The bright light of the Maldives luxury times two

If you’ve been thinking about it, the time has now come…

At the island resort of Finolhu and Amilla Fushi, one all fun and sun, the other a sybaritic haven, the Maldives luxury reveals its myriad wonder with a fanfare befitting its ‘look at me’ beauty, writes Leigh-Ann Pow.

All around me is pitch black. It’s so complete that I almost feel it wrapping around me, enveloping my limbs in its inky grip. With not one star piercing the impenetrable night sky, I am visually oblivious to my surroundings, blind while still seeing.

But the sea spray being carried by the wind onto my face and the rhythmic (and unrelenting) lurching of the speedboat as it forges deeper into the Indian Ocean keeps the slightly edgy feeling that we might be about to drop off the edge of the earth at bay as the minutes stretch on.

In a world that increasingly feels like it is shrinking, with everything folding in on itself so that nothing is remote any more, this level of isolation is momentarily confronting. I start calculating how long I think it would take for someone to get to us if something untoward should happen.

To put my current feeling of removal into context, it has taken a eight-hour international flight, followed by a four hour-plus commercial flight, then a 15-minute up-then-down prop plane dash, followed by the speedboat, which will cross an invisible timeline in the sea before our journey ends adding two hours to the already late (or early, in fact) hour, to get us this far.

And then a light appears on the horizon, a beacon of civilisation in the dark. As we approach I can make out a dock and gently lit buildings. And is that a vintage VW Kombi? As the fog of fatigue starts to descend, we are ushered through more pitch dark to our room and to sleep.

When I wake later the same morning the all-consuming black has been replaced, and all around me is bright light. The journey that began the previous day is forgotten, and the contrast is literally like night and day. Unveiling the Maldives, the archipelago of 1200 islands and dollops of sand (200 of which are inhabited) sprinkled like confetti across the Indian Ocean, deserves nothing less dramatic.

There are easier places to get to that offer up equal sun and sand, especially from Australia, with the south Pacific at our back door, but even the most perfunctory glance at the paradisiacal scene before me has me believing there is nowhere quite as breathtaking or removed.

I am on the island resort of Finolhu, deep in the UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve at Baa Atoll, the first stop on a two-island odyssey of lounging and luxury.

My room, a waterfront Beach Villa, is wish-I-lived-here lovely, with a cushion-strewn daybed and exuberantly tiled open-air bathroom, leading through a private courtyard garden of tropical plantings to an outdoor shower, where lizards bask in the sun. There are funky retro touches everywhere that hint at a sense of fun: milk chews left on the pillows, a Marshall speaker so you can listen to your music full blast, and his and hers thongs to pad around in.

The resort also features a stretch of over-water villas – a prerequisite for most Maldivian resorts. They snake out into the water along a long jetty that I can see from the beach that opens up at the end of the sheltered path leading from the deep covered deck of my room, which comes with another wide, cushion-scattered daybed.

Heading out into the bright blue, I get a feel for what Finolhu is all about. Walking the sandy paths overhung by palm trees throwing lazy shadows, pastel-hued signposts point to the Baa Baa Beach Club, the beating heart of the resort, with the aforementioned Kombi displaying the day’s activities, and where breakfast, lunch and dinner are served with a view; the wide resort pool is overlooked by the vibey 1 Oak Beach Club, complete with resident DJ (the resort has its own radio station emanating from the decks here), trapeze artists and a mermaid lounging at the water’s edge.

It is these latter inclusions that have earned Finolhu a reputation for being quite the party island (not to mention its marathon dance parties attracting models, musicians and starlets alike), but I feel like its relaxed vibe and constant pursuit of a good time lends it an affable approachability many luxury island resorts lack.

Very quickly our days become a metred roster of eating, exploring and relaxing. I spend an afternoon at The Cove Club, the whimsical spa where treatment rooms are named for divas of the ’70s – Bette, Cher, Stevie et al – and lunch at the Fish & Crab Shack, an on-sand lunch spot sheltered by thatched huts at the end of a long finger of a sand bar, one of just a few in these parts. The menu here is heavy on seafood including an unctuous crab curry; I feel guilty when a vivid orange hermit crab crosses my path, given I’ve just consumed its distant relative.

One afternoon I watch as hulking columns of corpulent, deep grey cloud roll towards the island; the storms are the result of the wet monsoon (as opposed to the dry monsoon, the other weather pattern experienced here), and further reinforce the total island isolation.

