Sun, Sea and Seclusion Await at This Private Island Retreat in French Polynesia
Craving a tropical paradise all to yourself? Motu Nao Nao is an exclusive-use idyll in French Polynesia where your private-island dreams become reality.
“Everything here is for you alone – whether that be a moonlit cinema on the beach or private flying lessons – but it isn’t ostentatious; think of it as a destination for those who own $100,000 watches but wouldn’t dream of wearing them here.”
Sylvain Delanchy gives quite the introduction to Motu Nao Nao, a private island retreat located a five-minute speedboat shuttle away from Raiatea, the second largest of French Polynesia’s Society Islands (itself a 45-minute flight from Papeete on Tahiti). Delanchy is residence manager at this luxury getaway, a 30-hectare gem encircled by a vivid lagoon, which opened in late 2021 with just three villas crafted by local architect Alain Fleurot.
It’s an all-inclusive offering – three-course meals, beverages, equipment such as kayaks and bicycles and one excursion each day. But it’s what you don’t find on the rate card that’s the most memorable: the chance to revel in a Crusoe-esque wilderness dominated by birdsong and the scuttle of sand crabs treating the island’s vine-twisted trails like their own Shibuya Crossing.
The main drawcard? Motu Nao Nao is exclusive-use, ensuring complete privacy at all times. “The reef surrounding the island prevents anyone else from sailing up,” says Delanchy as he shows me around my villa, which features a wooden outdoor bathtub overlooking the isle’s lush interior, generous white linen-covered furnishings in the living room and a personal library full of rock ‘n’ roll biographies (celebrities are frequent guests).
Fine dining, happily, is a focus, with chef Wilfrid Kobylt serving up the likes of reggiano shortbread, vegetables and black truffle, uru (breadfruit) gnocchi with fern leaves, prawns and coconut milk, plus a lime cheesecake accompanied by fruit sorbet (my lunch for today). Each dish is a kaleidoscope of colour thanks to the liberal sprinkling of edible blooms that Kobylt grows in his garden and he’s on stand-by to discuss the provenance and health properties of each ingredient. “Dinner is served under the stars but breakfast and lunch I will serve you in here” – here being a dining table in the main villa overlooking the water – “to protect you from the Tahitian heat.”
Post-lunch, decisions are made to the sound of palms rustling against thatched roofs: should I enjoy one of the included activities (everything from cultural tours to pearl farm visits) or try a private flight lesson or a helicopter day trip to nearby Bora Bora (at extra charge)? While the minimum stay at Motu Nao Nao is four nights (most guests stay six), the list of experiences doesn’t get as much use as you’d think. “Most guests book activities on day one and sometimes on day two but after that, they fall into the rhythm of island life and relax,” says Delanchy. Keen to do as the one-per-centers do, I decide to fill my first day with something traditionally Tahitian – and ultimately deceiving.
The Va’a Holopuni, a traditional Polynesian sailing canoe, arrives with Rémy Lavie from Paddle Sports, a Frenchman and va’a champion determined to show me the best of the lagoon of his adopted home. I expect I will swan around like I’m in a Bryan Ferry video clip, all champagne and shellfish. Instead, Lavie hands me an oar and suggests I start paddling across the lagoon. At first, it’s calm and looks like an artist’s palette of blues and greens before it changes and feels more like someone has turned a garden hose on my face. I put my snorkel mask on and, through the spray, I observe the hordes of turtles, stingrays and blacktip reef sharks who’ve swum in. “Woo hoo!” shouts Lavie. “This is why I love this sport – one minute it’s calm and the next it’s wild!”
There’s time for a quick cycle around the island and a serene soak before one more activity: a Polynesian dance and drumming lesson on Sunset Beach. By the glow of the fire crackling alongside a mirrored showcase of cocktails and canapés, I try ori Tahiti (the local version of hula) with all the grace of someone who’s lost control of a chainsaw. And then I give up, embracing what the island has expected of me all along. Day two? I have zero plans.
