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Outside Magazine December 2004

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Destinations: Seychelles
Splendid Isolation (Cont.)

ACCORDING TO FRÉGATE'S BROCHURE, only one of the seven beaches, Anse Maquereau, is completely private. It's tucked between two 300-foot-high granite cliffs, accessible by a steep footpath. On a hook at the trailhead, explains the brochure, we'll find two wooden signs: BEACH OCCUPIED and BEACH VACANT. Hang the occupied sign and the entire beach is yours.

Rates

Doubles at Frégate Island Private start at $2,336 per night, including meals; 800-225-4255, www.fregate.com

"Ooooooh, let's go there," I insist on our first day.

We hastily slather on sunscreen and set off toward Maquereau aboard our pre-assigned golf cart, but the wrong sign is already up.

"Damn!" I say. "Beach occupied."

Not to worry—there are plenty of other beaches to sample, and we happily discover that most are supplied with a cooler full of bottled water and a stack of fluffy towels, plush chaise lounges, and a two-way VHF radio for ordering "room" service from the kitchen. While these are not technically private, we never once have to share the pearly white sand and 85-degree turquoise water.

When we're not snoozing on the beach, we spend our days scuba-diving with nurse sharks and manta rays, cooling down in the infinity pool overlooking Anse Bambous beach, and cavorting with the local colony of more than 160 endangered giant Aldabra land tortoises. I also spend an afternoon sea-kayaking around the island—a two-hour circumnavigation that's punctuated with breaching dolphins.

Our après-beach hangout is the cliffside Pirates Bar. One afternoon, while playing Stump the Bartender (he wins, whipping up a tasty Brazilian caipirinha), we learn from Nasir, the gregarious Indian barkeep, that Frégate's managers have handpicked the island's staff from the finest resorts in the world. Nasir himself formerly worked at a five-star hotel in the United Arab Emirates; the executive chef is from an ultraluxe South African resort; the spa director was recruited from an Australian wellness center. This explains the laser-guided precision as we are served a candlelit dinner on the beach, our waiter magically appearing from the darkness to refill our wine.

One morning, Ashley suggests that we book a session at Frégate's newly opened Rock Spa, perched on a craggy summit with a 360-degree view of the island, the perfect place to watch the sunset while being plied with indigenous tonics made from ylang ylang oil and bilimbi fruit. Our couples treatment starts with a bitter-orange-extract-and-sand foot scrub, followed by a coconut-oil massage. I'm just about to fall asleep when it's time for our papaya wrap.

Couples therapy has eased my frustration over our failure to nab Anse Maquereau despite our daily 6 a.m. attempts to reserve it. Nevertheless, I'm still suspicious that somehow guests are slipping cash to the night security guard to flip the sign before sunrise. So I devise a scheme: After dark we'll sneak over to Anse Maquereau and abscond with the BEACH OCCUPIED sign so it's impossible for anyone else to reserve it.

Success! The next day—our last on Frégate—Maquereau is ours. My only regret: We should have saved Frégate for our honeymoon.

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