Barbados a sun-kissed celebration
Upbeat music and a resolve to catch the moment are the most enduring Barbadian souvenirs, writes Jenny McBain
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SOMETIMES it’s fun to adopt a jet-set lifestyle, to have a week or more of extreme luxury in a tropical setting – especially as winter weather takes hold. Barbados is the obvious place to head and it has some hidden delights.
I arrive at the preferred pit stop of Kate Moss, which is called “The House” (it is on the west side of the island, in the St James area). Perhaps it should be called the White House. Here, a serene setting of white couches and lush plants begins to work its magic. The ocean is 20 steps beyond, but I stay put and order a smoothie from the guy who has been assigned as my personal service ambassador.
My suite is luxuriously kitted out with a feather bed and two marble bathrooms but, after a quick post-flight bath, it is time to track down some local food. Darkness has descended in that decisive suddenness peculiar to the tropics. Here and there, the pavements come to a halt and I am in the path of vehicles being driven with the kind of hectic passion I thought the sole preserve of Italians.
I find a roadside stall serving Caribbean cooking, which I enjoy while lurking in the shadows to watch the locals. Everyone speaks English. In fact, Barbadians considered themselves British because they were part of our colonies until gaining independence in 1966. They still have a British-style parliament and a British education system, but most islanders know people who experienced a frosty welcome to Britain. A coldness that penetrated deeper than the dismal climate sent hoards of migrants back home to sunny Barbados.
When I move half-a-mile down the coast to Treasure Beach Hotel, I get an inkling of what it would be like to live here. Outside my deluxe suite, the sound of early morning laughter wakens me. I follow it to its source and observe a happy group of middle-aged men and women enjoying an early morning dip in the warm, soothing waters of the Caribbean.
Every so often someone ducks below the surface and emerges with a shell to sell on to tourists like me. The lilting, rhythmic tones of local speech make a lyrical soundtrack to what could be an ideal life. This is what we dream of during long Scottish winters. And this easy camaraderie under a tropical sunrise must have haunted the thoughts of a generation of West Indian cleaners and clippies.
After a buffet breakfast, I get to meet Hamish. He is the hotel manager with Scottish roots who was born in Antigua but suffered through a degree in hospitality in Glasgow before carving out a successful career in the Caribbean. His bonhomie and international experience define the atmosphere and style of Treasure Beach. We agree to meet for dinner and I look forward to it, but right now, it is time for a boat trip.
We set off in simmering heat, soothed by a sea breeze. The sails are hoisted and the international mix of onboard guests begin to undo the knots of tension imposed by modern life. It might be the music or it could be the upbeat antics of the crew, but we all end up dancing. There is a generous flow of rum punch, but no one is drunk. We hold on to our sobriety so we can snorkel over the coral reef and swim with fish of riotous colours.
Back at Treasure Beach and the staff have laid on a fantastic buffet and barbecue which attracts holidaymakers from off the street. Hamish hosts the event with an easy charm and gives us an insight into what his adoptive home has to offer.
On his recommendation, I sign up for an overland safari which takes me and some other guests inland to the Scotland region. It resembles rural Perthshire and has trees, hedges and fields of sugar cane as opposed to massive hotels. Then we head up to the Atlantic coast on the east of the island, where the rocks and surf serve to ward off bathers. Our lunch stop is a former plantation house typical of the sort of place where intrepid Brits made their fortunes as slave masters.
That evening I board a local yellow bus and head to the bright lights of Bridgetown, the capital of Barbados. For less than a pound you can travel as far as you like and the pulsating Reggae music booming out from the speakers feels celebratory.
The town belongs to the locals, too, and foreign visitors are in the minority. I sit by the harbour and savour a plate of grilled seafood, watching the way people here almost dance when they walk.
Along with memories of assured sunshine and lavish luxury, I take home a reminder that celebrations don’t have to be planned.
