THREE TICKETS TO PARADISE ACROSS A TRILOGY OF MALDIVIAN ISLANDS, JENINNE LEE ST. JOHN RESISTS THE URGE TO CHANNEL HER INNER JONAH, HOPS FROM BOAT TO BOAT, AND COMES BACK WITH FAR MORE POSTCARDS THAN YOU COULD STUFF IN A SHOEBOX.
photogr apher : pornsak na nakorn
st ylist : tunvardee jutavar akul
makeup & hair : witthaya k aeoaim
model : nathalie ducheine
Mermaids rise at dawn to revel in the richest part of the W's coral reef, near the spa, in swimsuit by Tan Tan.
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I REALIZE THIS SOUNDS RIDICULOUS, BUT I DIDN’T PARTICULARLY WANT TO GO TO THE MALDIVES. In my defense, it had been a rough couple of months, capped off by the passing away of my brilliant, beloved, cranky-pants grandmother. She lived in New York City’s Chinatown, and every time I’d return home from Asia, she’d scold me for not visiting more often, ply me with food… and then try to hustle me away again. “Go back to work,” she’d say. “Go see the world. Send me a postcard.” I always did, from every trip. This was an old-school woman with an immigrant’s work ethic, but she also loved getting mail. I’m pretty sure the power of the postcard was just as persuasive to her as pride in my job. So, I headed back to Bangkok from a bittersweet American springtime to repack for the Maldives, an endeavor into which I had to put more thought than you’d imagine. Because the plan was to do the Indian Ocean nation three ways: glammed out, under the sea and a cultural deep-dive. The recently refit W Retreat & Spa, the Anantara Kihavah oasis and the brand-new Loama Resort respectively specialize in each of these angles, though, as I would soon discover, there are few picture-perfect vacation postcards any of these hotels, spread, though they are, smack out in the cerulean sea, can’t bring to life for you. We landed at Malé in a midmorning haze. Even an overcast sky couldn’t conceal the pure beauty of the place. The seaplanes in every color in the gumball machine lined up along docks like so many Matchbox cars with wings. Click— mental postcard for Poa Poa. We were only in the airport, and I was already scrapbooking this country. A quick layover in the W lounge (a romper room festooned with
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oversized lollipops and Bliss bodycare products in the full bathroom) and then we were boarding our adorable airborne taxi. Flying over the Maldives is itself part of the pleasure of the visit. My mind reeled: How many shades of blue can there be? How is it possible that these farflung atolls, round specks topped with green and ringed with golden sands and ridges of reefs, could be in a single country? We were all first-timers to this unreal place, and just as we re-hinged our dropped jaws, we were landing at the W, the glass of champagne handed to me as I disembarked just the first of countless bubble bottles we happily popped on this trip. That’s how, four days after leaving Manhattan, I found myself on a different kind of island entirely. This one had a pumping club, but it was below sea level. It had Alex Monopoly-painted street art… on a speedboat. It had bright lights, if you reserved an over-water rotunda for a private dinner within a sexy ring of fire. It had diverse and raucous nightlife—best found on the plentiful house reef during an evening, UV-lamp-lit snorkel (though the two whale sharks we spotted snuggling into a crater turned in a bit early for my tastes). And for VIP sections? Charter a sail on the two-masted yacht Escape, FROM TOP: Chillin' at W
Spa, in swimsuit by Vilebrequin, cover-up by Tan Tan, shoes by Tory Burch; a W over-water villa; all smiles at Loama. OPPOSITE: Ready to take off, in dress by DVF, shoes by Tory Burch, accessories by Wear to Kill.
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