Grenada 2026

This is my third visit to Grenada, but I’m not staying very long this time. (Read about my last trips here.) I’m in the southern Caribbean, island hopping through to Carriacou and then on to St Vincent and the Grenadines. But not in that order. Bequia and Mustique beckon, before I reach Kingstown, the capital of St Vincent.

The BA flight is another exercise in endurance. It’s going via St Lucia and it’s packed. The amount of leg room in cattle class is minuscule. There’s far too much hand luggage and my carefully placed bag opposite and above me is moved further to the back of the plane, to accommodate everyone else who has not complied with the rules.  Grrrrr.

‘Never again,’ I declaim. ‘Never again’. And we haven’t even taken off yet.

Immigration at Granada is relatively straightforward, except that I hadn’t realised they now require an online form to be completed for customs and immigration. My guest house is basic and battered. And I hadn’t realised that I have to share a bathroom. But it’s cheap and only five minutes’ walk from the ferry.

Otherwise, things aren’t going wildly well. The port at capital St George's is quiet in the late spring dusk. The ATM isn’t working and neither is the global e-sim I bought from Airalo. Their chat support is dreadful. I have to use Wi-Fi to contact them, but need to turn it off every time they ask me to  check the settings and see if the sim is working. Every time I do this the chat closes and a new agent appears and asks me exactly the same questions and demands exactly the same screenshots. Then he doesn’t respond to these or indeed to any of my questions. After three hours of torture, when I’m well overdue sleep, I demand a refund. Don’t use Airalo!

Ferry to Carriacou

Things look better in the morning sun though, even though I already have one mosquito bite. St George's Harbour remains tranquil and pretty; a wander round the wharf and it's time to catch a ferry to Carriacou. This is now new territory.

Tine always passes slowly on a pitching ferry, especially when the boat emerges from the lee of Grenada island. ‘Get ready for the fun’, announces the captain. A couple in the scrimmage that vaguely passed for a ticket queue on the quay, tell me that there is nothing to see on this journey, so I resign myself to just gripping my seat and watching the horizon (and the other passengers). However, we roll past islets: Ronde and other smaller rocky dots. There's even an arch named London Bridge. Then, a submerged volcano, marked by Diamond Rock, with a small chimney to one side; the volcano is called Kick 'em Jenny. She erupted in 2015. She has a dormant subterranean friend, called Kick 'em Jack.

There are more islets south of Carriacou. and even when there's no island in sight, there's entertainment from a touring group of teenagers, singing religious music. Sadly, it's not the upbeat Gospel type.

Eventually, we heave into Tyrell Bay, at Carriacou.

Carriacou

• Carriacou (Kayryouacou) means Land of Reefs. They were pristine until Hurricane Beryl.
• The island is 13 square miles; it's the largest of the Grenadines, both Grenadian and Vincentian.
• Natives of Carriacou are called kayaks.
• Carriacou has a tranquil low-key atmosphere and is known for its traditional boat building.
• Despite Carriacou and Petite Martinique being guaranteed local government by the Grenadian constitution, no such local government has ever been established

Looking Down on Carriacou

Carriacou is curvaceous. Arced bays and small, but steep hills (almost 1,000 feet,) rising in wavy lines behind the bays. My apartment, it turns out, is right on top of one of those hills. Amazing views from both sides and even a raised bed, so that I can see the panorama from there,  through the plate glass windows. Tyrell Bay with its port to one side and Manchineel Bay to the other. Manchineel trees, along with sea grape, are common on the beaches here. They bear fruits which look like apples but are poisonous (as are the bark and leaves. So it's called The Tree of Death. That’s a much less romantic name for the bay.

There are several apartments on the site here. One is occupied by German marine biologists, Ina and Jonathan, who came over on the ferry with me. They’re doing research on the sargassum weed, which is an increasing problem in the Caribbean. From the plane, it looks like giant oil slicks, spilling across the ocean, Jackson Pollock style.

 Another flat  is currently home to a family whose home was destroyed in Hurricane Beryl.

