The Maldives and M/Y Galileo

Sailing Into a Dream You’ll Never Want to Wake From

Author’s Note

Life, in its fleeting brevity, grants us only a handful of moments that are truly extraordinary the kind that awaken every sense that imprint themselves onto the soul like salt upon the skin. These moments do not arrive with fanfare, they appear unannounced, slipping into the quiet spaces of our days, often disguised as something ordinary.

This one began with a call.

Steve’s voice carried the certainty of a man who knew things others did not. One of the most knowledgeable figures in the yachting world and the Global Marketing Director at IYC, Steve was someone I trusted, a man whose advice always led to something extraordinary. “Pablo, you need to visit M/Y Galileo.”

I started to protest. I knew Galileo, had followed her since the moment she first touched the water, but Steve was insistent. His words, though simple, carried the weight of something inevitable.

“Trust me,” he said. “Just go.”

And so, without knowing it, I had already agreed. The next thing he told me was almost an afterthought, a small detail spoken lightly, though it would come to mean everything.

“Pack well. You’ll have to travel a bit.”

And just like that, one of the greatest journeys of my life had begun.

It was late, around 8 p.m., and the air inside Velana International Airport was thick with the scent of distant places. The voices of a hundred tongues wove a tapestry of sound, each syllable drifting upward into the fluorescent glow like lost prayers. Beneath the whir of unseen fans, travelers moved like actors in a play rehearsed a thousand times: the hurried steps, the worried glances at departure screens, the last-minute purchases of trinkets destined to be forgotten in hotel drawers.

We rushed forward, pulled by the invisible current of transit, past security, past the murmured exchanges between airport guards. Our gate lay apart from the chaos, an island within an island, where only a handful of local Maldivians waited in patient silence. A moment of relief washed over us this time; perhaps the flight would not be a battle for space.

But space was relative. The aircraft, though sleek and modern, was small, its turboprop blades gleaming under the dim runway lights. We settled in, fitting ourselves into seats like puzzle pieces. At 9 p.m., we ascended, swallowed whole by the night sky, southward into the vastness of the Indian Ocean.

When we stepped out an hour and a half later, the world had changed. The island air wrapped around us like warm silk, heavy with salt and mystery. The night was pure and deep, interrupted only by the glow of a single lamp beside a modest shack. We followed the others toward it, our footsteps muffled by the softness of the earth. Somewhere, palm trees whispered to one another in the warm breeze. A lone airport worker, his silhouette cut against the light, pulled a cart toward us, our luggage piled like offerings to the night.

Outside, the only paved street stretched just one block long, a road to nowhere and everywhere at once. Captain Bartho had told us everything was arranged. A man named Hoobz would be waiting. And there he was, smiling like an old friend.

We walked. The street ended where the sea began, and a speedboat awaited. “How far is the yacht?” I asked. Hoobz only grinned. “Not far,” he said. “We just have to cross the atoll.”

The moon scattered its silver across the water as we raced eastward. The sea, so calm it could have been glass, carried us effortlessly at 40 knots. In the distance, the flickering lights of Maldivian tuna boats shimmered like stars that had fallen into the waves. Time melted.

An hour and a half later, a dark island emerged, its silhouette stretching across the horizon. We turned past its shadow and, there she was. Galileo, resting at anchor, a ghostly shape against the stillness.

By the time we stepped aboard, the crew was waiting. A soft glow from the saloon welcomed us, where the chef had prepared something exquisite, fish so fresh it seemed to dissolve on the tongue, a crisp salad, a wine that whispered of distant vineyards. And finally, a Pavlova, light as the night air.

Later, in the quiet of my cabin, I lay beneath the soft glow of a reading lamp. The luggage was already unpacked, tucked neatly into the vast closet. A thought surfaced, drifting lazily like the tide. Had we truly sailed into some forgotten corner of the Indian Ocean?

I closed my eyes, and the sea cradled me to sleep.

Waking in Paradise

The first sensation was gentle, rhythmic movement, like the slow breathing of some great sleeping creature. It was not the motion of turbulence or disturbance but a whisper of the sea itself, lulling the yacht in its embrace. The morning light seeped through the cabin windows, filling the space with a golden glow so warm and tangible that it seemed as if the walls had been gilded overnight for a moment. It was impossible to remain in bed for a second longer, and we needed to see where we were.

I rushed to the main deck, my pulse quickening with anticipation. The automatic sliding door whispered open, and I stepped outside. And there, spread before me, was a vision so unreal that, for a moment, I doubted my own senses.

