WRITING PROMPT RESPONSE
Marveling at the Maldives
Surrounded by #naturalwonders in the Maldives, I went looking for paradise
Some places require time, effort, and a morsel of vigor and commitment before allowing access to a setting of natural beauty; travelers revel in the challenges and opportunities that arise when natural wonders remain hidden treasures.
A long hike across treacherous hills, a daring ride by off-road vehicle to reach an unguarded precipice, a swim through hidden lagoons to reveal a breathtaking cave; many of the natural wonders of the world require a justifiably acceptable commitment or risk. The reward is always sweeter on the other side of adventure.
But what happens when a location is so replete with natural beauty that it simply greets you with serenely open arms from the moment you reach its shores? Does one get tired of paradise after a while? Does the indescribable feeling become satiated and worn out over time?
Such questions hovered over me as I descended into the Maldives, the plane circling the strange island capital of Male. Vertical buildings jutted out of the tightly compact island of over 200,000 people, seemingly void of any available empty land. The image of paradise was strangely beginning to materialize, even in this conglomeration of concrete human construction. All around it, a sea of blues captured my imagination and curiosity. How unique of a place to call home, I thought.
Through the bustle of the International Airport, I shuffled my way out into the open sea air and stumbled, without effort, into the brightest and most vivid ocean blues I had ever seen. Outside the arrival hall, dazed by the quick access to serenity, I watched as other fresh arrivals posed frantically in front of the blue waters for pictures while simultaneously scuttling to find their ferries and speed boats that were shuttling everyone to paradise.
While waiting for my scheduled speedboat to whisk me off into another world of natural beauty, I sat and cherished the movement of people and energy in this place; I knew that isolation was soon awaiting me and enjoyed watching the emotions in the crowd in this idyll of the world.
For $35, I charted a scheduled speedboat to Rasdhoo, a local inhabited island in the North Ari Atoll. At the time(2017), the island had no access to a public ferry and was only accessible by speedboat, and I was happy to pay the fare for the hour and a half transfer to natural seclusion. A small crowd gathered on the speed boat and shared in the splendor of the sea. Every passenger jolted in exhilaration as the speedboat thumped and smacked its way to Rasdhoo; we all panted in admiration at the beauty that flanked both sides.
The arrival was even more alluring than the adrenaline-soaked ride to this isolated patch of paradise. Rasdhoo was home to just over 1000 people; the welcoming jetty was modest and quaint and made me feel at home and in good hands for the following seven days.
I had booked a homestay in the small village, a renovated home that served guests and travelers — the Maldives was in the grips of a tourism transformation at the time, finally opening up small inhabited islands to foreigners by allowing Maldivians to construct and renovate guesthouses for rent.
A man greeted and guided me through the small labyrinth of the village, passing through a colorful schoolyard, a medical center, several small corner shops, and a football pitch, all under the oppressively hot sun of the tropics. The island of Rasdhoo, surrounded by a vast network of pristine reefs and crystal clear waters, sandbanks and isolated sand bars, remotely uninhabited islands, and luxurious resort gateways, existed in all its simplicity; a charming and romantically adorable village.
A chance meeting with a local fisherman
I quickly picked my way through this captivating inhabited islet, a small spect of human cohabitation in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I walked its quiet, sandy paths and circled the perimeter of the island, finding corners that offered beachside seclusion and others that harbored small fishing boats.
I mustered the courage to talk to a local man who had returned with some fresh catch and asked if he would take me to the sandbank the following day. The grace and humility in his interaction made me fall in love with the place even more. He had no ambitions to sell me anything but instead beamed with pride at the chance of showing me his island and atoll.
We jostled in a conversation for a while; I accosted him with questions about the place and his life there, which he was more than happy to share, and we made plans to meet the following morning.
I woke early the next morning with excited expectations. I met the man where I had confronted him the previous day and watched as he organized the boat for launch. We left the island shore behind and motored out into the open blues — different layers of turquoise waters showed changing depths below the surface. The colors of the sea were miraculous; one could get lost by looking at them.
