A client says: the Maldives, oh, any island, you decide. That “you decide” usually takes us two weeks to decide.
The first week is questions. Not about budget — about habits first: what is the first thing you do when you wake in the morning? Those who answer “swim” need an island with a good house reef, snorkelling the moment they open the door; those who answer “coffee and quiet” want a water villa facing east, its deck catching the sunrise. Are you nervous of small planes? Prone to seasickness? On honeymoon, do you want to be recognised and celebrated, or to vanish entirely? How old are the children — four and fourteen are two completely different islands.
The second week is elimination. More than a hundred islands are cut first by how you reach them, then by the island’s temperament: some are as lively as a club at sea, others so quiet that dinner is taken in a lowered voice; some win by the number of their restaurants, others have a single restaurant on the whole island whose chef remembers each guest’s dislikes. In our island files, every island carries one line — “not suited to whom” — and that line is far more honest than “suited to whom”.
Only when two or three remain do we lay the photographs and the reasons before the client. One guest, having read that page of “why this one”, said something we treasured: so “you decide” had meant someone would do all the homework for me.
The success or failure of an island holiday is eight parts settled before departure. Choose the right island, and the rest is merely living out the days; choose the wrong one, and every remedy is swimming against the current.