Beyond the
honeymoons
Away from the polished luxury of the Maldives’ famed resorts lies a tapestry of local culture, history and environmental resilience, proving that paradise has always been more complex – and rewarding – than it first appears
Words and photographs George Kipouros
Local children swim off the shore of Kihaadhoo island
I never wanted to visit the Maldives. There, I said it.
For years, my mental image of this 1,192-island nation was a postcard cliché: an overwater villa teetering on stilts above a cerulean sea, an empty horizon where nothing but luxury reigned in isolation. To my mind, this was a destination for honeymooners and high-flyers, a place where the reality was too polished to be real and where the only locals you met were delivering your cocktails on a silver tray.
It was thus with great hesitation – and a spark of curiosity – that I accepted an invitation to experience the Maldives. My hosts, Universal Resorts, a locally owned and operated company, pioneered tourism here by opening the country’s first accommodations back in the 1970s. But I had come not just for the famed resorts; I wanted to immerse myself in the islands’ culture and traditions.
Beyond Malé lies Hulhulé, the island dedicated to the country’s main airport (Shutterstock)
The pinnacle-roofed Lighthouse restaurant – which celebrates its 20th anniversary this year – can be seen for miles around as you approach the island of Baros
The real-life Waterworld
As the plane descended, I caught sight of one of the most unusual airports in the world: a single runway on its own island, ringed by dazzling blue waters. After a three-minute
drive over a newly built bridge, I arrived in the capital city, Malé, a world away from the Maldives that I had envisioned.
With more than 200,000 residents crammed into just 8 sq km, this is one of the most densely populated cities on Earth, set on an island home to over 40% of the country’s population. This was not a luxury escape wrapped in turquoise water, but a thriving, crowded, chaotic city. The streets pulsed with scooters and the air was thick with the scent of grilled fish and spice-laden curries wafting from Saihotaa eateries where locals gathered over steaming cups of tea – alcohol is only permitted in tourist resorts in the Maldives.
My guide, Amjad, zipped me through the maze of streets on the back of his motorbike, weaving effortlessly through the traffic.
“Traditionally, this was the King’s Island, where the royal dynasties ruled,” he explained over his shoulder as we dodged pedestrians and darted past brightly painted shopfronts and historic buildings. It was the perfect prelude to my crash course in Maldivian history.
The Maldives were first settled around the 5th century BC by seafarers from the Indian subcontinent. Malé’s significance grew during the Buddhist period, which lasted for over a thousand years, until the 12th century AD. With the conversion to Islam in 1153, the city became the heart of the Sultanate of the Maldives, where successive sultans ruled. It continued to evolve across Portuguese (1558–1573), Dutch (1654–1796) and British (1887–1965) rule, yet it has always remained a stronghold of Maldivian governance and identity.
A testament to this layered history is the Malé Friday Mosque (or Malé Hukuru Miskiy). Completed in 1658, it is the most ornate mosque in the Maldives and is regarded as one of the finest coral stone structures in the world. Its walls, built using intricate interlocking techniques rather than mortar, showcase exceptional craftsmanship. This is one of the reasons why UNESCO has placed it on its tentative World Heritage list. Inside, I met Farid, the mosque’s caretaker, who spoke to me as he traced his fingers over the coral stone walls.
“Each carving tells a story,” he said, pointing out delicate patterns influenced by Indian, Arabian and African motifs. He then gestured toward the mosque’s exquisite lacquered woodwork, explaining that this Maldivian craft still survives on a single island in Baa Atoll. Knowing I would soon visit it, I was keen to see the tradition firsthand.
Eager to show me another side of Malé, Amjad steered towards the city’s bustling fish market. “After all, so much of the Maldives’ trade was built on fishing,” he said as we stepped inside. Here, vendors gutted tuna with astonishing speed, their knives flashing under fluorescent lights. The air was thick with the scent of the sea and the market hummed with the rhythmic banter of sellers and buyers. “The sea is in our blood,” Amjad said with pride as we crossed to the fishing harbour opposite the market.