After a few days it is time for a change of scenery: Amilla Fushi is Finolhu’s more serious big sister, a 20-minute speed boat ride away. Arriving into its dock to be met by a phalanx of smiling staff (Maldivians are an absolute delight, always so happy and welcoming), the differences between the two resorts are instantly evident. If Finolhu is the party island, Amilla is the sybaritic haven so many people imagine of the Maldives.

Modern white over-water villas dominate the horizon, stretching in an arc from the epicentre of the resort (a collection of multi-roomed villas and houses, as well as a clutch of dreamy tree houses, that are constantly booked out, are also available). Each guest ‘house’ is assigned a personal butler or khatib, an island angel who is literally at your beck and call – tiny mobile phones are provided on which to contact them from anywhere on the island for anything.

It doesn’t take too long to figure out that Amilla is about total relaxation. Life on this island revolves around your house, which you are encouraged to treat as if it were your own – a message spelt out in palm fronds on arrival welcomes you home – and your stomach.

There is an impressive amount of food to sample as you amble through your day, from pizza made by a constantly smiling chef in the al fresco wood-fired oven at Joe’s Pizza (and eaten at the beachside Baazaar as you squish sand between your toes) to clever mod-Jap/Latin at Feeling Koi, which sits at the end of the dock, looking out to forever; 1 Oak Lounge upstairs is the perfect place for sundowners.

One evening we head to The Emperor Beach Club, a lofty barn-like space that houses a general store and cafe (the milkshakes and cookies are a big hit with the many kids in residence, including my own), as well as Amilla’s impressively stocked cellar of some 8000 bottles, for a cheese tasting that would make a Frenchman weep with joy as a cavalcade of pungent, salty, rich and smooth wedges are dissected and consumed.

The waters around Amilla are the playground of manta ray, and it is possible to book an excursion every second day (both resorts have their own marine biologists in residence) to the nearby Hanifaru Bay in search of these gentle goliaths; my excursion on very choppy seas is fruitless but consolation comes from returning ‘home’ to watch the weather roll in and out just past my private plunge pool.

Leaving is a wrench, but my 35-minute seaplane flight back to Malé soothes the sting. The inky black of my arrival is bookended by the glorious blue of my departure, soaring over a waterworld of breaking waves and sandy islands that once again confirms the true expanse of the planet; I’m left with the sheer joy that comes from basking in the bright light of somewhere so beautiful.

Details: The Maldives

Getting there: Scoot has flights to Malé from Sydney, Melbourne, Perth and the Gold Coast via Singapore. Visit Scoot for details on departure days and fares.

Staying there: Both Finolhu and Amilla Fushi are managed by the aptly named The Small Maldives Island Co.

Packing for three: Being a tropical paradise, your wardrobe is an easy pick-and-mix of swimmers, shorts and sandals, with something nice for dining at Feeling Koi (on Amilla) or Finolhu’s wonderful Baahaa Grill, with its North African-inspired menu. Don’t forget a hat, sunscreen and sunglasses (although the resort boutiques on both islands have some very nice styles should you forget).

What to bring home: A few extra kilos around the waist!

After youth-led protests in 2025, this year Nepal elected a 35-year-old former rapper as Prime Minister. In a country where tourism is its biggest industry, what’s next for travellers?

In 1986, Nepal changed its clock. It had used India Standard Time since 1920 so, to differentiate, it wound its clock 15 minutes ahead of, not behind, its big-brother neighbour. Boss move. “Nepal is strongly opposed to the idea that our identity is connected to India,” says Community Homestay Network (CHN) guide Bikal Khanal.

Tharu dance is traditionally set to hand drums. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

Today, Nepal is the only independent country with a 45-minute deviation to universal time; an oddity that’s become a symbol of national pride. The quirk is nearly as endearing as Kathmandu’s Tribhuvan airport where carved varnished wood and shiny red bricks rule. One sign points to a ‘Travelator’ and another to a ‘Grievance Handling Desk’ while visas are noisily stamped at customs for US dollars, cash only. When am I?

Spot the endemic Nepal gray langur. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The 15 or 45 minute anomaly sees me tap out completely on timezone calculations. Why bend my brain calculating if it’s quarter to or quarter past elsewhere when I’m in the honking here and now of Kathmandu where the air is high-altitude crisp, the prayer flags flutter and the street dogs howl?

How tourism is changing in Nepal

Bardiya National Park is rich with wildlife. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

India is not the only association many Nepalis would like to shake. With eight of the world’s 10 tallest mountains, including Mount Everest and Annapurna, Nepal has long attracted mountaineers and trekkers, and expedition numbers are continuing to rise.

