Remembering Necker

This should have been featured on August 21, the birthday of the friend who wrote it. But it's being featured today instead, a tribute to the Necker Island that burned down, and the one that is going to be rebuilt. I remember when Nits came back from the trip, eyes aglow, full of exuberance. I remember chatting with her online as she wrote the story.

There was much joy in the making...so here it is:

By Anita Gabriel



THE West Indies' trade winds caress me as I loll about in a rich burnt orange-coloured day bed by the soft white sand beach. The soothing sounds of seagulls, splashing water, and a woman trainer saying “one-two-three and again ...” and intermittent chuckles are my lullaby as I drift in and out of my siesta.

It feels like a dream. But reality, this time, doesn't bite. I'm chilling at Sir Richard Branson's private paradise Necker in the blue Caribbean sea of the British Virgin Islands – his home, playground and workplace all wrapped up in one resplendent, magnificent Balinese structure spanning 74 acres.

A masculine laughter gently nudges me from my slumber; Branson is taking a stab at aqua aerobics with a few women staff in his beach pool. The weather that sunny afternoon, like everything else in Necker, is deliciously warm.

A little later, he pulls himself out of the pool and says: “A little bit more of this (he lifts his arms over his head and mimics a fish-swimming motion) and no one's going to take me seriously ...”. We laugh, concluding that aqua aerobics may be too feminine a sport for him. He trots off bare feet to play a game of tennis with Pete and I'm off to freshen up after an immensely rewarding two-hour massage at his Bali Leha Spa, perched atop a cliff and carved out of a hillside overlooking the spectacular Caribbean vistas. We promise to meet later for dinner at his beach pool's dining pavilion with a small group of his staff – his “extended family”.

Rollin' the dice with Branson

It's a cool night and true to the Virgin Group's business ethos, I'm having so much fun.

We have just finished a light salmon dinner, followed by the traditional English strawberries and cream. Branson suggests we play a game of Perudo or Liar's Dice Game - a traditional Peruvian game where each player has a cup and five dice, which we shake and mix then flip over the table using the cups as shield.

Simply put, players take turns in each round to guess how many dice shows a certain number and if they bid correct, they gain a dice and vice versa. The object is to be the last player with one or more dice.

"Anita, go for two ones," suggests Branson. He is out of the game, having lost all his dice after several rounds and is now guiding me as it's my first shot at this game.

A gentle breeze and the rhythmic sound of lapping waves accompany us on this lovely night. I follow my gut instincts instead - "three ones" I holler, when it's my turn to bid.

My wild stab in the dark is correct and it earns me a look of praise from Branson. "Good one. That was a good move," he smiles as he nods appreciatively.

As the game comes to a close, Pete emerges winner but my elation is stronger than ever. I've managed to outguess Branson, a sweet touch indeed to my perfect Caribbean sojourn.

The day before

“I feel guilty that you've come all the way just to interview me for an hour or so,” he remarks, a day earlier after about a two-hour long interview.

Branson is waiting for me, seated at one corner of his great home when I arrive. His home and the private island retreat for celebrities (reported to cost a whopping US$46,000 a night) appear to be undergoing some renovation. He calls this his “melting pot where we all take stock of what is happening and get away from everything apart from the fax machine.”

Two or three of his staff are at a nook in the centre of the grand home clad in sun dresses or shorts, hair clammed or scrunched up working away or sorting through some papers.

I notice Branson has scribbled some notes on his left hand – a reminder of sorts. He ushers me to the main part of the house, then leads me to a terrace where a hammock is strung up against one of the most picturesque views of the turquoise sea.

He gestures towards a large wooden day bed with a breathtaking view and asks: “Is this spot okay with you?” as he throws himself over and slides up the bed. I choke in disbelief and wilfully resist the urge to gawk. Instead, I pretend as if it were perfectly normal to conduct interviews in that manner. “Sure, no problem at all, Richard” and I slide next to him, separated only by a functional wooden tray with chilled beverage, to begin the interview, against the ever-soothing rush of the waves. - Aug 2007