The Permanent Tourist

Back in 2018, the husband and I said “I do,” then promptly did… nothing. No honeymoon. Just years of vaguely gesturing at a trip we’d take “eventually” while life happened instead. Eventually finally did arrive, and thanks to the internet’s favorite deal-hoarding goblin, Travel Zoo, we snagged vouchers for nine nights at an all-inclusive Maldivian resort — private island, iconic overwater bungalows, all the bells and whistles. The plan was simple… swing through Japan first to visit friends who were living there, then continue on to our remote slice of paradise. Lavish. Elegant. About to change. Because those friends took one look at our itinerary and said, “not without us.” Turns out they hadn’t had a honeymoon either. And just like that, our two person romantic getaway mutated into something far more chaotic, but infinitely better: The Quad-Honeymoon was born. Yes, I absolutely made us all flasks for the occasion.

In the spirit of doing things properly (aka. financially recklessly), we also decided to splurge on business class to actually get there, flying Beond — an airline so committed to the bit that it only does business class, ferrying people to the Maldives from a handful of European cities like some kind of winged butler service. And the plot twist nobody expects: It was cheaper than business class on any of the “normal” airlines. Sometimes the universe rewards chaos.

There’s something surreal about boarding a business class only aircraft and realizing you can count your fellow passengers on one hand. On the outbound leg from Munich to Malé, it was just five of us aboard — the kind of exclusivity that makes an already rarefied experience feel almost private-jet intimate. I didn’t even have to share my row with the husband! The cabin crew had the luxury of paying attention to every small detail, because with so few people to look after, nothing went unnoticed. The return flight from Malé to Milan had a bit more company (a whopping thirteen passengers this time), but the spirit of the experience held. Even with more people aboard, the same lie-flat comfort, the same course-by-course dining, the same warmth from the crew. If anything, the slightly fuller cabin made it feel more like a shared secret than a solitary indulgence.

The emptiness of the plane was the first thing that struck me. The second thing… the seats were full lie-flat design, generously padded, with enough personal space that you never felt like you were sharing the cabin with anyone at all. Each luxurious leather throne came paired with an oversized tablet for entertainment — genuinely more like a personal home theater screen than the cramped seat back screens you get used to elsewhere. Stretched out with a film playing, it felt less like flying and more like lounging.

The food was served on real china after we chose from an exclusive menu just for us. Warm bread baskets came around first, still steaming, followed by a proper sequence of starters, mains, and desserts — each course plated with care rather than just reheated and unceremoniously plopped on your tray. It had the pacing and presentation of a good restaurant meal, not the assembly-line feel of typical airline catering. What really stood out was the crew. Every single staff member was warm in a way that felt unforced — attentive without hovering, friendly without the scripted airline politeness you usually get. It’s the kind of service that makes you feel genuinely looked after rather than simply processed.

For anyone that has never used Travel Zoo, it’s a travel site dedicated to vetting and securing vacation deals around the globe. They refer to themselves as, “the club for travel enthusiasts.” Generally, the deals are in the form of vouchers that you pay for. For example, I also used Travel Zoo when the husband and I visited Turks and Caicos. Once purchased, you’re given a time period in which to redeem the vouchers, which includes contacting the resort and confirming availability on whatever dates you choose. For the Maldives, the voucher provided us a nine day window to stay at Mercure Kooddoo Resort, a resort island south of Malé.

The resort itself — sixty-eight villas of boutique charm, dropped right where wild tropical jungle collided with a lagoon so clear it looked vaguely photoshopped. It was built for people who came for luxurious connection and allowed them to leave with sunburn and stories in equal measure. Add in uninterrupted views and sunsets that seemed personally offended if you didn’t stop and stare. Pair that with crystal clear waters littered with luminous coral teeming with fish, reef sharks and rays. We snorkeled right off our own private deck after braving the most slippery set of stairs.

What these first class descriptions don’t tell you is the chaos that ensued with our quartet. Chaos is not an understatement by any means. While just about everyone reading this will have no idea what parts of the upcoming paragraphs mean… the ones that matter most will! The four of us hadn’t seen one another in quite some time, and the celebrations began immediately when we all reconnected in Malé International Airport. In the upgraded airport lounge, courtesy of our booking with Mercure Kooddoo!

