Rediscover the Bahamas
> The Rise of Atlantis
> Bahama Budget
Atop the Power Tower, barely an hour after check-in, I’m gazing into a dank cavity called the Abyss. I don’t know where this water slide winds up, but the fact that the child in front of me looks barely eight years old would seem to assure that I’m embarking on nothing more than a minor little adventure. And then, the kid lets go and sinks into the blackness, a sorry wail trailing behind him that quickly evaporates.
Before I can register second thoughts the lifeguard manning this post waves me to sit down. A red stoplight glows a few inches from my face. He orders me to cross my legs—“for your own protection,” he jokes. Seconds later a green light goes on. I pull myself to the brink and let go. Daylight disappears.
Beginning with a near-vertical 50-foot drop, my speed causes an arc of spray to careen from my heels past my face. A final crash through a waterfall plunges me underwater. When I surface, bleary eyes take a few seconds to register. I’m in a cavern, a beam of sunlight piercing a crack overhead. Staggering from the splash pool I realize I’m eyeball-to-eyeball with a fleet of toothy alligator gar, a sheet of Plexiglas separating us.
Starting a trip to Paradise Island with its penultimate water slide is an abrupt way to check in, but my visit is hardly downhill from here.
An 826-acre outpost positioned a couple hundred yards across the harbor from Nassau, Paradise Island has evolved into a world-class destination. Graced by swaying casuarinas trees and lined on its four-mile northern shore by a succession of resplendent beaches, the site was originally known as Hog Island. But when the late A&P grocery heir Huntington Hartford purchased the island in 1959 for $11 million, he protected his investment with a quick name-change. Millionaire estates blossomed, followed by a succession of resorts, then a bridge that linked the island by car to Nassau and its airport.
dolphin encounter at Atlantis.
Nearly a quarter of the island is occupied by Atlantis, a resort said to generate more than 12 percent of the Bahamas gross national revenue. The resort’s current moniker dates to 1994, when South African developer Sol Kerzner acquired the run-down Paradise Island Resort from Merv Griffin. A casino—biggest in the Caribbean—was added, along with the 23-story Royal Towers containing 1,200 rooms. The $1 billion revamp was endowed with Atlantean mythology, allowing designers to embrace the fanciful story of a ruined, sunken utopia replete with a marine waterscape starring manta rays and hammerhead sharks. In 2007, a huge expansion more than doubled the size of the water park—now dubbed Aquaventure—and added fierce water slides like the Abyss; another 1,100 rooms sprouted.
The dining options at Atlantis have also grown and today can be counted as the region’s most varied collection. Recent additions include Mesa Grill, showcasing celeb-chef Bobby Flay’s signature sweet/spicy approach to New Mexican food, and next to Atlantis’ casino is Nobu, another branch of celebrated chef Nobu Matsuhisa’s cutting edge Japanese cuisine.
You’ll want to pad your budget for on-property dining: Although there are a few less-expensive places to eat at (Atlantis-owned) Marina Village—like a Johnny Rockets and the take-out Marina Pizzeria—there are precious few moderate-priced options. Hearty eaters may find the resort’s Gourmet Dining Plan a decent buy, covering breakfast and three-course dinner daily in most restaurants (Mesa Grill and Nobu are excluded), for $89 per day, $45 for children, plus 15 percent gratuity. Less-expensive dining options lie in Nassau, a short cab ride from Paradise Island (particularly recommended: the Poop Deck). Families may also opt to stay at the new Reef Tower, where rooms have kitchen and laundry facilities—perfect for extended stays.
Atlantis is trying to create an upscale resort experience, 3,400 rooms at a time. Most of the staff is gracious, yet it can feel a bit like a big, fancy machine. One option Atlantis debuted last year was the Cove, “a resort within the resort,” aiming for an upscale adult audience. If Atlantis competes with Disney World, the Cove is targeting Vegas hipsters.
The 21-story Cove evokes the contemporary feel of trendy hotels like the W brand, and rooms are a generous 650 square feet with vaguely Asian styling—nary a tropical print in sight. The main pool—Cain at the Cove—goes after the Vegas theme with a vengeance. It’s an adults-only pool party fueled with pulsing lounge music, blackjack and craps tables, tall drinks and fresh tattoos.
Cain aims for exclusivity, but I find the real deal lies beyond Atlantis’ borders. Just down Cabbage Beach, slumbering quietly on a dune, is the One&Only Ocean Club, a 106-
room hotel that delivers maximum pampering and privacy. Dating to 1962, the Colonial-style resort draws A-listers, including the cast and crew of Casino Royale, who bedded down here and converted the lobby into an intimate casino for one sequence in the movie (the room used for Bond’s stay was villa 1042).
Paradise Island is not exclusively high-end. The 14-story Hotel Riu Paradise Island sits next to Atlantis, sharing the same beach, and offers an all-inclusive option. On the other, beach-less side of the island is the Best Western Bay View Suites, a low-rise property within a 10-minute walk of Cabbage Beach.
After touring all of the diverse properties on Paradise Island, I soon find myself back at Aquaventure, taking in the Current. At most water parks this feature is called a Lazy River. I hoist myself into a tube and paddle into the channel, just as a wave flushes down a chute. The swell lifts and propels me down the river—just fast enough for a constant change of gently bobbing scenery. The surges come every 12 or 15 seconds, usually accompanied by a volley of laughs and screams as guests are toppled into the drink. Lazy river, indeed.
The Current floats me into a cave where a conveyor belt carries tubes—and occupants—up a hill. After careening down a trough of jolly white water rapids I arrive at a second escalator which shuttles me to the top of the Power Tower. I don’t even have to leave my tube to float into the Drop, another seatbelt-free ride that snakes through darkness. Well, pitch black until one bend brings me to—and through—a spinning fan that cuts through the cylinder.
A nifty special effect, yes, but I was beginning to see how Paradise Island could leave you breathless in more ways than one.
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