In Malé, the ocean wasn’t just an infinity pool for sunseekers; it was life itself. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbour, ferries shuttled locals between the islands and children leapt off the docks and into the gentle waves of the atoll with carefree laughter. I glimpsed a Maldives that belonged firmly to its people, not just visitors.
That evening, as the energy of Malé faded into the distance, I set off for Baros with great anticipation. While only a 15-minute boat ride away, I had been promised that the ethereal beauty of the Maldivian islands would spectacularly reveal itself there.
The Muleeaage, built in Malé during the early 20th century by the Sultan for his son, now serves as the Presidential Palace
The beginnings of tourism
Baros, one of the country’s original resorts, recently celebrated its 50th anniversary. It was, in every way, the Maldives I had expected: pristine beaches, impossibly clear waters, private villas hidden in lush greenery, and overwater bungalows suspended above the effervescent ocean. But it was also much more than that.
Over dinner, I spoke with Mohamed Umar Maniku, the man who pioneered Maldivian tourism in the early 1970s. He told me of a time when there were no resorts, no intercontinental flights – just a handful of visionaries who saw the potential in these islands. Back then, what few visitors arrived – mostly divers – slept in palm-thatched huts and ate meals supplied by the local fisherfolk.
His visionary idea hadn’t been to separate visitors from Maldivian culture, as is often the case today; he had intended to invite them in.
“The UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) told me back then that there was no way tourism would develop in this country. Against their advice, we have managed to make tourism the engine of our economy!” Mohamed smiled, speaking with pride about how far the country had come.
However, he also acknowledged that the balance had shifted along the way. Some visitors no longer engage with Maldivian culture; now efforts are being made to change this.
Resorts such as Baros are investing heavily in promoting local cuisine and encouraging guests to visit nearby communities, introducing them to Maldivian music and cultural activities. What I found was ultra-luxury, yes, with a wine cellar that could rival the best in France, but there was also a growing desire to address past missteps and an honest effort to do better.
The idyllic sands of Baros
The symbiotic relationship of clownfish and anemones is an almost touching sight
Fragile idyll
Beyond the surreal beauty of Baros, the environmental reality of the Maldives loomed large. These islands sit on the frontline of climate change, with rising sea levels threatening their very existence.
I visited a coral restoration project led by Shuga, a Maldivian marine biologist working with the resort to rehabilitate and expand the reef. She told me of the devastating effects of coral bleaching in 2016 and 2024.
“People come here for the beauty,” she said. “They don’t realise how fragile it all is.”
Guests can don snorkel gear and actively participate in the restoration process, where fragments of coral are nurtured back to life using a technique called asexual gametogenesis. Under Shuga’s guidance, I assisted in preparing a coral nursery structure, which we lowered onto the seabed. Each one carried a small tag bearing the names of the guests who had helped.
“It’s like adopting a coral,” Shuga smiled.
To my surprise, I saw delicate new coral formations taking root – a testament to years of restoration efforts. The surrounding reef, once battered by environmental challenges, is now healthier and larger than it was a decade ago.
“This isn’t just about protecting Baros,” Shuga told me. “It’s about safeguarding our future.” She explained that similar conservation and regeneration initiatives are taking place across multiple resorts and community islands throughout the Maldives.
The sea always works up an appetite in me, so I was looking forward to lunch. It was a feast from the chef’s garden, a hydroponic marvel where executive chef Ken Gundu cultivates local herbs and vegetables. In a nation where most produce is imported, this was a remarkable sight.
“The Maldives was once self-sustaining,” Ken said, sprinkling fresh basil over a grilled local fish dish. “We need to remember that.”
With the first light of day, I boarded a seaplane bound for Milaidhoo. It was a mesmerising flight, soaring over scattered atolls and ribbons of sandbanks. Though another luxury resort awaited, Milaidhoo promised something different: an experience woven more deeply with Maldivian heritage.
Dhonis were once used by traders and fishermen alike to sail the Maldives
Community encounters
Milaidhoo is situated within the Baa Atoll UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, famed for its spectacular diving and snorkelling. It is also home to some of the Maldives’ most renowned resorts. What made it truly special for me were the close links to Maldivian heritage and the numerous community islands – many of which had been inhabited for centuries.
