With soirée after soirée filling your evenings, it's been an exhausting few months. You were in town for the—what was it, $20 million? $40 million?—grand-opening party last fall for a resort whose construction costs were well over a billion dollars. You were gobsmacked by the fireworks, which made the Summer Olympics ceremony look like a backyard barbecue. Not to mention the nearly four thousand pounds of lobster served by five hundred chefs and a thousand waiters. Maybe you got to meet the Bollywood beauty who reigned as party goddess. Or caught an antipodean sex kitten onstage, who was paid between—reports vary—one and four million dollars to spice up the event. And now—la, la, la, la-la, la-la-la—you can't get her out of your head.

Today, you're relaxing on the terrace of the resort's $35,000-a-night suite. You arrived via a six-lane tunnel, but soon a three-mile-long ultra-quiet monorail will whisk you here. You passed a fantastical thirty-five-foot-high glass lobby sculpture before entering your private elevator. A coterie of international chefs with seven Michelin stars among them have set up kitchens on-site. You also enjoy a dedicated butler at your beck and call 24/7. Should you wish to move about the grounds (although why would you?), you can zoom ninety steep feet down a slide that drops you through a sharky lagoon, and walk through an aquarium without getting wet.

A South African is responsible for this mega-property, while the Dutch—who else?—reclaimed the land upon which it was built, putting an end to a putative beach shortage. Before you stretches a brand-new community of villas and luxury shops. On the coast in the distance, those high-rises follow a sort of Magnificent Mile. Your view also takes in the full sail of a ten-year-old hotel with starburst stature.

A well-known flagship is expected to dock nearby soon and be converted into a hotel. This month a jazz festival comes to town, with top billing going to both a young singer-pianist who's already a legend and a Brit who won't stop talking about how beautiful you are. Next month, a squeaky-clean rock festival will be staged. But by the look of things, you're having a smokin' good time already.

Where are you, anyhow?

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