The Independent, UK
It's sold as a romantic destination. But babies are welcome too on these islands, says Marc Padgett.
It's not every night you go out for dinner and end up saving a life, but that's what happened on my honeymoon in the Maldives. Jan and I got married on Saturday, had our eight-month-old son, Toby, christened on Sunday, and, in need of some rest and relaxation, headed off to the Beach House resort on Manafaru island in the Maldives on the Monday.
So far, so good. But as we sat down for dinner on our first night, a staff member appeared carrying a sizeable butterfish that had got caught in a fisherman's net and was showing few signs of life. He put the fish in the pond in the centrepiece of the restaurant, but the poor thing just lay on the surface.
Emboldened by a few glasses of a fine red, I sprang into Jacques Cousteau mode and tried to breathe life back into my new best friend. On the verge of reluctantly attempting mouth to mouth, it tentatively found its water wings again. Two nights later, we returned to the restaurant for another meal and were told the fish had been safely returned to the sea. Suspiciously, curried butterfish was on the menu.
I have been lucky enough to stay in some fine places over the years, but the award-winning Beach House tops the lot. Our "water villa" had the biggest bed I've ever slept in, a glass-bottom living-room floor to watch the abundant marine life swim by, an indoor Jacuzzi to wallow in, and a bathroom that afforded the experience of showering above the sea. And then there was the direct access from a sun lounger on our terrace into the Indian Ocean, and the wondrous surroundings of palm-fringed white-sand beaches. Read more..
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