The itinerary sent to me in advance of my stay at Dhevanafushi, the new resort in the Maldives operated by Jumeirah, the famous Dubai-based luxury hotel group, promised “snorkelling with the butler.”The idea of splashing around in the lagoon gazing at fish while being followed by a Maldivian Jeeves wearing a snorkel and a mask and bearing a flute of champagne on a tray, seemed suitably extravagant. After all, as I learned to my surprise when I checked the rack rate, the lowest price for a room with breakfast at the resort is US$4,000 with 3.5 percent government tax extra.
What, I wondered, could possibly justify a room rate that is the equivalent of Rs. 455,400 per night?
I discovered that it isn’t just the incredible infrastructure that guests pay for. It’s also the extreme attention to detail, something that hotels in Sri Lanka could emulate as a means of legitimately pushing up room prices. It begins with service.
I was met as I emerged from the arrivals hall at Male’s International Airport by the resort’s airport butler. He was dressed in a flowing white kurta emblazoned with an orange and burgundy design culled from the resort’s motif of a stylistic seahorse.
This was a taster of the exemplary and excellent service I was to enjoy throughout my stay. The butler escorted me to the domestic airport and checked me in for the onward flight by the domestic airline, Maldivian. He met me again and checked me in for my international flight when I returned three days later.
After a flight of 55 minutes I was met at Kaadhedhdhoo Airport by another butler, assigned to attend to me around-the-clock. He took care of the luggage and drove me in a buggy to a small pier where a speedboat (included in the room rate) sped me for 20 minutes across the atoll to Dhevanafushi.
At the glass welcome pavilion at the end of the island’s jetty, two drummers pounded out bodu beru rhythms as they do to greet every new arrival, and I was introduced to the heads of departments. The theme, I quickly discovered, was to make every guest feel genuinely and totally at ease.
The butler escorted me to my villa. I was staying in the smallest (at 206 square metres of interior space larger than most homes) called a “Beach Revive.” There are 13 of them plus eight “Island Revives” with 326 square metres of living space. The island itself is 44,000 square metres in area with shaded paths cutting through the lush tropical foliage that shields each villa from its neighbour.
There are also 16 “Ocean Pearl” villas built on columns on a sandbank 850m from the shore and reached only by boat.
The entrance to my villa was a wooden door that opened onto a wooden deck surrounding a private swimming pool. There was an enormous dais with a double bed for daytime lazing on the beach by the pool, and two more day beds on the veranda. The bedroom itself was huge with a central king size bed shrouded by gossamer curtains and piled high with cushions and plump pillows.
The butler proudly showed me the “media centre” and the interactive television set, both of which were too high-tech for me to operate, so I left them alone. To my surprise, although there were sleek and unobtrusive air-conditioning units (which I regard as unhealthy), there were no ceiling fans. The butler did his job, however, and swiftly found me a stand fan.
The marble-floored bathroom was bigger than most hotel’s suites, with an enormous marble tub, a separate rain shower room, a separate glass walled toilet, and a further rain shower in a secret garden. There was also a dressing room, a study with another day bed, and a galley with a “maxi” bar with espresso machine and stacks of delectable snacks.
Meals served at Azara, the main restaurant at the resort, are appropriately lavish, and exquisite. I sampled Sauternes-poached foie gras served with apple tart tatin with Tahitian vanilla-chocolate liqueur and apple radish salad, at US$46. As though that weren’t exotic enough, I followed it with rare Wagyu beef rib eye with a marble score of eight plus, with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed wild mushrooms at US$160.
The menu was intriguing because it didn’t have the prices printed beside each item, presumably on the basis that if you had to ask the price, you couldn’t afford it. Instead, the prices were printed on the back page. Another useful feature was a sign beside each dish indicating whether it contained Alcohol, Pork, Nuts, or was Diabetic-Friendly.
Public pavilions of brash white and glass walls included a library, an overwater spa and a gym for the serious (personal trainer on call), and an open-sided bar (run by a Sri Lankan) with cocktails for the adventurous, beside an infinity swimming pool that seemed to float out over the ocean.
I didn’t snorkel with the butler but appreciated the dedication that each member of the staff showed to making guests feel content. Luckily, in Sri Lanka, that passion is naturally part of hospitality, and it doesn’t cost so much! |
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