There's nothing more transporting than a room whose foundation is the bottom of the sea. Michael Gross samples the aquatic life.
I needed a clear blue break, and it looked as if cabana No. 55 at 9 Beaches, a new resort on Bermuda, might be it. Occupying what is arguably the best position of any hotel room on the island—at the very far end of a wooden pier that feeds six cabanas—it stood almost by itself, facing due west over a narrow, quiet channel between Daniel's Head, a crab-shaped peninsula at Bermuda's westernmost point, and tiny, uninhabited Daniel's Island. From its terrace, I had to crane my neck to see the neighboring cabanas. Fish darted in the shallows below. I felt like a ship at sea, anchored in my own private paradise of water.
My pulse has always quickened when I see photos of resorts in Tahiti and the Maldives, where rooms sitting on stilts over blue lagoons promise Robinson Crusoe-style solitude and five-star solicitude. When I heard that 9 Beaches was offering such cabanas much closer to home—Bermuda is only a two-hour flight from New York—I figured it was my time for a similar experience. No. 55 wasn't the sybaritic teak-and-mahogany haven of my fantasies, but it was close enough: not just near the water but suspended right over it, a tent-cabin hybrid, vinyl and canvas on an aluminum frame, with a Plexiglas fish-viewing panel set into the floor.