Bedarra Island by Voyages

‘Enjoy the scenic flight?’ asks the skipper of the Bedarra Island boat transfer laconically, as we finally arrive at our weekend tropical paradise. An early departure by plane from Cairns, six hours previously, should have seen us on Bedarra for breakfast. But a late spring storm put pay to that plan, and had us heading back to the airport terminal with our tails between our legs and our fingers in our ears. Luckily Mr Smith has just got his Private Pilot’s License so, as we flew, he talked me through the torrential rain, lightning strikes and see-sawing, cumulus-avoiding flight path. It was like being in a short-circuiting washing machine at 9,000 feet, and I was grateful that a hastily arranged limo transfer to Mission Beach and water taxi onto Bedarra gave us time to recover.

As we approach our final destination, it’s clear, even in the rain, that it’s all been worthwhile. Lush rainforest and ancient rock formations spill down to yellow beaches fringed with stage-set palm trees. Private bungalows peek out from the undergrowth, and a pair of empty sunloungers wait for the weather to clear. On dry land at last, we are greeted with chilled towels, a glass of crisp Shaw & Smith Sauvignon Blanc and a special late lunch sitting by the pool. Storm? What storm?

Restored by delicious pan-fried garlic and chilli prawns on soba noodles, we head to our open-plan villa – all warm wood tones and plush, inviting furniture – to change and think about how we’re going to spend our day. But any thoughts of an afternoon stroll or a gentle game of tennis are soon put aside, as we succumb to the more relaxing temptations of hammocks on the deck, a fully loaded iPod and a bottle of Bollinger chilling in the lounge. This, we discover, is the secret of Bedarra. You do very little against a backdrop of lapping waves, sun on the water and the mating calls of the brush hens, and you do it from the complete privacy of your own villa. Even the beds are up on a mezzanine level so that you can see and hear the water while you doze off.

Later, when we are forced inside by another storm, a wide-screen TV and super-size bath provide other distractions. What could be better than a restorative soak in lavender and lime bath salts, surrounded by flickering tea lights and perfumed by a sandalwood aromatherapy burner? A film, perhaps…The library has a great collection of movies; although Mr Smith and I both find that there’s something a bit surreal about watching 2001: A Space Odyssey while torrential rain hammers down on the tin roof.

Once HAL has schemed his last, we make our way to the Terrace restaurant for a six-course evening dinner. If tropical beach wilderness is Bedarra’s ying, then the deliciously light fusion cuisine is its yang. Every evening meal starts with a ‘amuse de la maison’, and a refreshing sorbet – sweetened Bloody Mary, for example, or watermelon and vanilla – punctuates the transition from entrée to main. Menus change daily and include only a couple of choices, but, in keeping with the resort’s all-inclusive, everything-you-might-want model, you only need ask if there’s something you particularly fancy. The chefs will have it on your table the next day. We decide to go with what’s offered – an easy decision when your options include pan-fried red emperor with clarified saffron fish bouillon, and crisp-skinned braised pork belly and beansprout salad.

After the sleep of two blissed-out, overfed babies, we finally get ourselves into gear the next day. Bedarra is best enjoyed from the water, so Mr Smith decides to swap his pilot’s licence for a five-minute briefing on one of the little canopied tinnies that line the beach on the other side of the resort (again, no charge). Then, books, brollies and sunblock in hand, we head out to explore, and, soon enough, find our own private strip of sand for a read and swim. Apart from a solitary fisherman moored at an abandoned jetty nearby, we have the beachfront – and a view of the Coral Sea and its broken necklace of little islands – completely to ourselves. While I doze, Mr Smith goes walkabout and finds an old beach hut that we later discover has just been used in a US advert for Viagra. Strange that. You’d have thought that the romance of the location would be stimulus enough for even the most jaded of lovers.

Making our way back to our villa, soporific and sun-woozy after a day on the sand, we almost step on an equally langorous snake that lounges on the path, watched warily by a huge toad. It’s a fittingly Antipodean coda to our weekend at Bedarra (in the same vein as the informal waitress who asked ‘Are you ready, spaghetti?’ at dinner the night before), and a suitably relaxed symbol of this laid-back and unfussy resort. With only 16 villas and a strict no-kids policy, this is getting away from it all, grown-up, great-island-continent style.

Needless to say, the trip back to Cairns is a joy – clear-blue skies and hardly a breeze. ‘That was a bit hairy,’ a clearly nervous fellow traveller suggests as we touch down. He didn’t like the beeping noises that emitted from the cockpit as our 12-seater Cessna Caravan descended smoothly towards the ground. If only you knew, mate.