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The Republic of Maldives

The Maldives archipelago, made up of 26 atolls and straddling the equator, is the smallest of the Asian countries with a land area of only 298 square kilometres. It is the second least populous country in Asia with only 515,000 people according to a 2022 census. Brunei takes the chocolates for least populous Asian country!

Boasting an average elevation above sea level of just 1.5m, Maldives holds first prize for lowest lying country in the world, leaving the islands susceptible to rising sea levels brought about by centuries of warming temperatures.

The islands have been inhabited for 2,500 years. Arabs and Persians were the earliest documented visitors, and with them came the influence of Islam. From the mid-16th century, the region came under the growing influence of European colonial powers, with Maldives becoming a British protectorate in 1887. Independence from the United Kingdom came in 1965, afterwhich, a republic was established in 1968.

Fishing has historically been the dominant economic activity, and remains the second largest sector, behind the rapidly growing tourism industry.

Arrival

We dropped anchor in the lee of tiny Uligan, the northernmost inhabited island in the Maldives and the main settlement of Haa Alif Atoll. A modest, low-lying cousin to the bustling capital of Malé far to the south, Uligan owes its importance to its strategic position: with limited facilities ashore but straightforward clearance procedures, it serves as the preferred port of entry (and exit) for yachts bound north westward toward the Red Sea.

When entering a new country by boat it is customary to raise the Q (quarantine) flag up the starboard spreader. That way, customs officers ashore can identify your request for customs clearance into the country.

In what is starting to become a financial nuisance, places visited thus far have made it customary, though not yet compulsory, to employ the services of an Agent to help you bypass the beaurocracy of arriving at a place by a method for which the Government is not structured to easily administer. The Maldives beaurocracy make it all but impossible to enter the country without an Agent. Moreover, once having arrived, you boat is not allowed to leave the anchorage unless a cruising permit is issued, AND paid for. This includes carrying a tracking device for which you must also pay a daily rate to use onboard so they know your whereabouts. Noting we have an AIS system already onboard which accurately shows my whereabouts, the Maldives were proving to be world class at levying a fee at every turn.

One such fee, US$20 for “Transport”, is paid so that a posse of government officials can be shuttled by small motor boat to the newly arrived boat. On the day of our arrival, another 4 boats had also arrived, so the days total Transport Fee taking was proving lucrative. It reminded me of the old technical ship-management scam whereby a ship manager would fly to visit a ship in port and charge his travel expenses back to the owner. If there were other vessels under the same management in the port, or vicinity thereof, the manager would also visit those ships and the same total travel expenses would be levied against the other ship owner(s). A great little hustle it was!

In any case, grumblings about fees asside, a small boat was soon alongside and from it alighted five people, stepping aboard Luna Blu. Save for the agent, each were dressed in their respective government departments uniform. We had Immigration, Harbour Master, Customs, and one other, who was less interested in paperwork, of which there was plenty, and more interested in looking about the boat for, what we determined, stowaways. Satisfied we had none, he returned to the table with everyone else and joined me in looking on in wonder at how much paper and how many stamps are involved in clearing 2 people and a boat into the Maldives.

We tried small talk, but it went nowhere, so we settled into watching sheets of paper pass from one officer to the next, then back again in reverse order. I sat quietly, saying or doing nothing except signing where a finger jabbed the page or adding my stamp when required. It was quite the ritual.

At one point, Zippy offered slices of watermelon. That simple gesture cracked their formal facade. The offer was accepted; a neatly arranged plate appeared on the table—but only after the paperwork had been carefully shifted aside to make room. What followed was like locusts descending on a ripe field just before harvest. In moments the plate was bare except for the gnawed rind, and the saloon filled with the unmistakable slurping and smacking of government officials devouring the juicy treat. It was incredible!

Before long, the officers gathered their stacks of paper and tucked them back into their folios. Only two sheets of A4 remained with me as proof of our arrival and successful clearance. Our passports had been taken away too—but don’t worry, they were returned a couple of days later, duly stamped and ready for the next adventure. After all that shuffling, signing, and stamping, it felt almost absurd that we’d be left with just two pieces of paper. I suppose the rest vanished into the islands’ exchequer, quietly justifying the hefty fees we’d paid to check in, cruise around, and eventually check out.

What you dont see

Mention the Maldives to 98 out of 100 people, and they’ll instantly picture those iconic overwater villas perched on stilts above turquoise lagoons, with private steps leading straight from your balcony into the sea. Fly in, and that’s exactly what you get—give or take a few extras. But sail in, and you enter a completely different world.

Most luxury resorts don’t offer day passes to cruising yachts (though a small handful do), and many actively prohibit anchoring anywhere nearby. Fringing reefs make it nearly impossible to approach safely anyway. Of the Maldives’ 1,192 coral islands scattered across 26 atolls, only about 200 are inhabited by local communities, while roughly 150–170 are dedicated to exclusive resorts. The rest remain uninhabited and untouched.

Cruising here means you’re either exploring pristine, deserted islands or dropping anchor off quiet local villages—a far cry from the polished resort fantasy.

