Writing about Kamalame Cay leaves you with the nagging feeling that you're violating an implied vow of secrecy. A lavishly beautiful resort in the guts of the Bahamas, Kamalame is a private island, with heavy emphasis on private. The island extends for three miles but has just 13 tastefully appointed villas spaced so far apart that guests are supplied with golf carts upon check-in. With minimal effort, a guest can go the entire day without seeing another human being; compared with the solitude found at Kamalame, Robinson Crusoe's adventures resemble a stay at Daytona Beach in March.
Hemmed between the island of Andros and a body of water known as the Tongue of the Ocean, Kamalame is a world-class bonefishing destination. Grab a reel, hop on a boat and within minutes you're in pole position, as it were, staring into lucent water, searching for some sign of those darting critters. If that doesn't float your boat, there's plenty else to do: snorkeling, diving, sea kayaking, postprandial walking on the beach and, of course, nothing. "Bet you'd have a hard time thinking of a way you'd rather have spent the weekend," said Paul, the genial pilot of our seaplane, as he hauled my wife and me back to civilization. He was right, of course. Kamalame, in all its white-sanded grandeur, is exquisite. But let's keep that between us, O.K.? --L. Jon Wertheim