Holidays used to be the most social of activities. We came from communities, lived in communities and recreated them when we took a break. When travel first went mainstream, companies from Butlins to Club Med offered the chance to make new friends and have fun. A break from real life was all about fantasy, cocktails in garish colours, long nights of debauchery - and, most of all, making new friends in places from Cleethorpes to the Costa del Sol. Holiday snaps would be crammed with new mates encountered on your two-week break: 'That's Phil, he's a pilot, he's married to Jan. The brunette in the corner. What a laugh they were. We're going to Wales to visit them next month.'
Couples would arrange post-holiday dinners with other couples they met on honeymoon. Teenagers would hang out in gangs and have their hearts broken. If you returned from vacation without a tan or a new pal you were the focus of pity.
How times have changed. Today, 'I want to be alone' is the mantra of the solvent westerner seeking the perfect vacation. Holiday brochures aimed at 'professionals' promise exotic isolation: villas hidden from sight, deserted beaches, intimate dinners for two on lonely sandbars. Unless it is appealing to the toddler market or activity addicts, a holiday brochure featuring a bunch of people enjoying a communal activity is a definite turn-off.
More and more of us are in search of sunny serenity. We travel to India to be hugged, to Sri Lanka for yoga, Thailand for treatments, Brazil to detox. To cater for this burgeoning market of stressed-out executives, a host of resorts now offer the Robinson Crusoe experience-with-frills. They are geared to couples escaping their kids, and those yet to have kids or with offspring long departed. Their mission statement: to provide the ultimate in twenty-first century R&R (romance and relaxation).
For a price, you too can experience absolute privacy in a Macoute thatched hut with the sea breeze blowing through non-existent windows, where energy is solar-powered and hot water only available for a couple of hours a day. These used to be the sorts of hardship suffered by backpackers in exchange for intrepid isolation. Nowadays, an environmentally impressive manifesto like this in an idyllic location can cost anything up to a couple of thousand dollars a day. Just look at Mnemba Island off Zanzibar. It's the sort of place frequented by stars who don't just pretend to hate publicity. Ralph Fiennes and Emma Thompson are both past guests.
The general rule is that the more secluded and barefoot the experience, the more expensive it will be. Holidaymakers pay big bucks for a back-to-the-jungle experience.
In the process they are providing companies with first-world profits.
I fell for Mnemba Island the minute I clapped eyes on it, and have since returned twice. My boyfriend at the time lived in Kenya so we qualified for 'residents' rate'. Then I discovered the gorgeous Benguerra Lodge in Mozambique, similar but a quarter of the price. My latest obsession is with the Banyan Tree resorts. I have always been torn between the recuperative cosseting offered by a spa break and the outdoor joys of sun, sea, and solitude: the Singapore couple who own the Banyan Tree group have alighted on the brilliant concept of offering both in an unparalleled conflation of decadent delights.
A year ago I stayed briefly at their two resorts in the Maldives. It was enough to have me, on the eve of my fortieth birthday, hotfooting it to the recently opened Banyan Tree resort on Mah¿ in the Seychelles. I needed serious pampering to obliterate the misery of being old before my time. At the new Angsana Hotel in the Maldives the company had offered luxuries such as outdoor Jacuzzis in deluxe rooms; in the Seychelles it has taken it one stage further. Every villa is a self-contained pleasure palace. Whether you opt for the cooling breeze and astonishing views from a hillside villa, or the accessible thrill of the beach, you'll find yourself in a private compound designed to offer the ultimate in privacy and indulgence.
Separated from its neighbour by 20 feet and a high wall, each villa boasts an open-air marble Jacuzzi and a private pool. Not the usual plunge pond but one you can actually swim in! The super-luxurious beach villas also feature a garden pagoda with massage beds for 'room service' spa treatments. Did I mention the outdoor shower where water flows out of bamboo poles and cascades down on your sunkissed shoulders as daylight turns to dusk?
Inside every Scandinavian lurks a naturist, so I was thrilled to have the opportunity to shed my clothing and spend my days wandering from one form of watersport to the next in total privacy. The boyfriend, a northern Englander, took time to come round to the allure of our own private nudist colony. Occasionally we would dress up, in swimwear, and wander the windswept beach or plunge through the surf to bob around in the tranquil water beyond.
