The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
After 20 years, just look how far I’ve swum
Leaving the rum punches of her youth behind her, Bryony Gordon takes to the waters of Nevis
Ihail from a long line of women who do not like getting their hair wet… unless of course they are in a salon. My memories of childhood holidays are predominantly made up of my mother and grandmother screeching at people not to splash them, their heads raised elaborately, encased in a shower cap, as they did a dainty breaststroke across the pool. I have no idea why this fear of messing up my hair did not get passed down to me – perhaps every now and then it skips a generation, or perhaps it was a way of rebelling. All I know is that I love getting my hair wet, and submerging myself as I swim. If I see an open body of water – lake, lido, sea – I will try to get in it, whatever the weather. The wilder the water, the better. The cold, sharp shock of submergence can keep me going for the whole day.
Being invited to swim off the coast of Nevis, in the Caribbean, was a no-brainer then. Warm turquoise waters, incredible scenery and a chance to swim somewhere other than Tooting Lido… well, what’s not to love? I was last in Nevis almost 20 years ago on a mass family holiday, and I am afraid to say that my abiding memories of it involve a) my mum and grandmother trying not to get their hair wet (obviously) and b) drinking too many of the island’s famous Killer Bee rum punches – a dangerous concoction dreamt up by a man called Sunshine, who still sells it in his beach bar to this day – and being sick on the beach. Reader, it was not a pretty sight. I was determined that this visit would be different.
Getting to Nevis involves flying to Antigua, letting most of the plane off, and then continuing on the almost empty jet to St Kitts, a 15-minute hop away. At St Kitts you are driven across the island, to the delightfully named Turtle Beach, where a ferry – a large speedboat, essentially – takes you out of the sheltered bay and across the Caribbean Sea to Nevis. The distance is only two and a half miles (4km), and every March thousands of people swim it in the Nevis to St Kitts cross-channel event. I had, sadly, just missed it by weeks, but the tourist board was not going to let me off lightly. I was to be given a guide, in the shape of local professional swimmer Valerie Gregoire, who was going to take me out for some long-distance swims every morning.
Arriving on Nevis’s Oualie Beach, I was immediately reminded why this island is so special. It is one of those Caribbean destinations that is slightly off the beaten track, and as a result it’s yet to be taken over by tour operators and all-inclusives. (The local government has also banned large cruise ships, casinos, fast food restaurants and the building of anything that is taller than a palm tree. Plus, there are no traffic lights on Nevis, all adding to its charm). The beach here is little more than an outside bar and some guest rooms looking on to calm waters, and it would be from here that I would start my swimming journey the next morning. But first, we needed to settle into our hotel. The Hermitage is a plantation inn nestled 800ft above sea level at the foot of the island’s rainforest-covered mountain, and has been in the same family for decades. Made up of cottage rooms dotted around the grounds, it is the kind of magical place where it’s perfectly normal to wake up and see monkeys, cows and donkeys in the garden. The day under one of the property’s many mango trees, as well as plantain and sensational sweet potatoes unlike anything I have ever bought in a supermarket in London.
In the morning I met Valerie, who picked me up at 6am sharp. We drove down to the beach and disrobed, piling on our swimming caps and goggles. Stepping into the water, Valerie let out a shriek – for an islander this was cold, but for a Brit like me it felt like a warm bath. I started swimming breaststroke, tentative and nervous – might there be sharks? – until Valerie announced that, at this rate, it would probably take us all day. Front crawl it was, then – and this way, I got to see a very different side of Nevis, one usually reserved for snorkellers and scuba divers.
The starfish, some bigger than my head, were a delightful distraction from my thudding heart rate – I saw a turtle dart into some seagrass, and for a moment I stopped thinking about my newfound fear of drowning. There were no sharks, just the odd stingray, as graceful as I was lumbering. An hour and a half and almost two miles (3km) later we washed up at the Chrishi Beach Club, which had just started serving breakfast. I was exhausted, dehydrated and would have the taste of sea salt in my mouth for the rest of the day, but I felt amazing, and had more than earned an afternoon by the Hermitage pool.
The next swim, from Chrishi on to Pinney’s Beach, felt – dare I say it – almost easy. We saw octopuses, balloon fish, and a grumpy-looking moray eel. Baby lobsters peered up at us, and I tried not to think about the delicious dinner I had enjoyed the night before. Nevis being Nevis, almost everything you eat is local and fresh, and completely heavenly for it. Stepping out of the water, I saw Sunshine’s bar. Today the only strange feeling in my mouth came from swallowing too much seawater.
The days took on a familiar pattern – swimming, breakfast, relaxing, staring up at the mountain we could climb, but were always a little too tired to. We visited the Botanical Gardens, drank incredible life-giving elixirs made from the plants grown there, and went for a sunset horse ride on the beach, which was magical, if a little harsh on my buttocks (perhaps horse riding needs to be my next adventure).
Towards the end of our week, we moved for a couple of nights to the Four Seasons, which is located right on Pinney’s Beach, with its own reef
(of course, it’s the Four Seasons). My six-year-old insisted on trying snorkelling and, emboldened by my long swims, I felt confident enough to take her out for a little open water exploration. It was breathtaking, in all the right ways. We saw squid, stingrays, and – fantastically – the lesser-spotted eagle ray. And my daughter, taking her cues from me, was not scared at all. She was completely spellbound. We returned to the beach, near the spot of my shame all those years ago, and I gazed out at the horizon, thankful to be the mother of a girl who doesn’t care about getting her hair wet.
Look how far I’ve come, I thought. Look how far I’ve come.
I saw a turtle dart into some seagrass... and stopped thinking about my new fear of drowning