Galileo was floating in silent reverence before an island that seemed conjured from a dream. It was a lush green sanctuary, untouched and primeval, its heart dense with towering palms and tangled mangroves, its edges melting into sand so white it seemed woven from light. And beneath the water, shimmering like an emerald tapestry, a living coral reef thrived just inches below the surface, an entire kingdom of creatures darting between the intricate formations.

I turned my gaze toward the captain’s careful anchoring positioned at a respectful distance, ensuring that not a single coral was disturbed. This was no ordinary yacht; she had not arrived here as a visitor but as a guardian, honoring the sanctity of the sea.

The sight left me breathless. Had we truly arrived? Or was this the kind of place only seen in dreams, destined to vanish the moment we turned away? Beyond the island, scattered across the horizon, lay other specks of land, untouched and waiting, each one a promise of yet another paradise.

As I stood there, mesmerized by the pristine beauty before me, another sensation drifted into the scene, not to interrupt but to complete it. First, it was the delicate warmth of freshly baked bread curling into the morning air, followed by the rich, velvety aroma of coffee, its fragrance deep and inviting, like the first sip of a perfect day. The sea, the sky, the island, and now this symphony of senses was complete.

Drawn by this invisible thread, we gathered around the breakfast table, still wrapped in the quiet disbelief of where we were. Only hours ago, we had been swallowed by the sterile urgency of airports, the metallic hum of conveyor belts, the impatient shuffle of travelers, and the relentless calls for boarding. And now, we found ourselves in one of the last untouched corners of the world, where time had not yet laid its claim.

The moment did not last long before excitement took hold. The conversation shifted with urgency. “We have to see the reef.”

Breakfast was finished in a rush, chairs pushed back, cups drained. Swimsuits replaced linen shirts, and we met again on the main deck, ready for the water. The crew was already waiting.

“Your snorkeling gear is ready on the stern,” one of them said with a knowing smile. “And for the divers, everything is set if you’d like to explore below.”

We descended to the beach club, and what we found there could only be described as an invitation to adventure. A floating playground stretched before us: two Seabobs gleaming in the sunlight, jet skis ready to carve the glassy water, paddleboards lined up in perfect symmetry, surfboards stacked like relics awaiting the right wave. It was impossible not to smile.

One by one, we stepped into the water, laughter echoing between the hull and the shore. As I stood on the platform, watching my companions disappear beneath the surface, I turned back for one last look at M/Y Galileo.

She was magnificent, her lines as elegant as they were powerful, a vessel not merely built but born for this very moment. And in that instant, I remembered my conversations with Fabio Perini long ago in La Spezia and Porto Cervo. He had spoken of yachts with purpose, of those designed not just to sail but to belong to the sea..

Galileo was one of them.

She had not come here by chance. She had found her way home.

And with that thought, I stepped into the water.

Galileo: A Vessel with a Soul

There are yachts built for luxury, and then there are those destined for something greater those that seem to carry within them the very spirit of the sea. M/Y Galileo is one of these rare creations, conceived not merely to sail but to explore, to venture into the untouched corners of the world where the ocean still whispers secrets only the boldest travelers will ever hear.

She was born from the hands of masters. Perini Navi, the Italian shipyard that redefined yachting, had long been known for its marriage of engineering and artistry. But Galileo was different. She was the second of the Vitruvius series, a masterpiece forged in collaboration with Picchiotti and the visionary mind of Philippe Briand. Unlike other yachts, which glide from port to port, she was crafted for true adventure, an explorer in the purest sense, designed to roam the farthest reaches of the Earth, from the equator’s embrace to the frozen edges of the poles.

Beneath her elegant silhouette lies a reinforced steel hull built to withstand the relentless forces of nature. Ice Class 1B certification grants her passage where few dare to sail, while her 9,000-mile range at 11 knots allows her to disappear into the horizon, untethered from the constraints of fuel stops and civilization. She carries within her the tools of true exploration state-of-the-art navigation, deep-diving capabilities, and an arsenal of watercraft that extend her reach beyond the decks.

The world has taken notice. She has been adorned with the highest accolades, Asia Boating Awards Charter Yacht of the Year, Showboats Design Awards for Exterior Styling, and International Superyacht Society’s Best Power Yacht, each recognition merely confirming what those who step aboard already know: Galileo is unlike any other.

But to speak of Galileo’s capabilities alone would be to tell only half her story. She is a masterpiece of design, where the wildness of the sea meets the refinement of timeless craftsmanship.