The overall feel here blended indulgence with authenticity, inspired by Sultanate-era architecture. One particularly striking dining space, set on the deck of three dhonis (traditional sailing vessels), paid homage to the local heritage, while the overwater bungalows, originally a Polynesian import, were reimagined with Maldivian flair, adorned with intricate lacquerware from the nearby island of Thulhaadhoo.
We set off on our travels with a visit to Kihaadhoo, a neighbouring island home to around 600 people. Traditionally a fishing village, many residents now work for the nearby resorts. Here, the Maldives felt utterly different. Narrow streets were lined with coral stone houses, children ran barefoot under bougainvillaea blooms and women gathered to weave mats and chat in the afternoon shade.
Our guide, Zubeir, the headmaster of the local school, proudly showed us the island’s progress towards self-sufficiency.
“We’re investing in solar panels to reduce and, perhaps, eventually eliminate our reliance on fossil fuels,” he explained. We also visited small hydroponic farms nestled in the gardens of local homes. “The sandy soil isn’t great for crops,” he explained, “so we’ve turned to hydroponics to grow vegetables.”
The islanders’ conscientiousness even extends to the issue of refuse. At the waste management centre, Zubeir explained: “We separate our refuse carefully. We recycle as much as possible and compost organic waste to enrich our soil.” Many community islands (and all of the resort islands) across the Maldives now have modern waste management systems, transforming what was once a challenge into a cleaner way of living.
After a walk through the village, I was welcomed into a local home for a Maldivian lunch. My hosts, a family of fisherfolk and farmers, served garudhiya – an aromatic tuna broth infused with chillies and lime – accompanied by soft roshi flatbread and mas huni, a blend of coconut, smoked tuna and onions.
“You can’t eat garudhiya without talking. It’s a meal meant for sharing,” Zubeir laughed.
True to his word, the conversation flowed easily, weaving between memories of the island’s past and its evolving relationship with tourism. With more local islands beginning to open their doors to travellers, my hosts were hopeful that their own community would soon welcome visitors. A small homestay initiative was being set up to offer an even deeper glimpse into Maldivian life.
Before leaving, Zubeir took me to the far end of the island, where locals were building a rock wall to combat coastal erosion. It was another reminder that the Maldives face a pressing environmental crisis.
“We will persevere,” Zubeir said with a determined smile. “We always have.”
The streets seemingly overflow with bougainvillea on Kendhoo island
A regretful parting
On Kendhoo, an island that lies just 20 minutes from Milaidhoo by boat, I was welcomed by Amira, a traditional healer who practices dhivehi beys, the ancient Maldivian
art of herbal medicine. She showed me a poultice made from crushed leaves and coconut oil that has been used for centuries to heal wounds.
“Tourists today come for our wellness retreats,” she said with a matter-of-fact smile, “but we’ve always known how to heal.”
Amira also teaches the resort spa staff traditional chiropractic techniques and the use of Maldivian herbs. It perhaps explained why my massage at Milaidhoo’s overwater spa the previous night had been one of the best I’d ever experienced.
Further into the village, I stood before the Kendhoo Magaamfulhu, a 500-year-old memorial honouring Thabreyzgefaanu, the man credited with bringing Islam to the Maldives. In 2018, soil erosion led to the collapse of its boundary wall, prompting a major restoration. The site stands as a testament to Maldivian heritage and the battle against climate change.
At the heart of this historic setting, local guide Nasheed shared stories of Kendhoo’s spiritual and maritime traditions. Faith and the sea are often inseparable on these islands.
“Even today,” he said, “every fisherman prays before setting sail. It’s our way.”
Back on Milaidhoo that evening, I dined at Ba’theli by the Reef, the only Maldivian fine-dining restaurant in the country. Its striking design honours the islands’ maritime heritage, echoing the dhonis that once sailed spice routes from Asia to Arabia laden with cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric, cloves, ginger and pepper. These same fragrant spices now infuse dishes like sufuraa mathi, a Maldivian curry bursting with complex, layered flavours. It was a culinary journey through the Maldives’ royal and maritime past.