By day, a few other hedonists roamed the crescent moon of golden sand. A little nod here, an almost imperceptible smile (easily mistaken for a grimace) there. The last thing any of us was looking for was a chat, so courtesies were kept to the minimum. A full smile might signal potential friendship, and we were far too busy being alone for that!
By night we had the place to ourselves. The Banyan Tree beach is the stuff that desert island dreams are made of. I expected Ursula Andress to emerge bikini-clad from the ocean at any moment. I refrained from attempting an impersonation.
No wonder Peter Sellers and George Harrison were once so taken with this slice of seclusion that they snapped it up for themselves. Of course they hadn't reckoned on the 1979 coup or the redistribution of land that followed, which left them owners in title only. Those turbulent days are long past. The Seychelles have embraced their role as an R&R location for the rich West, and the Banyan Tree is the latest hotel chain to recognise the riches the islands offer, from glorious coastlines and plentiful marine life to spicy Creole cuisine that gets your mouth (and your eyes) watering.
When you've finished exploring and exploiting the self-indulgent delights of the villa, it's time to let someone else spoil you. The Banyan Tree's secret weapon is its spa. While plenty of hotel groups have accepted that people on vacation have sex, and therefore licentious luxuries such as private pools and Jacuzzis are a draw, the Banyan Tree has taken it one stage further. The spa is a concept honed to perfection. Treatments take place in open-air pagodas built for two and set in private gardens where the wind whispers through the trees. Here, couples can experience an obscene degree of pampering last seen during Cleopatra's reign in ancient Egypt. In this oasis of leafy tranquillity, gentle Thai therapists, all hand trained in Phuket, will massage, rub, wrap and scrub you to a state of catatonic nirvana. While you are wrapped in honey, sprayed with water jets like a warm tropical rainstorm, scrubbed down with a blend of exotic spices or enjoy a massage of your choice, the nearby ocean provides a liquid lullaby. It's like being allowed to crawl back into the womb for a couple of hours a day.
By the end of the week we were sated. We'd dined out on Thai delicacies in the hotel's Saffron restaurant and eaten Creole cuisine at the beach bar. We'd even managed to drag ourselves away from our compound for a morning and squeezed in a trip to the capital, Victoria. Only because it was raining!
We were well rewarded for our intrepid spirit with a 10-course lunch in a Seychellois institution, the incongruously named Marie Antoinette restaurant. Why eat cake when you could be feasting on fried parrotfish, curried chicken, aubergine fritters, coconut ice cream and other local delicacies? In a bright pink, clapboard house, with mahogany ceiling fans and floorboards worn shiny, this really was a touch of 'local colour'.
Our last day arrived too quickly. Departing guests were whisked to the airport in the hotel's super-smart fleet of new black Pajeros, two by two, like animals heading for the Ark. It was only at the airport that we finally exchanged greetings with our fellow guests. 'Didn't we see you in the restaurant last night?' was my favourite question - from a couple we'd dined next to virtually every night! Then we nearly bonded with the American couple who'd flown out in seats next to us, spent a week at our hotel and were now returning on the same flight. Twenty years ago, after a holiday like this, we'd have ended up as godparents to their unborn children. Instead we escaped with just a nod and a smile. All in all, a perfect vacation: pampered to pieces, ate wonderful food, took no calls (except for room service), escaped the television and, best of all, made no new friends. What more could you ask for in a twenty-first century destination? OTM
Seven nights at the Banyan Tree (www.banyantree.com), Mah¿ Island, Seychelles, start at £2,295 per person on a room-only basis including flights and transfers through Worldwide Journeys & Expeditions (020 7386 4646;www.worldwidejourneys.co.uk).
Mariella travelled with Air Seychelles (01293 596656; http://www.airseychelles.co.uk) which has twice-weekly flights to Mah¿ from London Heathrow. Return fares start at £554 per person.
Other tour operators featuring the hotel include Essential Escapes www.essentialescapes.com ) (020 7284 3344;), ITC Classics (0870 751 9330; www.itcclassics. co.uk ), Roxton Bailey Robinson Worldwide (01488 689700; www.rbrww.com) and Kuoni (01306 747001; www.kuoni.co.uk)
