Pristine shores

Nautilus Resort in the Cook Islands is a palm-fringed piece of paradise.

21 October 2024

The Cook Islands have always seemed to me like one of those places that might not actually exist – some fevered dream concocted by tourism boards and overenthusiastic travel writers.

A cluster of specks on the map, adrift in the vast Pacific, where the promise of paradise seems almost too good to be true. So, it was with a mix of scepticism and anticipation that I found myself stepping off a plane, bleary-eyed and clutching a slightly crumpled boarding pass, onto the tarmac of Rarotonga, where the air was thick with the scent of frangipani and salt, and the sky stretched on, impossibly blue.

Now, I’ve stayed in my fair share of hotels over the years. From the slightly terrifying neon-lit motels of regional Australia to the grandiose hotels of Europe that smell faintly of dust and old money. But the Nautilus Resort was something else entirely.

It was like stepping into a travel brochure, but without the irritating slogans and the overly cheerful exclamation marks. Here, the palm trees really did sway just so, the water really was that particular shade of turquoise, and the staff genuinely greeted you as though you were a long-lost relative who’d wandered off the beaten path.

Elegant villas at the Nautilus Resort

I was led to my villa, a thatched affair with a certain rugged elegance, perched just a breath away from the lagoon. The first thing I noticed was the plunge pool—a private oasis, surrounded by lush greenery, inviting me to immerse myself immediately. The second thing was the view. My God, the view!

It’s the kind of sight that makes you wonder why we ever left the trees and built cities. Endless, pristine water stretching out towards the horizon, gently lapping at the shore as if it had nowhere else to be. A vista that instantly made me question every life decision that had led me to spend more time in office cubicles than in places like this.

The villa itself was the epitome of understated luxury. I’ve never quite understood the obsession with hotels that feel like museums—where you’re terrified to touch anything, let alone make yourself at home. But this was different.

The decor was simple, elegant, with a nod to the local culture that felt genuine rather than contrived. The bed was vast, a sprawling expanse of softness that beckoned like the sirens of old. The sheets, cool and crisp, seemed to promise the best sleep of my life, and I was inclined to believe them.

A bathroom as big as an apartment

Now, let’s talk about the bathroom, which was, frankly, ridiculous in the best possible way. It was the size of most inner-city apartments, with a rain shower that felt like bathing in a tropical storm and a bathtub that could comfortably accommodate a small rugby team.

But it was the little touches that stood out: the coconut-infused toiletries, the thoughtful placement of the softest towels I’ve ever encountered, and a view from the shower that made it tempting to spend the entire day there, luxuriating in the sheer absurdity of it all.

Of course, being the inquisitive sort, I ventured beyond the confines of my villa. The resort’s pool was an experience in itself. I spent an embarrassing amount of time floating there, watching the sky shift from blue to pink to the deepest indigo, as the sun set and the stars began their nightly vigil.

There was a bar conveniently located nearby, manned by a bartender who possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of cocktails and a knack for easy conversation. We talked about everything from the history of the islands to the best snorkelling spots, while he conjured up drinks that tasted like holidays in a glass.

Dining at Nautilus Resort

Dining at Nautilus was an exercise in restraint, or rather, the lack of it. The restaurant, nestled among the palm trees with a view of the lagoon, served food that was almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.

Breakfasts were a riot of colour and flavour, with platters of tropical fruits that tasted like sunshine, fresh pastries, and eggs prepared in every conceivable way.

Dinners were more indulgent affairs, with dishes that showcased the best of local ingredients. The mahi-mahi was a revelation, grilled to perfection and served with a coconut cream sauce that I’m convinced contained some sort of dark magic. I lost count of how many times I asked for seconds.

And then, there were the nights.

Sitting on the beach, feet buried in the warm sand, a glass of wine in hand, listening to the waves and watching the moonlight dance on the water. There was something almost hypnotic about it, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just me, the sea, and the stars.

The Nautilus Resort isn’t just a place to stay – it’s a reminder that there are still corners of the world where time slows down, where beauty isn’t something you have to search for, but something that surrounds you, enfolds you.

It’s a place where luxury isn’t measured in thread counts or Michelin stars, but in the quiet moments, the unexpected kindnesses, the sense of belonging. Leaving was almost painful, like waking from a dream you weren’t ready to end. But that’s the thing about dreams—they linger, long after you’ve opened your eyes.

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