Ari Atoll

The islands of Ari Atoll were settled as fishing and boatbuilding communities long before tourism, and for centuries their history was the ordinary history of the Maldivian atolls: pole-and-line tuna fishing, coconut and coir, trade with the capital by sailing dhoni, and administration by a chief answering to the sultan. Mahibadhoo grew as the seat of the atoll's southern half, and the other inhabited islands remained small villages of a few hundred people around a mosque and a harbour. Ari Atoll was a single administrative division until 1984, when it was split into the northern and southern atolls that govern it today.

Tourism reached the atoll later than the islands near the capital, as the resort model spread westwards from North and South Male Atolls. Under the one-island, one-resort policy, uninhabited islands were leased and developed one at a time, each with its own jetty, staff quarters and house reef, and Ari Atoll became one of the most heavily developed atolls in the country for resorts. The 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami swept across the Maldives, damaging islands and infrastructure here as elsewhere.

Two changes since have reshaped the atoll. The law allowing guesthouses on inhabited islands from 2009 brought independent travellers to Dhigurah, Thoddoo, Rasdhoo, Dhangethi and their neighbours, giving villages a direct stake in tourism for the first time. And the South Ari Marine Protected Area, on the southern reef where whale sharks are resident year-round, brought rules on boats and swimmers, and made the animals a permanent part of the local economy.

The village islands of Ari Atoll live as Maldivian communities do: Sunni Muslim, built around family and the mosque, with the call to prayer marking the working day and Friday midday quiet before an afternoon of visiting. Islands are small and everyone knows everyone, so hospitality is easy and privacy is scarce. Dhivehi is the language, and English is spoken in guesthouses, dive centres and by most younger islanders.

The sea shapes the culture. Fishing by pole and line is a skilled and long-standing trade, the dhoni remains the emblem of Maldivian boatbuilding, and knowledge of currents, channels and reef names is passed down informally. Bodu beru, the big-drum music with its African-influenced rhythms, is played at weddings and on national days, and singing and dance belong to the same celebrations. Thoddoo's farming, unusual in a country of coral sand, has given that island a distinct identity of its own.

For visitors the customs are those of the whole country and are taken seriously: modest dress in the villages, swimwear only on the designated beaches, no alcohol brought onto inhabited islands, and permission asked before photographing people. Islanders have grown used to foreign guests since the guesthouse law changed and are generally warm about it, but the resort bubble and the village are separate worlds, and the rules of the second are not relaxed for people arriving from the first.

Several thousand people live on the inhabited islands of the two administrative atolls, in villages ranging from a few hundred residents to about 2,500 at Mahibadhoo and a comparable number at Maamigili, the largest island of the southern atoll. Alongside them, several thousand staff live and work on the resort islands, many of them from other parts of the Maldives or from South Asia, on contracts that keep them away from their families for months at a time.

Work is fishing, tourism and government service. The resorts employ large numbers in kitchens, housekeeping, dive centres and boat crews; the guesthouse islands have built their own small economy of rooms, excursions and shops; and pole-and-line tuna boats still put out from the harbours. Thoddoo's farms supply fruit and vegetables to Male and to nearby islands, an exception in an economy that imports almost all its food.

Days run early. Fishing boats and excursion dhonis leave soon after dawn, the middle of the day is hot and quiet, and life returns to the beaches and the harbour wall in the late afternoon. Supplies arrive by cargo boat, fresh water comes from desalination and rain tanks, and mobile coverage reaches most islands. Coastal erosion, waste, the cost of transport between islands and the health of the reefs after repeated coral bleaching are the concerns islanders raise most.

Village food in Ari Atoll is Maldivian home cooking, built on tuna, coconut and rice. Garudhiya, a clear tuna broth eaten over rice with lime, chilli and raw onion, is the everyday meal; mas huni, smoked tuna shredded with grated coconut, onion and chilli and eaten with the flatbread roshi, is breakfast; and rihaakuru, the thick dark paste boiled down from tuna stock, is spooned beside rice or stirred into curries.

Tea houses serve hedhika, the fried short eats that fill the gaps in the day — bajiya pastries, gulha dumplings that burst with smoked tuna and coconut, fish rolls and masroshi — taken with very sweet milk tea. Reef fish grilled over coals appears at guesthouse dinners, along with curries of tuna or chicken, and sweets tend to be coconut-based. Thoddoo adds something rare here: locally grown watermelon and papaya, sold from the fields where they are cut.

The resort islands run a different kitchen altogether, with buffets and à la carte restaurants, imported produce and full bars. They are the only places in the atoll where alcohol is served; on the inhabited islands it is neither sold nor permitted, and fresh juices, lime and soda, milk tea and coffee take its place. The one genuinely local ingredient on every table, in both worlds, is tuna.