Dear Reader, TRAVEL EDITOR
LET’S not forget who we are. ‘Am I dying, or is this my birthday?’ said Lady Astor, the first woman to sit as a Member of Parliament, on waking up on a spring morning in 1964 and seeing her family gathered around her bed. She died a few hours later.
All is not lost. There may not be many travel corridors left, but there are still avenues of opportunity. Given that large swathes of the country are pretty much back in lockdown, the idea of having to self-isolate for 14 days on returning from the likes of Italy, France or Spain doesn’t seem like such a big hardship for those who can work from home or are retired.
You just need to know exactly what will be expected of you on arrival at your destination. Then weigh up the pros and cons — and, whatever you do, factor in that there are some great deals to be had.
You might just think this is the optimum moment to visit Venice (pictured), Paris or Barcelona.
With that in mind, on pages 62 and 63 we’ve come up with a comprehensive guide to the current situation around the globe, using the red, amber and green traffic light system.
Those who do decide to pack up their troubles and jet off from these shores can do so in the spirit of pioneers — leading from the front in helping to support the travel industry in this country and the hospitality sector in countries elsewhere.
There’s good news on the winter sun front, with much of the Caribbean open for business.
In Grenada, which we feature as our cover story, there’s not been one single Covid-19 death and only 25 cases of infection. It’s a delightful island, with lush valleys, craggy coves and a beach to rival Copacabana in Rio de Janeiro.
Every now and again I’m asked which is my favourite Caribbean island. Normally, I respond by saying it’s the one I’ve visited most recently — the one still percolating in head and heart. And that’s the case with Grenada. Oh, to be there now.
front of a padlocked door. he unlocks it, then n ushers me into a room where various museum- type display boards stand abandoned.
Two comprise timelines chronicling the political upheavals leading to the execution of premier Maurice Bishop on October 19, 1983, the final act which prompted reagan’s phone call to Margaret Thatcher telling her r that America was ‘going in’.
some 120 people died in Operation Urgent t Fury, including 12 Americans and 24 Grenadian civilians, 18 in the accidental bombing of a mental hospital. ‘Thank you America for liberating us,’ is scrawled on a wall outside the capital. It’s the only reference we see to Grenada’s troubles.
But, of course, people don’t come to this island for a crash course in interventionist politics. They come to drink from the well of what locals — especially the ex-pats, of which there are a few — call ‘the old Caribbean’ or ‘authentic Caribbean’, by which they mean that Grenada, although roughly the same size as Barbados, is not like Barbados at all.
For a start, the population is only about 100100,000.000 compared to Barbados’s nearly 300,000. Plus, whereas Barbados principally is flat, Grenada has hills and valleys, rain forests, waterfalls, an abundance of fauna, farmlands growing citrus, cocoa and an array of spices that justifies the country’s ‘spice island’ moniker.
My impression is that Grenada has not sold its soul to tourism. Or, at least, that it’s soul has not as yet been consumed by tourism, possibly because it still does not There’s have direct flights every day of the week.
an energy about the island — a resourcefulness, a confidence. Its people are gentle, open, warm and infectiously joyful. It’s perhaps going overboard to claim — as one store owner puts it — that ‘God is a Grenadian’, but we feeleel our spirits soar as we flit around the island in our rented car, stopping now and again to admire t he craggy unspoilt coast, the constantly changing light, wild flowers and signs such as ‘let my hardware excite you’ outside a ramshackle shop selling hammers, spanners and nails of every size.
One minute threaten-ning dark clouds roll in, but it doesn’t matter because you know they’ll scurry away just as fast. There’s a less onto be learned ned there somewhere.
What also sets Grenada apart is how the us (over-verweight tourists like me) and them (locals trying to eke out a living) divide is refreshingly absent. A stroll along famous Grandrand Anse beach brings this home.
There may be a string of resorts and restaurants hiding amongst the shrubbery and palm trees on this glorious stretch of white sand, but it’s the locals who own it.
They’ re there early in the morning, jogging or ambling in pairs, putting the world to rights; children walk along it on the way to school; families picnic and run in and out of the water. Grand Anse is a celebration of life — in all its forms.
The hotel scene is buzzing — or, at least, it was until Covid had its way. We stay first at the all-inclusive spice Island Beach resort at the southern end of Grand Anse. It’s a much-loved institution founded by sir royston hopkin, who, knighted by the Queen in 2005, died shortly before lockdown.
I’d guess the average age of guests is well north of 70 — and many of them have been returning year after year, almost all from Britain and America.
I make the mistake on our first morning of turning up barefoot for breakfast, because I dislike wearing shoes in general and can’t stand the look of men in flip-flops.
This does not go down well and, within minutes, a pair of white slippers has been
produced. I feel sufficiently chastened. Strangely, the more expensive rooms at Spice Island, which have plunge pools, are not on the beach. Who wants to plunge in a pool when you have a whole ocean on your doorstep?
Shoes or no shoes becomes something of a benchmark. Before we sit down for a superb dinner at Laluna, a gorgeous hotel a few bays along from Grand Anse, the owner, Bernardo Bertucci (an Italian married to a Trinidadian), suggests we may want to go barefoot. That’s more like it.
And at Silversands, at the opposite end of Grand Anse to Spice Island, no one bats an eye when you wonder around shoeless.
Silversands is a big talking point in Grenada. The story goes that Naguib Sawiris, a Christian-Egyptian with a bob or two made from telecoms, visited Grenada and saw a For Sale sign where his hotel now stands — and bought it. The hotel, that is, not the For Sale sign. Estimates vary but it’s thought he’s poured more than £100million into the whole caboodle. It’s money well spent. In fact, it’s a triumph.
The French architects have softened the hard lines with slatted wood that blends effortlessly with the glass and marble and opens up the public spaces in such a way that even if all 39 rooms, four suites and eight pool villa suites are occupied, you never feel cocooned. It’s glorious by day, with the 101-metre infinity pool (the longest in the Caribbean) stealing the show, as it stretches from the reception area to the beach and looks sensational by night as the subtle lighting chimes with the chirping frogs.
Add two restaurants and a beautiful spa (with pool) and you’ve got the full package, albeit not at package holiday prices. We have a whistle-stop tour of the island with an engaging guide named Roger Augustine, who never draws breath.
We visit a nutmeg-pressing factory and a chocolate manufacturer housed in what was a rum distillery built by French monks. But, most of all, we relish Roger’s take on life. ‘Mileage too high, bye bye,’ is his advice to young men thinking about marriage — and he’s not talking about age.
One day we see a sign to Annandale Waterfalls, where three ripped young men leap from a great height into the water if you give them a few dollars. We hand over $10 and no sooner does a group of local young women appear. Why don’t they have to pay to watch?’ I ask, playfully. ‘Because they are here to see our bodies, not what we do with them,’ one of them replies. Later, we call in at the Tower Estate, a Great House built in 1913 about 45 minutes from St George’s. It has two foot thick walls, carved mahogany ceilings and a shingle roof that somehow defied both Ivan and Emily.
Its collection of heliconias (lobster claws) always feature at the Chelsea Flower Show, but to see them in their natural setting is a real treat.
We have lunch that day at the side of the road where a man is barbecuing chicken. ‘I cooked for you last night at BB’s Crabback,’ he says. Small world (which is half the joy of island life), although BB’s is something of a blur because this properly Caribbean restaurant serves its rum punches in pint glasses. And I had a couple of them.
That night our favourite waitress at Silversands requests us to ‘enjoy’ when bringing our first courses — and when she arrives with the mains she says, quietly, ‘continue to enjoy.’ Continuing to enjoy in Grenada is the easiest thing in the world.