Tourism is one of the country’s biggest sources of foreign currency, so this growth is not negative, per se. But according to Ang Tshering Lama, who co-founded Phaplu Mountain Bike Club, being reduced to a mere trekking destination is limiting.

“Trekking is just one layer of our identity,” says Ang. “When it becomes the dominant narrative, it limits how we’re seen and how we see ourselves.” Nepal’s recent success, however, in diverting trekkers to less-trafficked areas such as Manaslu mofuntain, where visitor numbers rose by 117 per cent last year, offers hope that tourism can diversify even more radically.

Local men in Bhada village. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

The founder of CHN, Shiva Dhakal, wants that change. “The whole idea of the Community Homestay Network is to promote experiences outside of trekking,” he says. “Community tourism changes lives and helps kids stay home instead of coming to the city or migrating to the Middle East.”

Ang grew up seeing people leave, “not because they wanted to but because there weren’t enough opportunities to stay”, he states. Yet from remote villages to living traditions; food, art, music and emerging subcultures, “there’s so much that’s not being seen.”

CHN is opening some of those doors. It doesn’t own, or fund, any homes. Rather, it promotes homestays to travellers on a single, slick platform, while fostering entrepreneurship in places where women, marginalised castes, Indigenous people and the youth stand to benefit the most.

A new generation demanding more

Dalla Town Hall, where volunteers discuss anti-poaching tactics. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The future prospects of next-gen Nepalis can no longer be ignored. On a Kathmandu tour with 33-year-old guide Monica K.C, we pass buildings torched in the September 2025 ‘Gen Z protests’, including the Supreme Court and Parliament House. Seventy-two people died. “They were anti-corruption protests,” says Monica. “Politicians’ children are living a lavish life but the airports are crowded with youngsters leaving to find work.”

We stop in ‘little Tibet’ at the wondrous sixth-century Boudha Stupa. “The wheel of life is Buddhism in a nutshell,” says Monica. “Things such as hate, ignorance and anger keep you rotating around the wheel, so you must follow the principles of Buddhism to detach. If you can’t, there’s no nirvana for you.”

Boudha Stupa's prayer wheels — Boudha Stupa’s prayer wheels are used to recite Buddhist prayers. (Credit: Kate Lewis)

In a sun-drenched twist to the usual temple visit, we ascend the stupa’s sloping plinth and roam its whitewashed dome. Tendrils of diaphanous prayer flags stream from a steeple-like structure where the Buddha’s unblinking eyes stare out. No nirvana for you…

bouda stupa prayer flags — Tibetan-style prayer flags embellish the whitewashed dome of Bouda Stupa, a Buddhist temple. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

The dome is delightfully free of guard rails or chiding from security. There is, however, a stern ‘No TikTok’ sign, perhaps in response to the youth’s newly flexed power. The booted-out Prime Minister, K.P. Sharma Oli, was replaced in a resounding election victory in March by 35-year-old Balendra Shah of the Rastriya Swatantra Party (RSP) – a former rapper and mayor of Kathmandu. The RSP’s manifesto indicates tourism is a priority, and that Nepal’s cultural identity in areas such as gastronomy will be strengthened.

Boudha Stupa vendors — Vibrant souvenir shops and cafes around Boudha Stupa. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

A more confronting stop awaits at Pashupatinath Temple. Today is Bala Chaturdashi, a Hindu festival where thousands of devotees gather to honour their dead ancestors. Vendors hauling foam mattresses do a lucrative trade as people set up for a night of vigil. This includes burning the bodies of recently deceased relatives on bamboo pyres in the Bagmati River, which flows into the sacred Ganges.

A woman at annual Hindu festival Bala Chaturdashi, in Kathmandu. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Wrapped in a shroud, the bodies are positioned with their heads facing north to the Himalayas where Lord Shiva resides. They’re covered with flowers and straw and set alight by male family members.

Hours later, the ashes are swept into the river where devotees will take a holy dip the next day. As much as Monica assures us it’s not voyeuristic to watch, I struggle to do so. “Here you see the reality of life because everyone ends up there,” she says, gesturing to the river.

Life unfiltered in the Terai region

tharu woman — Tharu woman and master weaver Parbati Chaudhary in Bhada Village. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

The reality of life needs processing time, which the western Terai region delivers in spades. The Terai is largely separated from India by the Karnali River and Bardiya National Park, where elephants, rhinos and the elusive Bengal tiger roam.

Once a nomadic tribe, the Indigenous Tharu people are now the largest ethnic group here. “They didn’t know their daily life was interesting for international travellers but they’re starting to understand now,” says CHN founder Shiva.