Stepping inside, the transition is seamless; the ocean’s vastness gives way to an interior that is majestic and deeply personal. The main saloon, bathed in natural light, is a study in understated elegance. Rich, polished wood lines the walls, its deep tones grounding the space in warmth, while soft textiles in muted shades of cream, taupe, and soft blue mirror the hues of the surrounding sea. Every element is chosen carefully for beauty, and for harmony ensuring that the vast, untamed world outside feels like an extension of the yacht itself.

Nowhere is this philosophy more evident than in the master suite. A sanctuary of bespoke luxury, it is framed by sweeping ocean views, where morning light spills across a grand platform-style bed dressed in the softest linens. A walk-in dressing area, reminiscent of a high-end boutique, adds a sense of exclusivity, while the ensuite bathroom, with its sleek black stone, polished wood, and deep soaking tub beneath a panoramic window, transforms even the simplest rituals into indulgences of the senses.

Yet, a yacht, no matter how magnificent, is but a vessel without the hands that bring her to life.

Captain Wes Bartho presides over her with an effortless mastery, keeping her in a state of perpetual perfection, every detail maintained with reverence. His crew of eleven are among the finest I have encountered at sea. The stewardesses move with an intuitive grace, their service so seamless it feels as if the yacht itself anticipates your needs before you do. The chef’s artistry rivals that of Michelin-starred masters, each dish an ode to the ocean, transforming the freshest catch into something ethereal.

But it is beneath the surface where Galileo’s spirit truly reveals itself. The dive instructors onboard are explorers in their own right, some with more than 4,000 dives to their names, able to guide guests through the silent cathedrals of coral with the ease of those who belong to the water. Others are seasoned surfers, attuned to the rhythm of waves in a way that borders on the mystical.

Every soul aboard Galileo shares one thing, a profound love for the sea. They are caretakers of the wild, explorers of the last untouched places on Earth.

And as I stood on her deck, feeling the warm Maldivian breeze wrap around me, I understood what Fabio Perini had meant in our conversations that when he builds a yacht, he builds her with a purpose.

And Galileo’s purpose was clear: to roam, to discover, to remind us that the world is still vast and full of wonders.

The Natural Wonderland

For a moment, there was only silence, just the muted hush of the sea embracing me as I descended, wrapped in a universe of rising bubbles that shimmered like liquid pearls. The water was perfect, holding that rare equilibrium between warmth and freshness, a temperature that made time irrelevant. Here, one could remain for hours, floating between two worlds, neither land nor sky, but something in between.

As the last of the bubbles ascended toward the surface, the water cleared, and the world opened before me.

The reef is a cathedral of coral, sculpted not by human hands but by time and current stretched out in every direction, an endless masterpiece of life. The formations rose like ancient monuments, each one placed with the precision of an unseen gardener, their colors woven into a delicate balance as if nature herself had arranged them according to some forgotten design. Neon blues and sunburst oranges, deep purples, and fiery reds, each coral structures a brushstroke in this grand underwater painting.

And then, life.

The fish were everywhere, moving as one in great silvery schools, vanishing and reappearing in synchronized harmony. Others, solitary and elusive, wove through the coral maze, their bright colors flashing for a moment before melting back into the reef’s secret shadows. A balloonfish peered at me with wide, unblinking eyes from beneath an overhang of coral, while a sea turtle, ancient and unhurried, glided effortlessly toward me as if curious about what kind of strange creature I was.

I swam closer to a cluster of coral, where something caught my eye, a giant clam, its immense shell nestled between the coral formations, pulsing with iridescent hues of violet, crimson, and obsidian. It opened and closed ever so slightly, as if breathing in the rhythm of the Indian Ocean. Just as I reached out, the shadow of something sleek and elegant moved at the edge of my vision, a reef shark, no more than a few feet long, circling once, then twice, before slipping away into the blue.

It was then that I realized something remarkable, this reef had never known the touch of man. The fish swam without fear, the corals flourished undisturbed, and even the reef shark, rather than retreating in cautious defense, had approached out of curiosity. This was a world before us, a place untouched by the heavy hand of time, where nature still ruled unchallenged.

We stayed for what felt like hours time had no meaning when surrounded by such splendor.

Eventually, the distant shape of Galileo called us back, her silhouette steady and familiar against the vastness of sea and sky. As we climbed aboard, the crew awaited us with chilled glasses of fresh lemonade, beads of condensation glistening in the Maldivian sun.

