The resort’s name is derived from aman, the Sanskrit word for peace, and yara, meaning place in the language of the Arawak Amerindians, one of the region’s indigenous peoples. It’s a fitting moniker – peaceful place.

Even though one would say it is something of an understatement,
it’s quiet at the Aman, with a soundtrack of nature. Located along the coast of Northwest Point, it is adjacent to Malcolms Beach on Providenciales, a strip of pristine, icing- sugar sand, dotted with ironshore rock coves. The water in Turks is of a blue that I don’t think I have ever seen before, making it almost otherworldly.

I was accompanied by my editor Neysha Soodeen, and our photographer Cookie Kinkead. We were assigned a golf cart and hopped on for a short ride through the native bush and stunted trees that make up the landscape. Our villa was a timber-shingled pavilion nestled in the vegetation and seated at the edge of a pond. We were greeted by our own personal staff; my favourite was Ela, who held a teak tray with ice-cold glasses of water with sprigs of mint, and chilled white towels.

The villa is made up of different pavilions, the main one being the largest, and housing the living area and dining room. Everywhere is the same modern Zen sensibility, the feeling of alignment and harmony. All the amenities are there – flat screen TV, stereo, white linear couches, the latest issue of magazines. Coffee table books act as art installations when displayed standing, facing out on the teak shelves lining the walls. The dining room table is a grand woven circle, quite low.

Past the glass doors and the timber sundeck is a pool made of black volcanic rock, with square slabs in the middle where I would lie. Miniature sculpted trees dot the lake, so that the villa appears to be floating.

There are three smaller pavilions around the pool; these are the bedrooms. The entrance terrace to each has two daybeds. Three of the walls are glass, and can slide all the way back, so that the room can be completely open to the elements. Steelpan music was playing on the surround system as I walked in. The king-size bed sits in the middle of the room, on a raised platform, and the free standing bathtub is just separated by a decorative wooden screen. The shower at first eluded me as the door is actually part of the wall which slides back to reveal a black stone room with jets coming from all sides.

After we had explored our rooms, lunch was served promptly, and we were given a choice of where to eat – inside at the massive round table, outside or waterside, in the pavilion suspended on the pond. The choice for us was easy, and unanimous. We dined at the round table, which is embedded in the deck, so we sit floor level, on tatami cushions. We had asked for fish and salad, wanting a lighter fare (watching our figures, or at least pretending to). Of course, the Aman took our conscious request and solemnly appealed to the subconscious, delivering perfectly marinated tuna sashimi, succulent shrimp on a bed of rocket, baby salad and mango and the piece de resistance, lobster in shell, resting on green asparagus and baby potatoes.

I think it happened directly after lunch. When that sense of ultimate relaxation to the point of meditation enveloped us, like a warm bath. We all went our separate paths. Cookie took off on a photographic mission to capture all of it. Neysha disappeared into the boutique and got lost in its abundance of bright-coloured cottons and silks, designer bathing suits and semi precious stones. I found the library and almost giggled with excitement – there were novels, magazines, coffee table books, DVDs, CDs, all those that I had coveted at bookstores all over the world; it was almost too much to bear.

That evening at sunset, we reconvened and sipped our champagne mojitos from our four- poster sala at the main hotel pool. As we watched the sky turn all the colours that make up gold, we could even spy the spouts of whales on the horizon.

I have never been one to worship the early morning and be eager to rise. However, at Aman, it feels like time is precious and it would be wasteful to spend it in the high-thread-count sheets. I hit the button that raises the automatic shades and let the sun shine in.

At the front of my villa is a tatami mat, where I lie half shaded, and lazily peruse my magazine. The breeze, too, is light and peaceful, as if it, too, is under the control of the resort.

Breakfast – eggs florentine, coffee, warm milk, fresh fruit, homemade oatmeal. Everything has a perfect timing but nothing feels rigid and stiff. It all goes with the flow, as if existing on a ribbon of water. Even Ela seems to be a part of this fluidity, her grace evident, flowing from movement to movement; whether it be turning a corner, carrying a tray or pouring tea, she glides along.

A light rain falls, providing a mesmerizing pattern on the water. This is Aman rain, something that seems part of this heaven. The landscape is perfect but does not seem intentionally manicured, rather something that was born here and grew, ballerina like. Everything here has a grace.

At the Amanyara, if this is not your style of vacation, there is plenty to keep your energy up – with some of the best diving in the world, full fitness centre with personal trainer, yoga sessions on the beach, tennis and more available. There is also a screening room with wide leather seats, and rumour has it many a Hollywood director has utilised it.

But for me, I was happy to explore the grounds, awed by the attention to detail and design, like the soaring conical ceiling over the bar, and the oversized lounging day beds all around the perimeter.
Coming to the Amanyara feels much like finding the golden grail at the end of a long quest.