He pointed to islands in the distance, commenting on the developments of resorts and international money that continued sweeping across the atoll island nation. I could sense ambivalence in his voice; he was happy that money and opportunity were pouring into his homeland, bringing new faces from around the world. But a quiet sadness lay below the surface, the solemn fact that most of the money was falling into the wrong hands — always the way with tourism dollars, I pondered.
My personal idyll — the sandbank
When we lost sight of Rasdhoo in the distance, an eerie apprehension swept over me, the notion of being stranded dead in the middle of the Indian Ocean. But the blues kept me placid and calm, dazed and serenely content with my surroundings.
Finally, in the far distance, a stretch of white sand shimmered with the rays of the sun. Out in the open, it stood like an oasis of unparalleled beauty. I grew emotionally attached to it, this tiny sandbank stranded in the middle of nowhere. How on Earth could this little pit of island sand stand alone in this insurmountable sea?
My new friend, the Rasdhoo native fisherman, slowly trawled us toward the little sandbank, pointing out facts about the remote area. A tiny copse of green bushes stood out in the middle of the bank, somehow thriving in this little piece of land. Surrounding the isolated bank were shallow waters, clear as crystal, where one could seemingly walk out for hundreds of meters. An oval patch of dark waters lingered nearby, a lagoon rife with corals teeming with sea life to explore.
The man dropped me on the patch of hot, white sand and promised to return in the afternoon; I had the island almost to myself. I found refuge under a thatched hut and laid in admiration at the world laid bare at my feet. I had brought a book to read, but the effort was futile. There existed far too much for my eyes to gasp at in this natural wonderland.
I watched stingrays dilly-dally in the waters near my shores, never daring to hover too close. I snorkeled in the waters of the lagoon, catching sight of a rich diversity of fish. I watched the open blue skies and the dancing traces of faint clouds that sent shadows into the sparkling waters that surrounded me.
This island was paradise, a new level of natural beauty that I had yet experienced in the flesh. And I was alone, absolutely secluded and isolated in this patch of sand made from heaven.
The hours whizzed by while I wished for time to remain still. I lounged lethargically on the sand, under the shade, and reasoned whether time would eventually steal this beauty from me. Would its awe-inspiring look and feel satisfy my human emotions forever? Could I remain pitted here for months, even years, feeling the same way, or would I grow satiated by this exorbitantly beautiful environment?
In my hours of utopian bliss on the sandbank, I never once allowed thoughts of apprehension to enter my serene mind. What if my transport never comes? What happens to me then, stranded on this sandbank? When my friend on the boat arrived, I quietly dragged myself over the gunwale and sat still; words were not necessary, the man could read the smile on my face. We motored away into infinity, and I pondered, again, the beauty of the sandbank.
Lessons learned in travel
I told the man I wanted to return the following day, and he agreed to take me for the same price; a $15 return journey was too good to pass on for both parties. I wanted to indulge in this beauty, to witness whether it would ravish me in the same ways again. I wanted to believe that I could return to this island, over and over again, with the capacity to appreciate its natural beauty through those same primitive perceptions.
While I enjoyed the thrill of being alone on the sandbank and immersed in its intoxicating beauty, there is much to say about the timeless adage “too much of a good thing can be a bad thing.”
As I sat on the sandbank on that second consecutive day in paradise, it became clear: over-indulgence in anything can lead to depreciation — even immeasurable natural beauty like the Maldives. I enjoyed the day and made sure to count my blessings, but I began to feel the tingle for something new.
The ultimate prize in travel is the ability and willingness to keep moving. I made note of these emotions as they lingered in the blissful tropical air of my personal sandbank.
When my short time in the Maldives was up, I packed my bag with a slight tinge of sadness but a strong dose of appreciation for the experiences and insights that I had captured. It was time to move on and to search for beauty in another place, a new place.
I realized that paradise is not the destination but the journey. Paradise is the freedom and ability to move around and to seek new surroundings, to encounter new experiences while appreciating them in those fleeting moments. Seven short days on the island of Rasdhoo, and I had found my true idyll.
#naturalwonders
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