Review: Velaa Private Island, Maldives (2024 Edition)

This is my fourth stay here, so it serves as a very quick summary.  You can read the other reviews here, here, or here.

Let’s be honest, I’ve said everything there is to say about Velaa.  You know I love it, I know you know I love it, and yet people still ask if it’s any good, because a year without a review is cause for concern.  Velaa is my home away from home, and my praise remains as high as the architect must have been when he designed the rooms.

We arrived on a perfectly clear day after a calm 20-minute boat ride from Cheval Blanc Randheli, greeted not just by the wonderful Karolina from the Kids Club, the GM, and what appeared to be the full management roster, but also by the local musical ensemble and, as if orchestrated by Velaa’s PR department, actual dolphins.  

Then, onto the room, where the welcome amenities did an even better job than the dolphins at bringing happiness.  What did a dolphin ever do to feed me?  A gratuitous spread of food and cakes, as if they assumed we’d been adrift at sea, Velaa-themed kids’ books, balloons, and an entirely essential “private island” for the children—aka, a tent setup by the pool, but let’s not ruin the fantasy.  Everything was perfect—until Alia walked straight into the glass door because it was too clean.  Zero stars for that, obviously.

Now, the rooms.  Do I like them?  Of course not.  Why would I?  After all my reviews, has the owner finally knocked them down and started over?  No.  Rubbish.  There’s nowhere to put luggage—because storage is for the weak.  Just buy all your clothes in their boutique and leave’em behind on departure.  No dedicated pantry with a hidden side entrance for the butler to discreetly deliver treats, like at Cheval Blanc.  Only one toilet, unlike Cheval, which at least acknowledges that multiple bathrooms are a fundamental human right.  The ceilings are tall—but only in the middle—creating an architectural style best described as confused.  I can’t understand how they thought having nowhere to put luggage but having a massive pebble garden was a good idea.  Presumably to encourage me to leave the room and actually do things.  I resent this deeply.

The real update here isn’t what’s been done—though they did replace all the TVs with a new Apple TV setup that finally consolidates everything into one remote, making it almost dangerously easy to waste time—but what’s coming.  (Is there anything better than catching up on shows you ignored at home while sitting in the middle of the Maldives?)  Later this year, they’re shutting down for a major kids’ club upgrade.

Service, as always, was absurdly good.  Our butler was exclusively ours—no sharing, thank you very much—and displayed a level of gift-giving enthusiasm that, in any other setting, might trigger a fight-or-flight response.  The kind where, if this were real life, you’d start getting that uneasy feeling on the back of your neck.  But, of course, Velaa isn’t real life.  Nothing here is.  It’s a hyper-reality where everything is better.

Random gifts materialised in the room, including a paddle set engraved with the kids’ names.  Unfortunately, we already had one, but admitting that felt cruel, so we just went along with it.  Isabelle’s face when she unwrapped it was that of a child discovering Santa had been taken out in a sleigh accident on his way to a strip club.  Parting gifts included their Christmas hamper from Harrods (given despite our early departure) and a pair of Velaa-branded glasses from a crystal designer who clearly thinks he’s a god, judging by the price tag.  I assume they also heal you.

And then, as if all of this wasn’t enough, our butler volunteered—I swear, volunteered—to babysit for two evenings.  Even without that, the man was a legend.

Food was superb.  A superb meal at their fine-dining Aragu with a tasting menu that was easily one of the best I’ve had in ages.  Breakfast brioche was, as always, divine—a sacred carb bestowed by celestial beings.  Even the tepinyaki, a usual money suck, was utterly brilliant.  Velaa always excels in cuisine but somehow got even better.

All in all, it was lovely to return and see familiar faces, both staff and guests.  It does feel like returning home; my guess is around 80% of the guests were here at this time last year too.  And once again, we’ll head back for 2025, so you’ll all get your annual Maldives fix.  Maybe by then, Mandarin Oriental or Corinthia will open, so I at least have something new to say.  Otherwise, I need to think up some new fart and dick jokes.

Velaa remains utterly irresistible and frustratingly easy to ignore, depending on how much time you want to spend in your room.  One day, in an alternate universe where they finally build it back better, I’ll have nothing to complain about.  But until then—go.  Life’s too short to waste it indoors.

Still, undeniably, one of my favourite places in the world.