Grenada truly is the Spice of life
Death In Paradise fans will be left punch drunk by beautiful island
IT’S just a hop, a skip and a jump away from the filming location for one of the BBC’s biggest detective dramas.
So it’s not surprising that Grenada is heating up as a hotspot for British tourists.
Death In Paradise’s fictional island of Saint Marie was shot in the stunning location of Guadeloupe.
With its stretches of soft sand and Creole character, it looked like a dream escape on screen.
And Grenada, in the same group of islands, is no different.
On my first evening, I sit on a dock overlooking a bay and order a “dodgy rum punch”. It proves a potent and very drinkable concoction, staving off jet-lag, re-setting my body clock and warming my soul, as if tuning me into Grenadian life.
I order another, then flop into bed, listening to waves break gently over Grand Anse Beach – a three-mile stretch of pristine sand, said to be the most beautiful in the West Indies.
Grenada, together with its sister isles of Carriacou and Petite Martinique, form a tri-island state, about 100 miles north of Venezuela in the southernmost part of the Caribbean.
This is the Spice Isle, its volcanic soil giving rise to nutmeg, ginger and cinnamon, plus cocoa, various root vegetables, and, of course, sugar cane, hence all the rum.
At the River Antoine Rum Distillery on the east coast – Grenada is just 21 miles long and 12 miles wide, so nowhere’s far – rum is still produced as it was in the 1700s.
The distillery, a handful of stone buildings, is powered by the river, which drives an old waterwheel that was made in Derby.
Beside it, a chute feeds a decrepit-looking conveyor belt.
Nearby, in huge cauldrons, rum-to-be bubbles like hot treacle. A saucepan, strapped to a long pole, serves as a ladle. The end product contains 88% alcohol – too inflammable to take on a flight home. A special version, clocking in at 79%, is distilled for visitors.
I head north to the Belmont agrotourism estate for lunch, where everything served has been grown on site. I try soursop juice, green banana soup, and a chocolate brownie which delivers a gloriously bitter kick.
But nothing can top the cacao-infused cheesecake we discover at the House of Chocolate in St George’s, Grenada’s small capital.
After learning about life on the plantations in the tiny museum, we perch on stools resembling giant choc chip cookies and order most of the cocoa-inspired menu.
I choose a 100% chocolate shot – an espresso-sized cup of melted indulgence.
We stroll to the harbour, the Carenage, before taking in the view from the canons lining Fort George, a 17th Century hilltop battery.
Beyond the funky-coloured buildings surrounding the bay, a sweep of sand signifies Grand Anse beach, home to the Coyaba Resort.
Barely 10 minutes later, I’m there, my towel hanging from the branch of a knobbly sea grape tree, as I take a dip in the sea.
One afternoon, I go kayaking. On another, a group of us take a catamaran to the island’s quirkiest attraction, its Underwater Sculpture Park in Molinere Bay. While divers sink to the ocean bed, there’s still plenty to see if you snorkel, since none of the sculptures are more than 25 feet deep.
The park was the first of its kind in the world, forming an artificial reef to encourage marine life.
While Grenada has around 70 miles of coastline, inland, there are mountains, rainforests and waterfalls.
I spend my final days at True Blue Bay, a boutique resort with a small marina.
I relax by the pool and on my balcony, then head off for yoga, in a pavilion set high in the trees.
The others close their eyes, but I can’t miss the spectacular view of the bay. It’s surpassed only by sunset, which I enjoy from a traditional, wooden sloop, the kind once used by smugglers who used to run rum between St Barts and Barbados.
As our skipper, Walter, unfurls the sails, the owner Danny serves us punch.
The sun disappears and the sky turns gold, then purple, then pink.
Of course, it could just be the rum punch talking but why worry, when this is a country where even the minister of tourism says: “There’s a rum for every occasion – and then one just for the fun of it!”