Perfect 10 private island resorts

updated 12:42 p.m. ET Jan. 16, 2007

When you dream of travel, do you often picture something like this? Where by the second day you feel like you’ve been there all your life? And where worries melt (or are massaged) away? If you are ready to sink into paradise, we have prescribed 10 private island resorts that appear like mirages in the midst of seas and lagoons, with staff typically greeting you jetty-side, tropical drink in hand.

Le Taha’a
Motu Tautau, Society Islands, Tahiti
9:24 am
Roused by the waves splashing against the stilts of my over-water bungalow, I stumble out of bed and onto my deck, where I can see the South Pacific sun glittering upon the peaks of Bora-Bora in the distance and the rugged mass of Tahaa island behind me. With an overwhelming desire to breakfast in my skivvies, I reach for the room-service menu. An iced coconut parfait with roasted bananas and vanilla … that will do just fine. Before the meal arrives, I dip into the lagoon outside my back door, splashing around with the tropical fish and eagle rays that frequent the aquamarine depths surrounding this motu, or islet, named Tautau.

11 a.m.
I meet resort guide Benjamin Marurai – his jet-black hair pulled back in a ponytail – for a private snorkel. Benjamin spots things that I would have never found solo: anemones with clownfish companions and a leopard eel that bares its little teeth at me. Afterwards, we find a cooler waiting for us that contains ingredients for lunch – fresh ahi tuna, onions, carrots, cucumber, tomatoes and coconut milk. Benjamin deftly slices and dices them into poisson cru. We eat with out fingers from coconut shells.

1:45 p.m.
I board a speedboat from the motu to mainland Tahaa where I rent a tiny car for an afternoon of aimless wandering – my favorite pastime. Tahaa is a classic “high island” dominated by volcanic peaks with incredibly fertile soil: Growing all over the island are pineapples, mangoes, avocados, grapefruit, soursop, ylang-ylang and vanilla … lots of vanilla.

6:09 p.m.
Mai tai in hand, I watch dusk silhouette Bora-Bora’s peaks and think this might be the single most incredible sunset I have ever seen. I hear the call of ancient drums and then realize it’s only my stomach, telling me that it’s time to eat. At the resort’s Ohiri restaurant, perched in branches like a giant tree house, I order lobster medallions with coconut saffron rice. There’s only one way to round off a meal like that: with another dip in the lagoon. – Joe Yogerst

Jumby Bay
Long Island, Antigua

11:38 a.m.
While unpacking, I hear a polite knock. “Door’s open!” Two ladies enter, one carrying a martini glass filled with chunks of succulent Antiguan black pineapple – yellow despite its name – and the other holding a plate of sweets. Eighteen days earlier, Jumby Bay e-mailed me asking if I had any special requests. The pineapple was the first, but the sweets are a happy extra. After the women leave, I wonder about the other requests. There on my coffee table is #2: a CD by the soca band Red Hot Flames. I play it and listen awhile, stretched out on my carved four-poster bed.

1:15 p.m.

Ty Sawyer Le Taha’a: Snorkel over a brilliant coral seascape, home to rats, turtles and reef fish.

Only one hand is needed to steer my Ultra Cruz bike to Pasture Bay Beach because the three-mile paved path that rings the island is quite flat. I cruise past manicured grass and the driveways of the island’s 40 or so private manses. Nearly empty Pasture Bay complements the lapis sea, and I coax picture after picture from my digital camera, though it complains of low batteries.

4:45 p.m.
Embarrassed, I sit alone on the resort’s ferry that’s making a special trip for me. I’d taken the seven-minute ride across to mainland Antigua before realizing I’d left my wallet in my room. I’m heading to Shirley Heights, the site of a weekly sunset party with food, booze and live steel-pan and reggae music on Antigua’s south coast. Maybe I’ll bring the ferry captain a rum punch as thanks. But then I decide against it. He is driving.

9:56 p.m.
After roasted mahi-mahi with pawpaw and plum-tomato salsa in Jumby Bay’s Estate House restaurant, an ivy-covered 230-year-old former plantation manor, I’m in my villa considering my options: bathe in the deliciously large tub or outside in the private shower-nook? There’s really no question. I tote Jumby’s luxe Lady Primrose’s products outside and disrobe. Showering out in the open is thrilling, and with its privacy walls, no one can see me. I look up for constellations, and stars wink at me from the night’s dark sky. – Kelly Lack

Hotel Cipriani
Giudecca Island, Venice, Italy

10 a.m.
I roll out of bed, open the largest window and gaze out. Below me is the Giudecca Canal, abuzz with boat traffic; beyond that is a panorama of Venice: the Basilica di San Marco, the Palazzo Ducale and the rest of the enchanted, floating city. It’s my first day in Venice, but I resist the urge to rush off. I’ve waited a long time to get here, and I want to experience the city for the first time at sunset. Plus, I’ve a good excuse to dawdle: My room is something out of a Vivaldi composition – sweet, sumptuous and accented with rich, buttery tones. Set in 15^th-century Palazzo Vendramin, the oldest part of the hotel, I have a slanted alcove roof and parquet windows, which I leave open as I slip back under the silk coverlet.

2 p.m.
As I wander through gardens toward the hotel’s main building, I notice tiny purple grapes growing along the trellises. Giudecca Island had a few vineyards back when it was an escape for Venetian nobility, and these grapes will be harvested for the hotel’s private vintage, Casanova Salso. Hotel founder Giuseppe Cipriani would have approved; a pioneering foodie, he introduced both the Bellini and carpaccio at his famous Harry’s Bar across the canal.

3:30 p.m.
After a simple lunch of homemade ravioli and a glass of prosecco, I stretch out poolside on a chaise, full and spoiled. Cipriani has the only pool in central Venice – olympic-sized, heated, filled with filtered salt water and blissfully quiet. People thought Giuseppe was mad when he founded the hotel here in 1958 – who would want to be across from Venice instead of in it? But therein lies the appeal. I enjoy the city from afar and wait for evening, when the marble walls will radiate a subtle pink as day-trippers depart and Venice returns to the Venetians.

6 p.m.
I board the private launch for the five-minute crossing into town. On the canal, light catches on every ripple. “No matter how many times you see it, it always catches your breath,” says a gentleman next to me. I know my night will be perfect. And yet I look forward to my return. – Susan Moynihan

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