With another day ahead, I set out for Thulhaadhoo, the last stronghold of Maldivian lacquerware artistry. This handicraft, known locally as liye laajehun, is celebrated for its vibrant colours and intricate designs, which are found only here.
I met Hafiz, one of among two-dozen craftspeople on the island, who was deeply committed to preserving this fading art. With practiced precision, he used natural dyes extracted from plants and corals, layering deep reds and blacks onto coconut and kuredhi wood. Each piece, whether a container, vase or decorative box, was meticulously polished until it gleamed with a rich, naturally lacquered finish.
As he worked, Hafiz spoke about how tourism was breathing new life into the craft, drawing fresh interest from visitors eager to take home a piece of Maldivian heritage. Under his guidance, I tried my hand at applying colours to one of the vases destined for a resort boutique. The process was painstakingly intricate, requiring steady hands and patience – neither of which is my forte.
Surprisingly exhausted after just 20 minutes of attempting this difficult technique myself, I welcomed the surprise detour to the uninhabited island of Eboodhoo, where dolphins played in the surf. It was the Maldivian paradise of my imagination: powdery white sand, crystal-clear waters and an overwhelming sense of stillness. Snorkelling and swimming in the warm shallows, I felt like a castaway.
That night, Milaidhoo’s team orchestrated one final, unforgettable experience: dinner on a sandbank surrounded by 17 atoll islands, with the tide set to reclaim it all by 9pm.
As we arrived, a dance group from Kihaadhoo island welcomed us with boduberu drumming and dancing, their melodies carrying across the sea. The hypnotic beat of the drums merged with the hush of the waves, while the silhouettes of neighbouring atolls shimmered under a star-filled sky. As the sand beneath slowly disappeared, I understood why so many chose this fleeting paradise as the setting to propose marriage to their partner, or for their subsequent honeymoon.
I had arrived in the Maldives a sceptic, expecting a curated paradise of identical luxury resorts, where tourism felt almost detached from the place itself. And while I did experience two of the finest stays imaginable – places where many guests were content to remain confined in their idyllic surroundings – both Baros and Milaidhoo offered something far greater. Their hospitality was not just refined but rooted and deeply intertwined with the surrounding community islands and the people who call this place home.
Indeed, what I found was far richer than I had imagined: a nation of depth, culture, and resilience. The Maldives isn’t just a playground for the sun-deprived and privileged to avoid the hoi polloi; it’s a place of storytellers and artisans, healers and fisherfolk, dreamers and guardians of the sea.
I’d never wanted to visit the Maldives. Now I can’t wait to return.
Eboodhoo is an uninhabited island
B’atheli by the Reef at Milaidhoo resort is set on three reconstructed dhonis, with guests invited to dine beneath the stars on deck
The Kendhoo Magaafulhu memorial marks where the 12th-century Arabian scholar Thabreyzgefaanu, who is credited with the spread of Islam among the islands, was said to have prayed when visiting Kendhoo
Need to know
When to go
The Maldives is a year-round destination, but the optimal time to visit is from November to April, during the (mostly) dry season. The May-to-October monsoon season brings higher humidity, stronger winds and frequent rain showers.
Getting there & around
British Airways (ba.com) operates non-stop flights from London Heathrow to Malé’s Velana International Airport. These take around 11 hours.
Etihad (etihad.com), Qatar Airways (qatarairways.com) and Emirates (emirates.com) offer connecting flights via the Middle East.
Inter-island travel involves speedboats as well as domestic and (pricey) seaplane flights. Universal Resorts can arrange community and island excursions for guests at their eight resorts.
Where to stay
Baros Maldives is a pioneer in Maldivian luxury and offers intimate villas, world-class diving and unparalleled hospitality; baros.com.
Milaidhoo Maldives is a barefoot-luxury boutique retreat set in the Baa Atoll Biosphere Reserve that focuses on authentic Maldivian experiences; milaidhoo.com.
For a comprehensive list of islands, resorts and activities, including what to do on local islands, visit the official tourism website: visitmaldives.com.
The trip
Ground arrangements were organised by the Maldivian-owned and operated Universal Resorts (universalresorts.com), including stays at Baros and Milaidhoo.
A dhoni lies moored in the tranquil waters of Kendhoo
