As featured in Harper's Bazaar Magazine, Australia

FIVE-STAR CASTAWAYS

Harpers Bazaar Magazine Australia
October 2004
Written by John Hanscombe, Travel Editor

 Just a few kilometres from the Australian mainland, Orpheus Island feels a universe away from day-to-day cares – the perfect place to be marooned in luxury for a few days.

"Sir, Madam, your helicopter is waiting..."
”When it comes to the hotel transfer, these are sweet words indeed, especially when said machine is to whisk you and your loved one to an exclusive island resort in the tropics at the tail-end of a Sydney winter that just doesn't want to go away. Moments after touching down at Townsville Airport, we are airborne again, flying over the sparkling Coral Sea towards Orpheus Island, feeling deliciously jet-set and warm. Twenty minutes later, we swoop on the island.

The urge to kick off our shoes comes the moment we step from the chopper. As we're led across the beach to the reception area, we're introduced to some of the resort's regular guests – - a boisterous gang of tame diamond-scale mullet, who have learned over the years that passing humans generally stop to feed them. As they all but beach themselves trying to attract our attention, a group of shy reef sharks circles just beyond them, their fins slicing through the water. These tiny, gentle versions of their more menacing cousins, we're assured are totally harmless (The theme from Jaws playing in my head, I can't wait to get in the water with them, if only to say I've swam with sharks.)

Check-in takes place in the chic open-air lounge area over a scrumptious fruit cocktail. My first question – “Where are all the guests?” – is met with a knowing smile from the resort manager. With only 21 rooms, and pretty well an entire island to themselves, guests are generally only apparent at meal times. Orpheus, he explains, is all about unhurried private luxury and as he shows us to our suite for the next few days, I see what he means. The private patio, the big spa, the separate living area (with Chardonnay chilling in the ice bucket), the king-size bed, the blissful quiet after five minutes, the city seems like a distant dream. Were we really battling our way through the traffic just this morning? An hour on the beach, a leisurely lunch (and our first sighting of another guest), then time in a hammock slung between two palm trees and this morning's mad dash to the airport may as well be a past life, such is the healing power of Orpheus' tranquillity. There's a momentary pang of guilt – we really ought to do something – which is quickly overwhelmed by a much stronger desire…to do nothing. And so we spend the entire afternoon watching the sun sink over the 11 kilometres of sea that separates us from the Australian mainland.

That evening, we are delighted to find a candlelit table set up for us on the jetty – a romantic degustation dinner for two, each course matched perfectly with a different wine. Apart from the waitress, who seems to have an uncanny ability to know exactly when to appear at the table, our only companions are the fish swimming beneath the jetty.

Morning comes, and there is a lavish picnic basket packed for us. Today, we're taking one of the resort's dinghies to Yanks Jetty (it was an American submarine facility during World War II), which is a great place for snorkelling and has a lovely secluded beach nearby. As we round the next headland and the resort slips from view, we both revel in the castaway feeling. We tie up at Yanks and wrestle the hamper ashore. Then it's into the water to meet the fish, an electric light show of vivid greens, reds and yellows. But it's our picnic that takes up most of the afternoon: prawns, lobster, salads, cheeses. When we return to the resort late in the afternoon, we can muster just enough strength for a dip in the pool and a daiquiri.

And so it goes for the next couple of days: brief activity followed by long stretches of relaxation. We talk to the seaward side of the island and spend a whole morning picking through the flotsam. A knotted rope fender is collected, as well as a bleached old diggers hat. But we leave the rusted metal ball well alone. I'm 90 per cent sure it's a harmless buoy but it's that 10 per cent doubt that it may be a not-so-benign war relic that demands caution. We spend time just feeding the fish. Simple pleasures, all just what island life is about.

Written by John Hanscombe, Travel Editor, Harpers Bazaar Magazine Australia , October 2004.