I really should have done my research on London’s TSA liquid restrictions because my fool self packed a medium-sized tube of my expensive SPF, thinking ahead to the Maldives where I’d need to apply and reapply it for days. It made sense—economically, at least. But Heathrow security had other plans. Apparently, their limit was 100ml, and my sunscreen was 150ml. Just like that, it was confiscated. Ugh. Now I’d have to buy another one when I got to the Maldives.
Five Star booked us reservations at No1 Lounge in Terminal 3, a short stopover before our next flight. The lounge was nice—spacious enough to seat the seven of us comfortably in our own little section. The food, however, was a bit of a letdown. It felt like a potluck of random foods. I grabbed some cheese, crackers, and a bit of pesto pasta, along with a carafe of water, which I practically inhaled. For a moment, I wondered if the Centurion Lounge would’ve been the better choice, but it was too late now.
We got so caught up chatting and lollygagging that we nearly missed our connecting flight. Heathrow is a monster of an airport, and running through it with my carry-on in tow felt like a mini-marathon.
Once I boarded, the Dramamine kicked in, and I was out cold for the first two hours. Seated next to me was a British couple—absolutely lovely people. I tried not to be a nuisance by getting up too often, but at the same time, I wasn’t about to risk a UTI. I strategically timed my bathroom breaks with theirs so I wouldn’t have to ask them to move every time. The struggle of the window seat.
Then came more food. This time, it was a sausage, cabbage, and apple dish. Mid, even for airplane food. Meanwhile, my friends were texting me about their upper-class meals, complete with champagne. I groaned, glaring at my sad cheese and crackers before nibbling on them like a peasant.
I checked our location on the flight map. Another ten hours to go. At this point, I was questioning my life choices—should I have worn my compression socks? Probably. Oh well, it’s too late now.
Determined to make the most of my window seat, I gazed out at the sky whenever I was awake. But sleep won again.
A few hours later, more food was placed in front of me—an English breakfast of beans, sausage, and potatoes. I took a few bites before realizing that everyone was now gassy. The entire cabin smelled like digestive regret. Thank God for my face mask. Between the turbulence, gaseous stench, and the coughing passengers, I was starting to feel a certain way. The last thing I wanted was to get sick in a remote place with limited medical care.
The woman next to me, sensing my introversion, tried to make conversation. I wasn’t opposed to chatting, but I’m naturally shy. I closed my eyes again, pretending to sleep and then actually fell asleep. When I finally did wake up, she laughed and said, “You’ve been asleep forever!” I chuckled and responded, “Yeah, it’s been a long journey.” I forced myself not to say it in a British accent, though every part of me wanted to. Something about being surrounded by their crisp, refined speech made my American accent feel so… uncultured.
To pass the time, I watched four episodes of Chicago PD, which made me miss my friends and our time living in Chicago. I also tried using the in-flight WiFi I paid for, but it was basically useless. My friends, who had shelled out for the highest-tier internet, were also out of luck. So much for productivity.
Finally, as we neared our destination, the window view turned breathtaking. The Indian Ocean stretched out below, dotted with tiny, picture-perfect islands. It looked exactly like the travel photos I had seen for years. I took endless videos and snaps, wanting to soak it all in.
We landed at Malé airport and were greeted by our host, who escorted us to the lounge while we waited for our seaplane transfer. Yes, another flight. This time to Kooddoo, a smaller island in the Maldives.
Our all-inclusive package came with a complimentary meal at the Maldives airport lounge. I, for some reason, opted for alfredo pasta—a decision I regretted immediately. I’d been gluten-free for a while, and my stomach was not pleased. I should have ordered the chicken and rice like everyone else, but nope. Now I was bloated and annoyed at myself for the choices I made.
To combat the impending food coma, Five Star handed me an Americano. “Milk,” not cream, because apparently, that’s what they say in the UK and Maldives.
Finally, we were back on a plane—this time, a one-hour flight to Kooddoo Airport. Another Dramamine down, because my motion sickness was starting to rear its ugly head again. I grabbed the snacks and put them in my backpack for later.
Once we landed, we grabbed our luggage and hopped into a van that took us to a boat. Yep, a boat ride was also required to reach our final destination.
Fifteen minutes later, life jackets on, we were given a hibiscus drink. I chugged it instantly—Dramamine had left me parched.
And then, at last, we arrived. Dhigurah. The island was stunning—impossibly beautiful, like something straight out of White Lotus. (Or so my friends said. I’ve never seen the show, so I just nodded along.)
At check-in, one of the Maldivian staff members greeted a group of Korean tourists in fluent Korean. I was shooketh. She wasn’t Korean, but her accent and pronunciation were flawless. It tripped me out. I don’t know why I get so impressed when non-Koreans speak the language fluently—it’s not like Americans freak out when I speak English—but still, I was thoroughly impressed. Funny enough, I found her Korean easier to understand than the staff’s English with an accent.
A buggy took us to our villas, and I was rooming with Ava—Five Star’s college friend, who also happens to be uber-wealthy and lives on Mercer Island (aka “Mercedes Island,” as Five Star calls it).
Our villa was a lagoon pool suite, perched right above the water. Two bikes waited for us outside, our transportation around the island.
The king-sized bed was massive, so we just split it, each taking our own side.
Inside, the bathroom was ridiculously spacious—double sinks, a bathtub, indoor and outdoor showers, and a separate toilet.
There was a seating area for reading or lounging.
The main area was cozy, stocked with Nespresso pods and tea. Naturally, I brewed a coffee immediately to fight off the Dramamine-induced fog.
Then came the highlight—the private infinity pool overlooking the ocean. A ladder led straight down into the ocean water. This was paradise.
Since we hadn’t booked a fancy dinner reservation for the night, we hit the buffet-style dining room.
I loaded my plate with paneer lababdar, tamarind rice, and… lasagna. Being gluten free went out the door for this meal.
I also grabbed lobster, egg rolls, and grilled polenta with mushroom ragout. My friends laughed, saying I could go from classy to ratchet in sixty seconds. No argument there.
For dessert, I had Sacher Torte. I hadn’t tasted one since my time in Germany, and it was just as incredible as I remembered.
Stuffed beyond belief, we strolled back to our villa, taking in the surreal beauty of the island. That’s when we noticed the fruit bats flitting around. Amazing.
I stood there for a moment, just absorbing it all.
I had finally made it.
Another dream checked off the bucket list.
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