My Secret Caribbean Paradise- Part 2

The island of Bequia reminds me of a gentler time. There are no neon signs, fast food chains, beach hustlers. Bright tropical colors are easily captured on film but sepia photos evoke its Hemingway-like Caribbean of the 1940's. If you missed part one of this photo essay, please go to my content.
Princess Margaret beach on Bequia

Port Elizabeth harbor Bequia
Another view of the harbor. Bequia is nick-named Cloud Island for its omni-present puffy white clouds.

Walking down to Lower Bay beach. This is where I usually stay. It's quiet with a dirt road, a pristine beach with a funky beach restaurant called Da Reef.

This is a secluded beach on the wild Atlantic side. It's beautiful but windy and watch out for the riptide!

Goats wander about everywhere even in the cemetary.
Bequia welcomes visitors from all over the world but don't go topless on the beach. This is a sign from Lower bay beach where there are lots of French and German tourists who are used to letting it all hang out. The charming 'garbage there' sign actually means garbage here.
The Old Fort, now a private residence, inn and restaurant situated at the highest elevation on the island.

A local ferry to neighboring island St. Vincent.

It's a rough crossing over deep water. I tend to get sea sick so the captain kindly let me stay on the bridge.

The Botanical gardens on St. Vincent are well worth a visit, if you obey the rules ;-)


For an adventure of a different kind, I decided to visit a Mustique, a private island best known for jet setting Royalty, moguls, models and Mick Jagger. It's only five sea miles form Bequia but a universe apart. I was invited to spend the day there by friends of friends who own property there. Mustique is difficult for day trippers to travel to unless you have a sailboat or private plane. I had neither, so I hitched a ride with some Bequian fisherman.
This is the tiny boat I sailed on. The nine fishermen were very sweet but I questioned my sanity. As soon as we left the calm waters of Bequia, we quickly reached open water and ten foot swells. I am not a strong swimmer. There were no life jackets. One wrong move and it was curtains. I hid ostrich-like under a towel hoping to stay safe and dry from the salt spray and prayed.

I needn't have worried, these guys do this trip almost every day and have since they were kids, like their fathers and their fathers before them. They fish mostly for snapper, conch and lobster.Catch of the day!A mountain of empty conch shells.
Mustique is beautiful but something felt odd the moment we came ashore.
The sailboat and yacht-dotted harbor with Basil's the restaurant on the beach where the rich and famous hobnob. My fishermen friends informed me that they were not allowed on the island. That was my first jolt of inequality. With a uniformed driver waiting to fetch me, I suddenly felt I as if I were in the
 film, The Stepford Wives. Everything perfect on the outside but hiding an ugly secret. It was early morning, no one was shopping at the cute little shops, or sitting at the cafe.
Where were the tourists?The residents? The narrow roads edged with lush tropical foliage and flowers were manicured within an inch of their lives. All was eerily silent. No cars. No pedestrians. We sped past in the luxury golf cart ( the main mode of transport) past gardeners and maids in pastel-hued uniforms, sweeping the paths outside magazine-perfect villas, each larger and more extravagant than the last.

I enjoyed a pleasant enough day with lunch, a grand tour of the island including the luxe Cotton Club, a small resort, famous people's homes like Mick Jagger's but I saw NO people except for staff and
 servants.  Very creepy. If you have an extra 40 grand, you can rent Jagger's home for one week. By the end of the afternoon, I couldn't wait to get back on the fishermen's boat and to Bequia where you can
 have beauty, privacy but with culture and humanity for a fraction of the price. And the best lobster!
The view from my place.