Take a Jeep safari through Bardiya National Park. (Credit: Bheem Thapa)

We fly Buddha Air to Dhangadhi airport and drive five hours to stay in Tharu homes. The journey to Bhada village is a blur of roadside fruit stalls, traffic-stopping sacred cows and fields sown with wheat, rice, mustard, spinach, cauliflower and potatoes. Nepal’s agriculture feeds only Nepal.

Marigolds are an important part of Hindu rituals. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

“The only thing we export is young people,” says our guide Bikal. As the light dims and we plunge evermore rural, mysterious mounds of compacted hay – some house-sized – loom like the creatures from Where The Wild Things Are. Even our trusty driver gets flummoxed by a dirt road that abruptly ends and we find ourselves hurtling across a paddock.

On arrival, some are ferried to mud-walled cottages greened by gourd creepers, with thatched roofs and rustic-chic mosquito nets. Myself and two others are ushered to the home of corner store owner, mechanic and mushroom farmer Man Kumar Chilaruwa and his wife Rajkumari.

community homestay entrance — A warm welcome at a community homestay. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

They escort us to a bunker-esque back building with steel doors and a folding security gate, behind which is gleaming linoleum, dolphin-printed tiles and a shower cavity that must be gingerly stepped through to reach the toilet.

The ceiling lights emit a rainbow of colours (the bathroom light gets stuck in, frankly, a quite frightening red). We’re nevertheless touched that our hosts invested in all this bling when the average salary is around $275 a month.

In the coming days, we participate in Tharu traditions such as making moonshine, dancing, weaving straw handicrafts and gold-panning. We’re fed well with staples of rice, mustard greens, lentil pancakes, daal, curried chicken and tomato chutney served on antibacterial saal leaves.

food at community homestay — Dig in. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Sonara community homestay president Indradevi Tharu tells us river snails are often served, and the boiled and pickled flesh of rats hunted in the rice fields. “Perhaps next time?” we say and all have a laugh.

The power of community homestays

community homestay owners in Nepal — Barda community homestay owners Parbati Chaudhary and Ram Krishni Devi Chaudhary. (Credit: Simon Urwin)

Immersing Western visitors in foreign cultural practices is not new. But with the Tharu, I never get that uneasy sensation that I’m being performed for. Despite being the only tourists, there’s no ‘othering’; just warm, composed and ultra-dignified welcomes. Like we’ve always been here.

“I love to have travellers in my village so I can see the world,” says local woman Parbati Chaudhary. “Why would I travel the world when the world comes to me?”

The graceful acceptance the Tharu offer, as well as the slow pace, works miracles on my frazzled nervous system. One day I even take a nap on a vacant homestay bed.

Sonara community room — An authentic stay in the Sonara community. (Credit: Kate Hennessy)

Roosters strut and goats bray as we sit on the ground in al fresco kitchens, rolling rice flour into cylinders steamed to make dhikri (dumplings). When water is needed, we fetch it using a hand-operated pump as a family of ducks strolls by, side-eying us like curious neighbours.

Animal lovers will delight in Tharu villages. Kind and resourceful inventions are everywhere, such as snacking stations where two posts lean together, with leafy boughs dangling on rope for baby goats to forage from.

CHN’s CEO, Aayusha Prasain, nods knowingly when one in our group says she cried when she left her host, Shayam Chaudhary, in Bhada. Shayam’s 17-year-old son, Prashant, had translated, which deepened the connection.

“Community tourism turns travel into a relationship, not a transaction,” says Aayusha. “It places decision-making power in the hands of local communities, especially women and youth.” Since 2018, CHN has hosted more than 4000 travellers from 52 countries in 408 households, and estimates women’s participation has increased by 381 per cent.

In the Bardiya community, where vexing human-animal conflict has been a balancing act for decades due to elephants raiding crops, long-time homestay operator Salik Ram Chaudhary says young people keep the older ones on their toes.

“We can’t keep homestays stagnant,” he says. “We have to upgrade our service and redefine our product or young people won’t see it as an attractive business. If we can keep evolving with this travelling trend we’re confident the youths will stay and continue it.”

Back in Kathmandu, Monica explains that after the deaths of young protestors in September, a determination had spread to not let their sacrifice be in vain. “We want to keep holding the government accountable,” she says. “We don’t know what situation we’re facing, but we’re ready to face it.”

Interested in Nepal but prefer to experience it in total comfort? Read our guide to luxury travel in Nepal.

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