We rinsed the salt from our skin in the beach club’s open-air shower, the cool water a welcome contrast against the warmth of the afternoon. Then, as we gathered on the deck, reviewing photos and videos of what we had just witnessed, a quiet announcement came

“Lunch will be served shortly.”

And with that, another spectacle was about to begin.

The Culinary Journey

The table was set like a dream, positioned on the upper deck, where the view stretched endlessly over the shimmering lagoon. The reef, vibrant and teeming with life, glowed just beneath the surface, while the island’s untouched wilderness stood in silent contrast a world where nature had never been tamed. Overhead, a light bimini cast a soft shade, swaying ever so slightly with the gentle ocean breeze.

The first offering arrived in quiet elegance, a selection of artisanal breads, golden-crusted and warm, accompanied by velvety olive oil, coarse sea salt, and homemade butter so rich it seemed almost sinful. The act of breaking bread felt ancient, almost ceremonial as if we were partaking in a ritual known only to those who have truly sailed far from the familiar.

Then, the feast began.

Mediterranean and Greek salads arrived in succession, their colors as vibrant as the coral we had just explored, ripe tomatoes bursting with sweetness, crisp cucumbers glistening with fresh olive oil, delicate slivers of red onion, and crumbled feta so soft it melted at the touch of a fork. And then, the masterpiece: a succulent lamb, slow-roasted to perfection, its aroma so intoxicating that conversation gave way to a moment of reverence. Each bite was a harmony of flavor, the richness of the meat softened by the gentle tannins of an exquisite red wine carefully selected from Galileo’s private cellar.

As we lingered, savoring the last notes of wine, the meal came to its perfect conclusion a Tiramisu so delicate that it seemed to hold within it the very essence of indulgence. The final touch, a perfectly pulled espresso, its aroma wrapping around us like the warm embrace of the afternoon sun.

Yet, what made this experience truly extraordinary was not just the cuisine, nor even the flawless pairing of flavors it was the impossible magic of where we were.

To be a chef on a superyacht is no easy feat, but to be a chef on a yacht capable of sailing 9,000 miles without reaching port is to be nothing short of a magician. And yet, Chef Morné Posthumus performed this sorcery effortlessly.

Every dining experience aboard Galileo was a work of art, a composition of skill, precision, and an understanding of flavor so profound that it rivaled the great restaurants of the world. And yet, none of those establishments, no matter how opulent, could ever match the setting we had here.

Every meal was a revelation, not just of taste but of place. During our time on board, we never dined in the same location twice. Lunches unfolded beneath the open sky, afternoons stretched over turquoise waters, but the true summit of our gastronomic journey came when we dined at the bow beneath an unbroken canopy of stars.

This was an experience that could never be replicated, not in the finest restaurants of Paris, not in the hidden gems of the Mediterranean. This was the poetry of the sea, told through the language of food.

A Day Stolen from Time

Once you surrender to the rhythm of the Maldivian sea, something within you changes. The heartbeat slows, the mind quiets, and the body learns to move with the tides. It is as if the ocean itself has taken hold of your senses, adjusting them to its own eternal tempo. Time loses meaning. The world outside dissolves. You are no longer a visitor; here you belong.

That morning, as we sipped our coffee on deck, scanning the surrounding islands, something caught our eye, a single perfect white break forming over a distant reef. The moment we saw it, we felt it. We turned to each other, and before a word was spoken, we were already in motion. Let’s go surfing.

Minutes later, the tender was ready, the surfboards waxed, and Ford Van Jaarsveldt, Galileo’s resident surf expert and professional wave chaser, stood by with the knowing grin of a man who had just seen something special.

The ride was short, just five minutes across the untouched waters of the atoll. But what awaited us was something out of legend.

In the middle of the Indian Ocean, far from any crowded break or hurried lineup, the reef had sculpted a wave of absolute perfection. The swell rose from the deep, rolling forward with raw energy, but instead of crashing into a chaotic explosion, it met the reef’s gentle contours, slowing just enough to build in size and grace. At nine feet, it held its form, peeling smoothly along the arc of the reef long, flawless, as if nature had designed it solely for the pleasure of those who would find it. And we had found it.

For hours, we chased this rhythm paddling into the rise, feeling the pull, the acceleration, the absolute surrender to motion. The wave carried us effortlessly, each ride stretching longer than the last, each turn drawing us deeper into the moment. We were alone in the vastness, with no sound but the rush of water and the occasional distant cry of a seabird overhead.