While we were at the resort, our group took to naming and developing back stories for the other couples as we people watched. Some of the better designations were… Prostitute and Trust Fund (that’s an easy guess), Facelift and Corner Husband (botox queen was gregarious, but forced the other half to stay in his corner), The Russian Pair (the male half was always on his phone and paid her no attention,) the random Gaggle of Asians (why did a group of Asians traveled to a romantic couple’s resort confused us all), and the Dancing Queens (couple that clearly took far too many dance classes). Make up your own backstories just using the names — I did not manage to write the full invented life stories of those we watched. The staff did the same for us, naming the husband Gin Fizz and the other husband Whiskey Boi. My husband became addicted to gin on day one.

Part of our vouchers also included a thirty minute photo shoot, of which, we got to select eighteen to receive digital versions of along with one printed copy. The husband is always awkward, and I follow suit when it comes to forced poses. Some of them looked pretty ridiculous, but when it’s included in the price, you do the photo shoot on a tropical island paradise. Another inclusion was an hour massage each. We got to chose between intense and tranquil — normal humans pick the relaxing one. Both husbands fell sound asleep snoring during theirs, annoying both their wives.

The vouchers came with two bonus activities: Sunset fishing and a snorkeling excursion. Adventure, allegedly, included. The fishing turned out to be a personal triumph — I reeled in an honest-to-god barracuda, using nothing but a line. The universe finally throwing me a bone? Unclear. What was clear was that mostly everyone else on the boat caught nothing, which made my barracuda feel less like a fish and more like a trophy… that they made me throw back. My bigger barracuda trumped the one other caught.

The snorkeling, on the other hand, deserves a strongly worded letter denouncing boater’s abilities. Having explored the local islands years earlier, I wade into any Maldivian water expecting full aquatic theater — reef sharks, technicolor fish, maybe a manta ray showing off for the crowd. This time? A resounding flop. The ocean, usually so eager to perform, phoned it in. The headline attraction were a couple of mildly unbothered turtles who looked about as underwhelmed by the whole thing as we were.

And then there was one activity that appeared on absolutely zero itineraries: Skinny dipping, an event entirely of our own making. Day one, the other husband — apparently unbound by things like “modesty” or “warning people” — decided to shed every stitch of clothing, tiptoe down the slippery stairs of their private bungalow, and go for a leisurely swim directly beneath the public overwater walkway. Our bungalow, like all the others, came with a glass panel in the floor specifically designed so you could admire passing fish. We were not prepared for the sudden appearance of a naked human where a parrotfish should’ve been. In broad daylight. No shadows, no mercy, full HD. There is photographic evidence, but I will spare the world those photos.

Somehow, riding the high of his impromptu performance, he talked all three of us into agreeing we’d try it too at some point on the trip. And we did — though the rest of us, being people with slightly more restraint (or at least a better sense of timing), waited for the cover of darkness. So yes, it’s official, I have now skinny dipped in the Indian Ocean, and I have one very confident, very exposed friend to thank for the peer pressure.

One final thought on this amazing escape from reality — The resort offered free kayaks, and obviously we were not the kind of people to say no to free anything. The husband and I set off like a couple of tranquil nature documentary subjects, gliding across water so clear it felt borderline unfair to every other body of water we’d ever paddled in. Our friends’ journey, however, took a decidedly different path. Their kayak, in what can only be described as a slow-motion betrayal, began quietly filling with water — the vessel equivalent of a bad omen. What followed was catastrophic failure of legendary proportions… a full capsize, perfectly timed with the arrival of a rainstorm, because the universe apparently wanted maximum theatrical impact. The wife found herself hauling the now-waterlogged kayak back toward shore like some kind of determined tugboat, while the husband — undeterred by logic, physics, or the fact that the boat was actively drowning — kept right on paddling it. As if sheer commitment could reverse the laws of buoyancy. Things escalated as the kayak eventually was dragged ashore and the husband, several drinks deep and fully embracing the chaos, simply swam the rest of the way back himself. A grand finale.

Goodbye, glorious Maldives… we shall meet again.

November 2024