The West Indies’ secret jewel
With some insider knowledge from a cricket legend, Jonathan Agnew unearths a secret Windies gem
IT WAS the great West Indian commentator Tony Cozier who first steered me in the direction of Bequia (pronounced Bekway). We were working together while England’s cricketers were taking a hammering in the West Indies on St Vincent some years ago when Tony pointed across the sea to an island whose outline I could just make out. ‘That’s where I always take my holidays,’ he said. ‘But keep it quiet.’
Now, Tony was a proud Barbadian who had a rustic house on Barbados overlooking t he wild Atlantic side, close to Bathsheba. For him to recommend somewhere to visit other than his home island took me by surprise. Clearly Bequia must be rather special.
For the Agnew household, the past year has been one of wildly fluctuating emotions, from desolation to absolute elation when my wife Emma got the all clear after a battle with breast cancer.
This trip shone like a beacon throughout; a target to reach, as well as much-needed recuperation after the long haul of chemotherapy, surgery and radiotherapy. To be travelling to Bequia for the first time had added poignancy in that we lost Tony to cancer two years ago. He and Emma were very close.
We started in Grenada, which is familiar, friendly territory and as good a place as any from which to strike off to Bequia, which is not inaccessible, but getting there needs planning and that is undoubtedly part of its charm. Whichever route you choose, you will need to change airlines and possibly take the onehour ferry from St Vincent, too.
SVG Air operates from Grenada and Barbados and flies you straight to Bequia in a nine-seat aircraft. On our flight, we enjoyed low-level views of the Grenadines before the pilot unflinchingly tackled a buffeting wind as we approached the runway.
Immediately it felt as if we had stepped back in time. The customs officer who directed us from the small terminal building walked so slowly that I don’t know how he remained upright.
Being Sunday, we saw groups of i mmaculately dressed schoolchildren excitedly returning from church and many of the weatherboard houses are painted in bright colours.
We stayed at the Bequia Beach Hotel on Friendship Bay and, with no favour asked or given, I can declare it the best hotel I have experienced in the Caribbean.
LOCATED on the Atlantic side, you have spectacular rolling waves crashing into the sandy beach a few yards from the open-air dining room. The island of Mustique dominates the view beyond the bay but we didn’t venture in the sea here, opting instead for the pool and the short, complimentary shuttle to Princess Margaret Beach, of which more in a moment.
The rooms are spacious and the place is spotless, whether you are on the beach, in a private villa or in the gardens, which play host to tiny hummingbirds darting busily from flower to flower. But the reason for my unequivocal statement is that nowhere in the West Indies have I encountered staff like those at Bequia Beach. Their engaging enthusiasm, energy and conviviality is entirely genuine and infectious.
Like everyone we met on Bequia, they so want you to enjoy their island, and their rapport with their guests shone through. The food was local and excellent: ever eaten hibiscus bread? And the passion fruits, skinned and with their tops sliced off, were the size of apples.
Despite its beautiful climate, it is not easy growing produce here. There are no rivers or streams on Bequia, making water such a precious commodity that every home must have its own rainwater storage t ank, l arge enough for each family to depend upon for everything all year round. And so to Princess Margaret Beach, known as Tony Gibbons Beach until one day the passing Princess decided to have a quick dip, thereby illustrating at a stroke how little of significance happens on Bequia.
It was only a ten-minute drive from our hotel in an open jeep made for rugged terrain, which was just as well. Here the sea is calm and home to dozens of moored boats of various sizes and magnificence. In sharp contrast, simple local craft scurry between them plying their trade of fresh water and ice.
It is a tranquil place with plenty of shade, but there is also much going on. Swimming among cormorants diving into the sea for fish is quite an experience, while, in an eye-catching purple shack, Fay turned her hand to just about everything from hair braiding to dispensing rum punch, all with the promise of a free beer tomorrow.
Crucially, and striking another blow for Bequia Beach Hotel, is Jack’s Bar, which is situated at the northern end of Princess Margaret Beach and now owned by the hotel.
This place is contemporary and wouldn’t look out of place on a posh beach in Barbados. As Bequia Beach is all inclusive, you can spend all day eating and drinking in the splendid surroundings of Jack’s. Lobster, mac ’n’ cheese: no words.
If you fancy getting out and about, there is a turtle sanctuary, a Mari-
time Museum that reminds us that Bequia remains one of only three licensed whaling stations in the world, and I did pop into the cricket ground to inspect the pitch. But this is an island on which to unwind and try to match the pace of the locals.
One afternoon, we took a taxi the short distance to Sunset Cottage in Lower Bay. ‘This is where Mr Tony Cozier used to stay,’ the driver announced reverentially. Typical of Tony, it was unpretentious and I could picture him sitting on the veranda sipping his favourite margarita, enjoying the view over the water as the sun went down.
I had once wondered what made my old Bajan friend return to Bequia time and again. Now I know.