O n the back of Hurricane Irma a group of chickens found themselves unwittingly relocated to Moskito island. Seven years on, as they wander around this acre outcrop in the British Virgin Islands, they seem very happy. Who can blame them? The only hassle they get is from phone camera-toting rubes like me trying to get a shot of them strolling outside my room.
If you have to be rich to stay here, you have to be a billionaire to think about buying one of the plots. Bought by Sir Richard Branson in , within sight of his original BVI project Necker Island, which he rents out sometimes and lives in at other times, Moskito has become a breeding station of Necker-esque villas.
My suite, Ocean View, is roughly the size of a pickleball court. A bank of French windows looks out at quintessential tropical perfection — lush emerald green hills cascading down to a golden beach. As a bonus, the skylights in the ceiling over my bed look into the infinity swimming pool above so I can see the occasional person paddle past. Of the four other villas on Moskito that can be rented, Cape Stout has a basketball court that transforms into an outdoor cinema, its own 13m powerboat and a hangout area with a wall of vinyl records.
At the Village, the owners, the Birches, who also own the more philanthropic Woolsery project in Devon, have gone one better with a DJ booth that rises from underground at the flick of a button and a slide that goes down the hillside into a swimming pool. On the highest point of the island, the Oasis is superyacht-sleek with terraces jutting out in every direction, softened by an orchard of tropical fruit. All the villas, including the Point, sleep at least 16 people not counting the bunk rooms.
Across all the villas, the staff — a mix of British Virgin Islanders and UK nationals — are fun and fabulously efficient, whipping up cocktails and sushi while also scooting us around the island on Mokes and souped-up golf carts.
