Perfect 10 private island resorts

Cayo Espanto
Off Ambergris Caye, Belize

7 a.m.
Casa Aurora, my open-air villa with turquoise shutters, is approximately 99 steps from Cayo Espanto’s dock. Insignificant information really, but I awoke early and wanted to explore my private slice of Belize. So I decide to measure the size of it in footsteps. A walk across the entire length of the islet (223 steps total) takes me through a palm-tree-studded forest with a sand floor that has been raked with spiral patterns by someone who evidently got up earlier than I. Four more casas are hidden near the Caribbean shore, but I see no other castaways. The moment I return to my villa, Eddie, my houseman, delivers chunky banana pancakes and fresh slices of fruit. Significant information: “Aurora” means dawn.

11 a.m.
German, my boat captain, brings me to Shark Ray Alley, part of Hol Chan Marine Reserve, about 15 minutes by boat from Cayo. The snorkeling is stupendous; I spot an eagle ray, nurse sharks and many tropical fish. We motor to the west side of Ambergris Caye for a picnic. Eddie and the staff have transported a Hobie Cat and kayaks, and a CD player is spinning my favorite musician, Aimee Mann. Then German prepares my favorite lunch, grilled snapper and lobster, while I nosh on my favorite appetizer, ceviche. A perfect afternoon of favorites all because Caye Espanto knows the art of pampering.

5 p.m.
I’m floating in my villa’s pool with a frozen margarita in hand when Eddie comes in to announce the chef’s arrival. Chef Patrick recites the dinner specials as I float. I choose the third: achiote-rubbed flank steak. Moments later, I walkie-talkie Eddie to confirm my poolside coconut body scrub. It’s all been arranged, he tells me.

By Bob Friel Paddle around tiny Cayo Espanto.

8 p.m.
Tiki torches and candles flicker along the dock. The staff has set up this corner of the islet especially for me. Next to the single, white-linen table is a sofa with a tent-like draping over it that whips in the ocean breeze. I sit on its cushions and take in all the curves of the universe. Eddie walks up the dock, carrying a silver tray, stars twinkling behind him. Cayo Espanto, I think, has directed the best movie of the year. I call it, “Cayo Pamperato” (I’m Never Leaving). -- CR

Four Seasons Resort Lana’i, The Lodge at Koele
Lanai, Hawaii

7:45 a.m.
I awake to two mynah birds conversing in a Norfolk Island pine just beyond the lanai that skirts my lodge style room. Then I inhale the salt air mixed with plumeria and the earthy sweet tones of pineapple. Here, at the lodge, I can retreat into its wooded uplands but, at the same time, I can be at the beach within 20 minutes. Lanai’s not entirely a private island, but roughly 90 percent is privately owned.

10 a.m.
My belly filled with French toast and locally-grown coffee, I hop on one of the resort’s bicycles (equipped with a lunch basket prepare by the hotel’s chef) and pedal past a couple heading to the horse stables, while another sets out for a guided hike. Every venue and activity, I’ve learned, is either part of or arranged by the resort, including mine: a 200-acre sporting clay-pigeon range. Within moments, I’m tracking the high-tech discs across the sky, only to discover that I’m a fairly good shot.

1:30 p.m.
The concierge puts me in a Jeep with a map, some sunscreen and a towel. Soon, I’m banking turns on a red-dirt road, dodging lava rock and, finally, I pop out on secluded Polihua Beach, only a few miles from The Lodge at Koele. The only inhabitant on this stretch of powdery sand, aside from a few sea turtles, is Nick Palumbo II – local boy, former pro surfer and my instructor for an afternoon of wave-riding. While practicing, Palumbo nods over my now-tanned shoulder at some visitors who have come to watch: A school of spinner dolphins not 50 yards out dance atop the water.

6:45 p.m.
After a sunset spent planted in a rocking chair on the lodge’s expansive porch, pineapple cider in hand, it is time to head in for some sustenance. I sidle up to the Tea Room Bar, where a fireplace is being lit. Over aged scotch and ahi sashimi rose, I chat with the other guests, listening to their tales of adventure and sharing some of my own. Then, from the Great Hall, a trio begins strumming a ukulele, guitar and stand-up bass, mimicking the sounds of Hawaii’s paniolos (cowboys), and explaining some of the lore that surrounds the great wooded isle of Lanai. It’s now that I realize I am in a special place. – Brian Berusch

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