These communities feel timeless: sleepy settlements of sand-swept streets lined with coral-stone homes behind high walls. The government clearly invests heavily (or has ready access to funds), as every island boasts a well-maintained football pitch, modern schools, and tidy government buildings. The places are impeccably clean—sometimes the only sign of life is an elderly woman quietly sweeping fallen leaves from the paths with a palm frond. No cars disturb the peace; just the occasional motorcycle puttering by.

Fresh water is abundant thanks to each island having its own desalination plant. One small island with a population of perhaps 400 people, we visited in particular had a daily water production capacity of 100,000ltrs.

In yet another nod to the countries obvious affluence is the fact that every island has at least one cell phone communication tower. Indeed it was striking given how low lying the island are that you can often only determine landmass in the distance thanks to being able to sight the telecommunication tower.

A fire ashore

A stone’s throw from the arrival anchorage at Uligan, locals mentioned an uninhabited island we shouldn’t miss—an ideal spot to overnight. We motored the short 5 nautical miles across, dropped anchor in crystal-clear water, and hurried ashore to gather driftwood for an evening fire.

We were the only two souls on the entire island that day. The emptiness felt strangely surreal, almost otherworldly.

With a splash of diesel and some dry kindling we’d scavenged, the flames caught quickly and roared to life. We settled around the crackling blaze, sipped a couple of sundowners, and watched the sun melt gloriously into the distant horizon, painting the sky in fire and gold.

Island Cruising

We then bounced around some of the more northen atolls that make up the Maldives, restricted mainly by the cruising permit we were given which prescribed where we could and could not venture, but also by the fact we didnt want to spend more than a week island hopping because of a desire to keep moving westward.

The islands, or rather what surrounds the islands doesn’t necessarily lend itself to cruising. Each atoll is about 40m deep which is too deep to safely anchor, but as you approach an island, the seabed rises abruptly and transforms into a fringing coral reef, which isnt a place where you want to be dropping an anchor and chain. You were always on the lookout for a sandy seabed where the anchor could dig into and hold. Some of the islands were accessible by a channel that had been dug, allowing supply lines to the island be opened and for fishing boats to come and go. Some were wide enough to accommodate our boat, but most were not. We had found Maldives a difficult place to find safe anchorages whereby you could afterward relax and not worry about shifting and ending up backing onto a reef. Indeed one of our friends, while trying to navigate their catamaran of similar size to ours through one such channel, had fallen foul and drifted of the centreline onto the reef. Thankfully the damage caused wasnt catastrophic, but the risk is omni present in these parts.

We were looking for a resort island whereby we could anchor outside and be allowed to come ashore and enjoy some of the facilities. The majority of resorts didnt allow this, but thankfully Hondaafushi Island Resort were welcoming. Charging us $75 per person for a day pass, including their buffet dinner.

Once anchored we were greeted ashore by a gof buggy ready to transport us to the bar where we drank a few sundowners waiting for the buffet to open. It was a delightful little respite, but after a few hours on this exclusive island you did wonder how you might while away your time if you were here for a week. I mean asside the bar and the restaurant ashore, there really wasnt much else. Perhaps a small gym? But not much else.

That visit crystallized it for me. We’d spent days wandering the local islands, quietly observing daily life and wondering what truly occupies these people—fishing at dawn, ferrying to resort jobs, gathering for evening tea under the stars, sweeping sand paths clean. Then we stopped at a resort for a few hours, and the same question resurfaced: what do people actually do here amid the overwater villas, infinity pools, and endless pampering?

Perhaps the answer lies not in the place, but in the person asking the question?

Last Supper

Finishing off where we started our time in the Maldives, was a dinner at the curiously named Uligan Marina Beach Restaurant. There is no Marina here!

Our last night was enjoyed with the company of a few other sailors, one guy in particular, a Swiss gentleman, who was sailing his catamaran solo from Malaysia and was heading toward Africa. It demands incredible spirit and courage to be able to undertake these passages solo. And the stories he regaled us reflected those traits!

The following morning, with the assistance of Assad our agent, we ever so patiently dealt with the business of checking out. Passports stamped. Outgoing Crew List and Customs Clearance documents in hand, we were all clear to depart.

One final matter of purchasing some fresh watermelon and cucumbers from a local farmer who had, days earlier, delivered us some diesel and had promised some fresh offerings.

Maldives had been a curious experience to us. The country is a game of two halves. You have the opulent resorts with the quintessential ocean hues, sealife and gourmet meals served in your waterside villas. On the other hand, you have village life. A sleepy, slow paced subsistence existence centred around the Muslim faith amongst what appears to be tight knit communities, on islands that are steadily sinking into the ocean. By boat you get the latter, by plane, the former. I’m not sure I like either.

I wont be rushing back to the Maldives, but one can only say that after they have visited. I will add that the local people are incredibly friendly and welcoming, something that has been a reoccurring theme so far!

Onwards and upwards they cried, it was time for us to move westward.