TO KEEP OUT THE RIFFRAFF, the Seychelles government has capped visitors at 200,000 per year and requires that all new hotel developments be in the four- or five-star category. Getting there isn't easy, either. There are no direct flights from the United States, and the main carrier from Europe is Air Seychelles, a nationally owned airline that charges $1,000 to $2,000 for a round-trip flight from London. And you can forget about last-minute bargain hunting. The handful of small but pricey hotels on Mahé, the largest and most populous island, fill up months in advance.
Here on Frégate, there are only 16 villas. But there may as well be just one. The first day of our stay, we find out island policy requires that guest identities remain secret. "Privacy is paramount here," declared South African Steve Hill, the resort's conservation manager, whom I met on my flight in.
To that end, every evening the marina staff stretch a cable across the entrance of the harbor to prevent any nosy boaters from making uninvited pit stops. The only yachts permitted into the marina are those belonging to guests or the island's owner, a billionaire German industrialist so plutocratically wealthy and security-minded that he demands complete anonymity. In fact, the only time we see any of the other guests is when they forgo customary room service and eat in one of two open-air "dining pavilions." These meetings are awkward, almost like walking into your shrink's waiting room and finding your boss coming out of his appointment. The protocol: Quickly avert our gaze and pretend it never happened.