Paradise Island was not always paradise. For most of its history, it was Hog Island, a scrubby barrier island across Nassau Harbour where Bahamians kept livestock. The transformation began in the 1960s when Huntington Hartford II, heir to the A&P grocery fortune, bought the island and poured millions into developing it -- renaming it Paradise Island in the process. A resort called the Paradise Island Hotel and Casino rose on the western end. But Hartford's money ran out, and the property changed hands repeatedly over the next three decades. In 1994, Kerzner purchased the aging resort through Kerzner International and began the reimagining that would consume hundreds of millions of dollars. The Royal Towers, with their iconic bridge connecting two eleven-story structures, opened on December 11, 1998, and the Atlantis brand was born. Coral Towers, Beach Tower, The Cove, and The Reef followed in successive waves of expansion through 2007.

What separates Atlantis from other Caribbean mega-resorts is the water -- not the ocean lapping at its five miles of white sand beach, but the engineered water within. The open-air marine habitat is the largest of its kind in the world, a network of lagoons, pools, and tunnels housing over 65,000 animals from 250 species. Sharks patrol deep pools visible through restaurant windows. Sawfish drift past pedestrian tunnels. Stingrays glide beneath bridges that guests cross on their way to breakfast. Dolphin Cay, a marine conservation and education center, occupies its own multi-acre compound. Then there is Aquaventure, the 154-acre waterpark whose centerpiece is the Mayan Temple -- a Mesoamerican-style pyramid concealing a near-vertical water slide called the Leap of Faith that drops riders through a clear acrylic tunnel running directly through a shark lagoon. The effect is theatrical, engineered to produce exactly one reaction: disbelief that this place exists.

Inside the 60,000-square-foot casino -- one of the Caribbean's largest -- Dale Chihuly's glass sculptures hang from the ceiling like frozen explosions of color. The American artist, famous for his massive blown-glass installations, created pieces specifically for the space, and they survived a 2024 renovation that updated much of the resort's interior. That renovation, a $150 million project, redesigned The Royal's guest rooms with a focus on Bahamian aesthetics -- local art, island textures, ocean tones replacing the generic tropical decor of earlier decades. The casino itself received new lighting and carpeting, and the Chihuly sculptures were carefully reinstalled. Beyond the gaming floor, the resort now houses more than twenty restaurants, including Nobu, Paranza, and the Caribbean's first Shake Shack. Ownership has shifted from Kerzner to Brookfield Asset Management, and one tower -- the former Beach Tower -- was purchased by Pharrell Williams, who plans to redevelop it into a boutique hotel called Somewhere Else.

For a resort built on spectacle, Atlantis makes a genuine effort at conservation. The Atlantis Blue Project Foundation, a nonprofit established in 2005, funds marine research and coral restoration programs across the Bahamas. The resort's marine biologists manage what amounts to a small aquarium system, monitoring water quality, breeding programs, and animal health across habitats that stretch for acres. Whether a for-profit resort that keeps sharks in viewing pools can credibly champion ocean conservation is a question the foundation does not shy from -- it publishes its research and invites scrutiny. The tension is real, but so is the scale: few private operations anywhere in the Caribbean maintain this volume of marine life under professional care. For the millions of visitors who pass through each year, many of whom will never snorkel a reef or dive a blue hole, the habitats at Atlantis may be their closest encounter with the ocean's diversity.