An Island of One’s Own

When seclusion is an issue but money is not, the solution is a private island – the latest must-have bauble of the wealthy.

By Shinan Govani
Illustration by Costhanzo

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True story: I’m in Belize, in a restaurant by the sea, when a man at the next table leans over and grunts a question.

“How would you define ‘jaded’?” the man with the New York accent poses, just as my party and I are ending our meal. “Pessimistic,” I offer, always eager to have some thesaurus for dessert. “Someone who’s seen it all,” another at my table kindly adds.

The Yank turns to his own dinner companion, in the form of an hourglass Mayan beauty. “So how would you say ‘jaded’ in Spanish?” he asks her.

“American?” she murmurs back, tongue in cheek.

Laughs are had, followed by actual dessert, some snaking conversation and then a bumpy boat ride back to my hotel in San Pedro (the very place that Madonna dreamt about all those years ago). The water is like black licorice, the current is a strong one and we all end up getting off the boat appearing like Rapunzels in distress, working a look that would make a certain Mr. Blackwell very, very angry.

Bobby Dhillon, our cleverly named host, looks like he’s never had more fun, though. A Sikh by way of Japan and Calgary, and the kind of chap who always travels with a full glass, he’s brought us to this paradise to see what some jokingly call the 11th Canadian province due to all the snowbirds that settle there each winter. Though this philosophical gazillionaire in bright orange shorts and a roly-poly build made much of his mint in real estate, his soul is here in Belize, where about a decade ago he purchased this 2,300-acre island. In the last few years, guess what? Belize began to get trendy, the investment soared and Leonardo DiCaprio moved into his own island just down the stream!

Over the next few days in this raw but ravishing haven, Dhillon – who’s so beloved in Belize, he’s actually been appointed an honourary consul general – is eager to show and tell. “I have a pet croc,” the budding mogul informs us, giving us the reptilian overview. “I want you to imagine tables on the sand here, tiki lights there,” he says a little later, showing me the now naked island tip where he plans to build a cool resto-lounge.

Like a nose thrusting out from the eyes of Mexico and Guatemala, this place, once known as British Honduras, is an understandable obsession for a man looking for a kingdom. A curious mesh of cultures – Mayans, British pirates, former slaves from India, even some 3,000 Mennonites in one part of the country – it’s not only beautiful, it’s peaceful. The reason for the sleepiness, Dhillon theorizes, is that “no one forms a majority here.” But it’s also that Belize is the place that Henry Ford forgot. Boats and golf carts seem to be the preferred form of transportation. “I like this place because they’ve got a valet for golf carts,” Dhillon mentions, pointing to a hotel we pass by.

What motivates a man to buy his own island? I beach-breakfast with Dhillon one morning in San Pedro as the instant-detox waves crash over the white sand nearby. Sitting in front of the most important meal of the day, he shows me a map of the country and, using his fork, starts pointing here, stabbing there. That’s when it hits me: Sure, the island is a toy, but it’s not like buying just any old Porsche. There’s definitely a case of Robinson Crusoe syndrome at work here.

Like Johnny Depp, who recently got retail therapy by buying an island in the Bahamas, or ex- Wallpaper* editor Tyler Brûlé, who some years ago purchased an island in Sweden, or Scottish eccentric Lord Glenconner, who’s famous for buying Mustique in the 1950s and turning it into a blue-blood hot spot, there’s a bit of the romantic wanderer in Dhillon. And though there might be a business proposition at work here, it’s business that comes with poetry.

In a World Wide Web world, where everything is so connected, the quest for an island of one’s own is perhaps even more compelling. It’s what I think while I’m watching Dhillon play with his fork on the beach. And what makes me believe that Belize is one of the least jaded places around. 

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Shinan Govani is the Scene columnist for the National Post and frequently appears on television commenting on celebrities and the social whirl. Write him at sgovani@enroutemag.net.

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