Huvadhoo Journal - Part I
- Corona Daze
- 1 day ago
- 7 min read
(names have been changed for privacy)
It's 6 am on a Wednesday, and Mike is awake. He sits at the stern of his rustic, 85-foot wooden cruiser, Golden Flower, having a cigarette. Under his care, the boat has gone through an overnight makeover - potted plants sit by the arched doors, shrubbery surrounds the stairs to the cabins, a soft grey rug lies near the entrance, and cushions rest on all seats. We're ready to receive our guests who're flying in from Male in the afternoon.
"They're Australians," says Mike. "An older crowd, you will like them. They have a good sense of humour."
Later, the Captain, crew, Dr Hoo, Mike, and I sit at the table for breakfast. It's eggplant curry, roshi, and rihaakuru. A delicious meal to boost morale, courtesy of the chef Chatura.
I've known Mike since my teenage years. He was always an arty guy, and we shared a love of thrash metal and grunge. Fate threw us apart for a long time and brought us together again a few years ago, and since the start of 2025, we've been hanging out often. Mike always had a thing for the ocean. Now, he owns this boat that takes guests around the archipelago in search of the best waves. In other words, he’s made it.
He invited me over to write about the experience, so I flew into Huvadhoo Atoll two weeks ago. So far, we've snorkelled, fished, and I caught my first wave ever, on a bodyboard with a little help from Dr Hoo. I crashed right into a reef but not before I experienced an intense moment of freedom. Though scratched and bruised, I find myself eager to surf more waves and learn the ways of the ocean.
Now, we're at Kaadehdhoo Airport, awaiting the Aussies. Mike likes to add a personal touch to these trips, greeting and picking up guests himself, Dr Hoo tells me. Dr Hoo is a happy-go-lucky sort of fella in his early fifties, one of the first generation of Maldives surfers. He and Mike have a kind of synergy that I have not witnessed among other friends. Their souls are alike, they would do anything for a friend. Except give them money.
Soon, three pale young men and a handful of older, redder dudes come out of the small airport, grinning, and one of them embraces Mike warmly. I introduce myself.
"Some of our surfboards didn't get on the plane," says Cleg, a fifty-year-old surfer with a skull tattoo who reminds me of Colin Ferrel. Or maybe it's Morrissey.
"Don't worry," says Mike. "They'll come on the evening flight."
"You sure?"
"Hundred percent."
The guests get on board the little dinghy that will take them to the boat. They let out whistles of delight when they spot the Golden Flower in her full splendour. Soon after climbing on board, the kids get on the top deck and leap into the dark blue sea.
"I've never seen colours like this," says Jeff, a bearded man in his fifties. He looks around, clearly amazed. "It's incredible."
There are storm clouds on the horizon coming our way - we might have rain later on, but it probably won't dampen Jeff’s mood.
Mike briefs the guests on the crew, including me, resident writer, and goes over the plan for the coming days. Then he talks about surfing, how the Maldives has a surfing etiquette similar to Australia's because of Tony, the Aussie who introduced the sport to us.
"For ten years, he kept the Maldives to himself," says Mike. "It was his secret surfing paradise."
"Wow," says one of the Aussies.
Then it's time for lunch - fish curry, red rice, a salad. Everyone seems to enjoy it.
Afterwards, I spot Jeff and Cleg on the back of the boat, holding a beer each and staring into space.
"Ablow," I say, shaking Jeff’s hand.
"You're the writer, Ablow?" he says.
I nod, feeling self-conscious.
Cleg scoffs.
"I'm more of a doer, y'see?" he says, flashing a grin with his even white teeth. "What brought you here?"
"I've always wanted to do something like this," I say.
"Hanging out with a buncha old Aussies on a boat while the world goes to shit?" Cleg smiles.
I laugh.
--
After a simple dinner of pasta, I find Jeff and Cleg, again having a beer on the top deck. I go there often at night, it is very quiet, and I like the solitude. The men motion for me to join them. We get into a conversation about the meaning of it all.
"It's not even about the waves for me," says Jeff after some thought. "It’s the entire process, meeting people, exchanging ideas. It makes me feel less alone, if you know what I mean."
I nod – though I’m not a surfer, I sense Jeff is a kindred spirit.
And I think about them coming all the way here to stay less than a fortnight. It's not something I would do now, in my middle-age. It takes me at least a week to get a feel for a new place. I’m here with Mike for a month, and though the decision to leave was difficult, I’m far from regretting it. Thus far.
We sit in the dark, on the bare deckchairs, drinking, fanned by the Huvadhoo breeze.
Jeff finishes his beer, and reclines on the deck chair with the expression of a man who wants nothing.
