‘The problem with the Maldives is that it’s been hijacked by honeymooners and influencers’

The problem with the Maldives is that it has been hijacked. First by honeymooners and now by “influencers”. No Instagram feed is safe from millennials in string bikinis wafting across a Maldivian beach in time to ambient house music. 

So is it any wonder that people like me in their 50s wonder if these fantasy atolls are really our thing? If you don’t have a photographer boyfriend with a man-bun filming you, what do you actually do here?

The older I get, the more active I want to be on holiday. Maybe it is an impending sense that life is now ­getting way too short, so I had better fill my boots with “experiences” while I still can. Or maybe on a midlife couple’s holiday there is the creeping fear that you will be bored. With no other ­distractions, can you really spend 24/7 together in perfect harmony? How many books can one person read?

It doesn’t matter how clear the water is, or how blindingly white the sand, or how fluffy the robes are. I want more than just a cosseted fly-and-flop holiday. The question is, can you do all that in the velvet-glove ­luxury of the Maldives?

Arriving at Naladhu Private Island, our first stop on a two-island trip to the archipelago, it was clear that we weren’t the only ones thirsting for action. As expected, there was a 24/7 Instagram photo shoot playing out in the ­shallows around the island.

But there was also a surprising number of ­couples our age walking past us ­purposefully with masks, snorkels and fins, heading off on boats to dive or swim with turtles, nurse sharks and manta rays. We thought we would go one better and book ourselves in for some surfing lessons.

The last time I surfed was when I was 10 years old and I honestly believed I still had the muscle memory to move from a lying position to a standing position on a moving surfboard.

Our young, endlessly patient instructors, Shane and Tereza, had shown us the basics of where to place feet, legs and hands so we could simply “pop” up onto our boards. They made it look as effortless as breathing. Now in the blazing equatorial sunshine it was our turn to wait for a wave and ride it.

Except we couldn’t. We got on, we fell off. We got on, we fell off. For hours. It wasn’t until our fourth ­lesson that I managed a creaky, half-crouching position for a couple of seconds before I toppled off again. I will never forget the exhilaration of that moment or Shane’s immortal words: “Woah! You’ve smashed it.” I don’t think I have ever been so pleased with myself.

The other great revelation (apart from how rubbish I am at surfing) was the fun of trying out something new without any of our children around to laugh, point and surreptitiously film us on Snapchat for LOLs. We laughed, cursed and made total fools of ourselves, but we did it in private – surely one of the greatest advantages of ­travelling without children?

Of course, the beauty of throwing yourself around in the glorious Indian Ocean for a few hours is the top-end TLC you can enjoy afterwards. Naladhu has just 20 private beach villas and after extensive renovations in 2021, it has everything a knackered 50-something couple could ever want.

Loll about in your private pool with a glass of champagne, take a bath overlooking an endless expanse of ocean (the nearest land mass is Thailand), ease those muscles in your private steam room and then flop onto a huge bed, close your eyes and listen to the hypnotic roll and surge of the waves.

The island is small, pretty, very exclusive and made for couples in search of peace rather than rowdy family fun. You are assigned a private butler who will do everything from bring your snorkelling kit to your private beach cabana to book a private supper on the sand. Naladhu also has its own bijou spa and gym, although I can’t think why anyone would want to waste energy on a cross-trainer when you can swim with 2,000 species of tropical fish and sea mammals.

The food, meanwhile, is outstanding. A no-menu concept at Naladhu means you can order any cuisine you fancy at any time you like. For us that meant grabbing an energising smoothie on our way to our surf lesson, then returning to our beachside table for a Maldivian brunch of coconut dahl, tuna sambal, chicken curry and roti. In the evenings we tried everything from barbecued reef fish to Wagyu beef and a sushi and sashimi “boat”.

Our next stop was Anantara Kihavah, a seaplane ride away in Baa Atoll, and this is where the action really picked up. Bigger, but no less luxurious, Kihavah is a natural jungle island where guests have their own bikes to bomb along the sandy lanes, through ferns and jungle vines, past screeching ­Maldivian hens and fruit bats.

All 80 villas have their own private pools, big sexy bathrooms and either face the beach or are on stilts over water. There is a big emphasis on ­wellness here and the island has a state-of-the-art over-water spa with saunas, steam rooms and a medi-spa with an in-house nutritionist and naturopath.

We, however, made a beeline for the water sports centre and signed up for some sailing. For me this was a chance to deal once and for all with the childhood trauma of being plonked on a dinghy and pushed into a cold, muddy, eel-infested lake where I was shouted at and hit repeatedly on the back of the head with a boom.

Now, 45 years later, I was standing at the edge of a vast, transparent sea ready to conquer my demons. It was 28C and a gentle seven-knot wind was tugging at the sail of the Hobie Cat waiting for me to climb aboard.

“Come and sit here, Fiona,” said Bozo, my patient instructor, patting the place next to him on the two-­person catamaran.
After five minutes I had relaxed into it, after six I had released the jib and after 20 I was helping to tack, securing the main sail while Bozo steered with the rudder.

No one shouted at me, no boom thumped me on the back of the head, and if we capsized (which we didn’t) it would be like landing in azure bath water rather than frigid muck.

It was exhilarating and left me with such an inflated sense of achievement that when we got back to shore I gave young Bozo a massive and very uncool high-five.

The sailing lessons were less ­physically demanding than the ­surfing lessons, but they still fired up the old brain synapses with a new ­challenge and gave me that wonderfully warm glow of self-satisfaction that can be so hard to come by these days. It also means that I can now drop the words: “Well, I learned to sail in the Maldives” into any light ­conversation.

Kihavah has one the best house reefs in the Maldives, so after sailing it would have been criminal not to grab our snorkelling gear and swim out a few metres to the coral reef that encircles the island.

We spent an unforgettable afternoon snorkelling with Tom, resident marine biologist at Kihavah, as he pointed out shoals of clown fish, Redtoothed triggerfish with electric blue sequins running down their backs and stripey sweetlips who did indeed look like Love Island contestants who had overdone the fillers.

While the food on the island is generally excellent – take your pick from six restaurants and a spectacular Sky Bar featuring the largest telescope in the Maldives – for us, there was one, unmissable dining experience, the glass underwater restaurant, Sea.

Dine at night and you will see the menacing ocean predators circling. Dine at lunch and witness a mesmerising swirl of tropical fish in psychedelic colours.

This amazing ocean and all it has to offer (with a side-serving of next-level luxury) is what the Maldives is all about – not wallpaper content for the Gram. It’s high time we reclaimed it.

Fiona McIntosh was a guest of Naladhu Private Island (00 960 664 4111; naladhu.com) and Anantara Kihavah Maldives Villas (00 960 664 4111; anantara.com), which offer villas from £1,330 and £1,248 respectively, half-board. Surfing lessons cost  from £74 per hour; catamaran sailing lessons from £91 per hour