Time stretched, then disappeared. By the time the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon, we were exhausted, but our bodies hummed with a kind of energy that can only be found after a day spent chasing something pure.

Back on the tender, as we bounced over the glassy water toward Galileo, we couldn’t stop talking reliving every wave, every perfect ride, the near-misses, the moments when time seemed to freeze on the crest of the swell. But the day was not over.

Back on Galileo, the crew had prepared something beyond our expectations.

The beach had been transformed into a sanctuary. A fire crackled gently in the sand, its embers glowing against the darkening sky. Mats and pillows were arranged in a loose circle, inviting us to sink into comfort. The air was filled with the quiet clink of glassware as cocktails were poured, martinis, gin and tonics, and Aperol spritzes, each one mixed with the same precision as a moment worth remembering.

We stretched out, barefoot in the sand, as the last golden light melted into the horizon. The music played softly, not loud enough to disturb the ocean’s whispers, but just enough to tether us to the present.

The conversation flowed as easily as the waves had that morning, filled with stories of the day’s best rides, the wipeouts that left us laughing, and the surreal beauty of that untouched break. The energy of the ocean was still in us, coursing through our veins even as we lay still on the warm sand..

The Maldivian night wrapped around us, warm and endless. And for a moment, we felt as if we had stolen a day from time itself.

The Place That Cannot Be Named

It was our last evening with Galileo and her crew, yet none of us dared speak of departure. The fire flickered against the soft darkness, its warmth holding back the cool embrace of the night. We lingered on the beach, unwilling to leave, knowing that once we stepped away, this place, this exact moment, might never exist again.

The island had become part of us, welcoming us each morning with its pristine shores and flourishing reef, revealing a world untouched by time. And now, under the soft glow of the fire, we understood the unspoken truth, we would likely never return to this exact spot, never set foot on this beach again.

Eventually, the decision was made. Slowly, reluctantly, we waded through the shallow tide, climbed aboard the tender, and left the island behind.

Back on Galileo, the night had one final gift to offer. The crew had transformed the bow of the yacht into an intimate sanctuary, a place fit for a last farewell. Cozy armchairs were arranged beneath the open sky, candles flickered in the night breeze, and a bar stood ready with cocktails, a final toast to this impossible journey. The dining table, set with quiet elegance, awaited us.

We turned to Captain Bartho.

“Join us for this last dinner.”

The chef had prepared a feast worthy of the moment, a three-course masterpiece, the kind of meal that lingers not just on the palate but in the soul. Above us, the Maldivian sky stretched endlessly, stars burning bright and ancient, undisturbed by the lights of the modern world. A gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and distant flowers, the waves whispering against the hull in perfect harmony with the rustling palms of the island.

This was the symphony of paradise. And like all symphonies, it would soon reach its final note.

The next morning, the speedboat was waiting. Our bags were packed, the ritual of farewell unfolding with quiet reverence. We shook hands, embraced, thanked every member of the crew not out of formality, but from a deep and genuine gratitude.

The location had been spectacular, the weather divine, and the yacht flawless. But it was the crew that had made this experience unforgettable. The unseen details, the warmth, the seamless grace with which every moment had been crafted, this was their masterpiece. A yacht is nothing without the souls who bring her to life, and Galileo had the finest crew one could ever hope to find.

As the engines hummed to life and the island began to shrink behind us, we sat in silence. The speedboat flew across the water, the ocean a mirror reflecting the past days like fragments of a dream. Each of us, lost in thought, trying to fetch every moment into memory before it could fade.

And as I watched the horizon, one thought surfaced a thought I knew I would carry with me long after the sea was out of sight.

This story must be told.

The world must know that such a paradise exists. That there are still places where the ocean remains untamed, where islands sleep untouched, where the modern world has yet to leave its footprints.

And yet, even as I resolved to share this tale with the yachting community, a single concern took hold of me.

The beauty of this place lies in its isolation.

Its magic is in its mystery, its untouched silence. And I know how hard Captain Bartho and M/Y Galileo had worked to find this perfect spot, to preserve its purity, to ensure that it remained a secret known only to those who truly sought it.

So I made my decision.

I will never share this location.

But I will tell you this paradise exists.

And all it takes to find it is a single call to Anna, Head of Charter Management in Monaco (+1 754 258 4754 | This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.), and a simple request to charter Galileo in the Maldives.

And then, without ever knowing its name, you, too, will be on a plane, heading toward a dream.

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