--
It’s 5:00am. I’ve woken up from a bad dream – I was in a splendid, manicured garden where I did not belong, though I wanted desperately to stay. That sense of unease stays with me while I get dressed and head out to the stern. By this time, Golden Flower's chef Chatura would have already been up for an hour. He is a slim, middle-aged Sri Lankan from a town near Negombo on the island's west coast. A hotel school graduate, Chatura was working on a different boat in the Maldives some fifteen years ago when he met Mike.
"Mike's a nice guy," he tells me as I watch him prep breakfast. "He really cares about his staff. I wouldn't have lasted this long otherwise."
Playing upbeat baila songs at volume in the small but well-stocked kitchen, Chatura is sorting breakfast for the guests, to be served at 7am sharp. When guests aren't on board, it would usually be roshi, and mashuni. Or leftover curry from the previous night.
I learn that garudhiya is Chatura's favourite Maldivian dish and he makes it like a good local mother would, with tenderness and respect.
What I have come to truly love though is his Sri Lankan style chicken curry, made just for lunch and dinner. It's a thin, soupy curry, spicy, and filled with succulent pieces of meat.
Leaving Chatura, I head up to the top deck. There, by Mike’s precious potted plants, the deep pink of dawn gives way to salmon pink, a sight that I, a city dweller, am not accustomed to, at least not on this scale. The vastness compels you to slow down and observe this everyday event with new eyes – and suddenly, it’s the first of its kind. The stars gently wink out, and the sky is lit with a fire so pure and violent it catches you off guard. You have never seen a sunrise until you’ve seen it in Huvadhoo.
Content, I return to my room and lie in the afterglow. I think of my wife, how she would’ve felt had she been there. She would have loved it, I know, I can almost see that sharp face breaking into a little grin, her tiny eyes crinkly at the corners. To love from a distance has a certain poignancy, at least when you’ve been married fifteen years. You can sense that bond very clearly.
When I head to the deck, I notice there's more variety at the breakfast buffet now that the Aussies are here - sausage, buns, doughnuts, toasted bread, butter, and jam. A little continental feast.
We moved away from Thinadhoo during the night and anchored near Vaadhoo, a stunning, verdant island studded with coconut palms and big, beautiful trees that move gently in the wind. From the edge of Golden Flower, holding on to its blue wood railing, I can almost smell the green and imagine the scent in the breeze. An earthy, leafy aroma, heady like Chatura's curry falls on the edge of my awareness.
The men and boys have gone with their boards to Vaadhoo's famous surf break, the Blue Bowls. Dr Hoo is with them, and I spot the bulge of his brown tummy in the distance as he braves a wave.
Blue Bowls is named after how the wave 'bowls' over the reef, and it's blue since the swell comes from way out in the deep sea. And like with most surf spots in Huvadhoo Atoll, the waves are very consistent.
In a few hours, the men return, the boys as well. I talk to one of them, Ted, who is enrolled in an environmental management degree.
"It's a good wave, short, but long, smooth, and clear," he says. "It's one of the longest waves I've surfed."
Like many a young idealist, Ted dreams of working in government and making a difference. On this trip, he is reading the Alchemist.
"What do you think of the book?" he asks.
"Well, it's built around a good idea," I say. "I don't like the telling so much."
Ted nods and I am happy my opinion on this popular book is being given serious thought.
Later in the afternoon, the boys get in the dinghy to snorkel around Vaadhoo's reef. I wave them off and walk towards the stern.
There, Jeff and Cleg decide to have a little fishing contest. They man two fishing rods fixed on the wooden rail. Almost immediately, Cleg's line jerks forward.
"Got one, ya waste of space," he screams at his friend but then the line snaps. Jeff chuckles.
"He who laughs last," he mutters.
And then, something almost pulls Jeff into the ocean.
“Woah, there!” he exclaims, and I can tell he is experienced from the way he handles the rod. He reels it closer to the boat, and I finally see it, a massive spotted grouper, its gleaming scales catching the descending sun. So beautiful, even in death, I think.
“Strewth,” says Cleg as Jeff lands a swift blow to the large flopping head, killing this majestic beast.
“Ya win mate,” Cleg concedes grudgingly.
Jeff stands over the fish, grinning as the light turns golden, and the sullen clouds part to reveal another brilliant sky. Golden Flower rolls slowly from side to side, contented. The men are charmed by the sight of heavenly drama and the gleaming copper rays of our pretty star.
Inside, Chatura is preparing dinner in the spotless kitchen - it's going to be roshi and chili chicken tonight, thank God! The lordLord knows how sick I am of fish. No offense.
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