More than 1000 islands make the Maldives – no wonder that everybody may have a private one: The airport has its own, as has the crammed capital, and – how nice –  every resort has its private island, too. If God ever thought about exclusive holidays for billionaires, the Maldives would probably be his first choice: Overwater bungalows come as standard, atolls are surrounded by all shades of turquoise and ivory-white beaches. For breakfast, you will be spoilt for choice as there are more French cheese varieties than at Laurent Dubois in Paris. You fancy a sundowner in your hammock dangling in the lagoon: Call Mr. Friday, your butler. Dinner under palm trees might be an elaborate Asian street food market serving fresh lobster and home-made Xia Long Bao. Doubts about the right wine pairing – your expert sommelier flown in from Japan will tell you. Life underwater is as good as overwater: I have never before snorkelled in more beautiful coral gardens, while schools of tropical fish were dancing around me. I went twice to the Maldives, once, in 2006, even for business: After a hard day of work, I thought of my favourite English comedian Michael Palin’s saying: “Travelling, and being paid for it, is just great.”