabited islands as part of the game. While the ‘surviving’ took place in the genuine wilds, the ‘tribal council’ sessions were filmed in a hut-like structure at the far end of Herathera, where they were now being transported.

 The blindfolds, of course, were to keep them from seeing the civilised environs of the resort and ruining the ‘wild’ mindset.

 The producers had chosen their spot well, for that is the magic of the Maldives. Of the 1,190-odd coral islands that form this beautiful chain, only around 200 are inhabited. The rest either have resorts or are left to be. There is something so right about the arrangement of land and water. All this makes the islands very difficult to run, of course. Everything is imported — rice, fruit, vegetables, which made me worry slightly for the ‘survivors’. Resort islands generate their own electricity, purify their own water. Staff is ferried back and forth every day.

 This knowledge made me slightly guilty about my carbon footprint at lunchtime when I dug into fresh vegetables, olives, cheese and the wonderful desserts the chef had concocted. It didn’t, of course, make a difference to how much I dug into them, which is as it should be. On my way back, I stopped short on the path as I had done before, but it was too late. My shy ground-dwelling neighbour had made a quick getaway. I was now seriously intrigued. Clearly, a little guile was called for. I went in, waited a little and parted the curtains from within. And sure enough, there he was, sitting meditatively by his burrow. Not a mammal at all but a small crab, unaware that I was snooping on his afternoon siesta. A little communion with Google-God has been done and I fancy my friend was a ghost crab. To the Indian mentality that is so centred on ‘activity’, the isles, no matter how pretty, begin to feel like a trap fairly quickly. I heard tales (vastly exaggerated in the service of humour, hopefully) of honeymooning couples driven to suicide or murder by the end of a week. At least two women in our group told me on Day Three that they had had quite enough.

 But Day Three held some activity for me: I went snorkelling. As we sped our way across to the reef, I gathered my gear. I’m myopic and it cost me a pang to put away my spectacles and don the plain-glass snorkelling mask. The discomfort of entering an unfamiliar element was going to be heightened by the handicap of extra-blurred vision. But that couldn’t be helped. Life-jacketed and sun-blocked, my mouth dry with fear, I slid off the dhoni and into the water. All around, the orange figures of my companions bobbed in the sea. Reluctantly, but knowing I must, I flipped on my belly and put my head under the water. And, just like that, entered another world. The reef teemed with life — corals of amazing variety, sea anemone, schools of thin shimmering fish and broad, vividly patterned families. The corals were so close, I was afraid I’d damage them. I let the sea toss me where it would for a bit. The experience was so physical, so holistically sensory, I didn’t even notice the lack of my spectacles. Some forty minutes later, I felt a tap on my arm; the instructor was motioning me to head back to the boat. I had been so lost, I hadn’t noticed I was among the last to heave myself back in. Heavy-bodied, so tired and so happy.

 That evening, I jumped at a chance to visit Gan. Given its geography and its dichotomous approach to tourism, it’s quite possible to visit the Maldives and not meet its people. Gan is linked by bridges and a seventeen-kilometre paved road to the islands of Feydoo, Maradhoo and Hithadhoo, the atoll’s capital island. The drive was most telling. To the south, Gan bore its history on its face: between 1941 and 1976, this used to be a British Royal Air Force base. Wide roads, white colonial buildings, a memorial here, a cannon there, military neatness everywhere. Then a clutch of souvenir shops and general stores, self-deprecatingly attempting commerce. As we passed over the bridges, the scenes changed. Shops, banks, schools, government offices, residential areas, the homes…I could see what stood for affluence, which residences indicated more modest means. In Hithadhoo, a heartwarming sight — young men and elders hunched over tables in concentration, engaged in a local tournament of chess and checkers.

 It was time to leave. At Gan Airport that night, we suffered a frustrating delay with our 3.30am flight. Resigned, I spread my shawl in a corner and managed a half-decent snooze; when I came to, it was dawn, the plane ready to leave. We stepped out of the lounge to a rain-washed runway. Light was streaking gloriously through the clouds, the sea glinted a very fresh blue. In the trees to one side, a pair of pure white birds circled, flexing their morning wings. The white tern. I stood transfixed for a few moments and walked into the waiting plane.

 The information

 ‘Make My Trip to the Maldives’ is aimed at making the destination a more affordable one. Starting at around Rs 40,000 per person on twin-sharing basis, the package includes the charter flight to and from Mumbai, speed boat transfers to the island resort, six nights’ accommodation in a four-star resort, breakfast and dinner. The package has been suspended for a couple of months and will be on offer again from April. Check makemytrip.com for specific departures.

 Where to stay
The four-star resort of Herathera (included in the charter package) is a beautiful 4km island with 300 villas. There is a choice of Jacuzzi Villas and Beach Villas. The resort has three swimming pools.

 At an additional cost, there is also a more high-end option for stay is the luxurious Shangri-La Villingili Resort and Spa. Their Water Villas are raised on stilts embedded in the shallow seabed and are an amazing experience. There are fabulous views from every outlook, a ladder lets you slip into the sea right off your balcony and, for the more easy-going, there is a hammock suspended over clear blue waters.

Where to eat
Herathera has two open-air restaurants Kilhi and Keimaa that serve excellent and sumptuous continental, oriental and Indian buffet-style meals.

 What to see & do
The best thing to do on these islands is laze. However, bicycles are available for those who like to explore the length of the island. A small bridge on one end also connects to the village of Hulhudhoo, if you’re inclined to explore. Village tours cost $20 per person.

 There are several sites in Addu Atoll that are great for snorkelling and diving. There is a great likelihood of sighting the genial manta ray in these parts. Herathera offers basic snorkelling and diving lessons ($20 for an hour) at their Meera Bar and equipment is available for hire. Snorkelling and diving boat trips to the house reef are free. The sunset cruise on the local dhoni boat is great fun.

 You must include a day-trip to the island of Gan between 1941 and 1976, this was used as a base by the British Royal Air Force and so is an interesting place. A 17km road connects Gan with the islands of Feydoo, Maradhoo and Hithadhoo and makes for a good drive-through. Trips from Herathera to Gan cost $35 per person.

 For divers, there is a fascinating site along the western flank of Addu & shipwreck of the MV British Loyalty. This 134m oil tanker was torpedoed twice during World War II and lies 33m below the surface. The hull of the wreck is overgrown with hard and soft coral, and the ship hosts schools of blue fin trevally and large turtles. The Herathera Dive Centre will arrange boats on request.

 


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