Hurricane Beryl

• Hurricane Beryl was an extremely rare and destructive tropical cyclone, which hit parts of the Caribbean, the Yucatán Peninsula, and the Gulf Coast of the United States, in late June and early July 2024. The  storm was so intense that it broke countless meteorological records. And it caused huge amounts of damage, especially on Grenada's northern islands of Carriacou and Petite Martinique, damaging or destroying 99% of buildings on the former and 70% on the latter.
• Several of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines' southern islands, such as Canouan, Mayreau, and Union Island, had 80%-90% of dwellings damaged to some degree.
• Beryl caused 73 deaths, including  eight in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, and six  in Grenada
• Damage costs were  $231 million in Saint Vincent and the Grenadines and $218 million in Grenada,

Trials and Tribulations

As I’ve said, all too often, there’s always a problem in paradise. This time it’s dust. I’m trying not to touch the surfaces in my rental, or the top of the fridge door. Those micro ants that follow me everywhere have pre-empted my stay and  are already  swarming over the bedhead.  Wife Ayeesha has also charged me 10 dollars for a beach towel. Time will tell if that’s EC or US. But I’m not overly optimistic.

And there are two paths up here. One is an almost vertical ascent. The other is more gradual, but unmade and uneven. On that route, goats amble across and bleat at me. A dog barks unrelentingly. I can’t see if he’s fenced in or not.

 It has to be the steep option. The top part of the route wanders through the terraced property garden. There are netted cages, full of quails. They startle every time I walk past, soaring up to the roof and falling down as they hit the roof. They must have very poor memories, but I feel very guilty.   A sad sea turtle has been housed  in a stone tank about twice his size. I’m  really  sorry for him, as he pokes his head out.

Owner Davidson mitigates the strain by offering to collect me every time I go down the hill, but now he’s gone to New York. His wife seems less keen.

And, I’ve tried to buy a roaming add-on. from Lebara, but that also doesn’t work. Another three hours wasted as I ‘chat’. Apparently they don't actually have proper contracts with the local providers, but try to piggy-back on others. Don't use them either!

Tyrell Bay

The main beach below us is Tyrell Bay. Narrow, and a mixture of coarse beige sand and shells. It’s not the prettiest in the area, by a long way. But the water is lovely, with swirls of turquoise in the sapphire  and there are maybe a hundred bobbing boats, both working and yachts. Some fishermen  are casting a net for the shoals of jacks who have come inshore. The swooping gulls around them suggest they are doing well and the net looks to be heavy, as they haul it back on-board. Two of the men don snorkels and dive into the water to assist.

There are shacks  dotted along the edge of the beach. They vary from colourful to tatty awnings, stretched over drift wood. They have small windows, so it’s hard to see what they’re for, or if they’re selling anything. Some are packed with locals,  as far as I can tell. And I've read that there are over 100 rum bars on the island. (Hanging out is called 'liming' here.) Perhaps I have my answer. Though protruding pineapple spikes suggest fruit in some. And another has a counter and the fishermen are using it to fillet their catch.  

I’m the only person relaxing on the sand. A few people wander by. Tourists or locals. Who knows? I’m twice mistaken for a local and asked for directions. Maybe they don’t get tourists here?

Argyle

Behind the bay is the district of Argyle. Two supermarkets. Some small shops and a couple of cafes. At the far end of the beach, the Slipway Restaurant offers tasty rich food and incredibly strong daiquiris. It’s a struggle to stay upright and finish my meal. The Lambi Queen is less pleasing, as BBQ chicken turns out to be cold chicken with sauce poured over it. There were only two choices - other customers are thin on the ground. There’s Christian pop music on the LCD screen. Sadly, it's not the upbeat gospel style here either.

The Cheese Conundrum

The main supermarket has huge gaps on the shelves. ‘Supply issues’,  Davidson explains. ‘But also a matter of what sells.’ Apparently, yogurt isn’t a thing here.

Short on choice, I buy apples and three tubs of cheese triangles. The Happy Cow, English version.  Well, I thought I had. There are now only two in my bag. 'You only bought two,' the check-out girl explains. But my receipt confirms otherwise. She sends me to the shelves, to find a replacement.  What can possibly have happened to the one that disappeared?

My bathroom light isn’t working. The micro ants have eaten away the wiring.

Paradise Bay

The family who own my apartment are Seventh  Day Adventists. Ayeesha says a prayer before she taxis me, at a price, to the next curve along. Past the sub district of Belmont to Lesterre.  Ayeesha explains that it’s quiet today, as it’s a public holiday, Emancipation Day. Except it’s not, it’s Labour Day. The public service workers are making the point by celebrating in their uniforms.  Whatever, nearly everything is shut. There’s a piece of information I could have done with in advance.

This beach  is an entirely different kettle of fish to Tyrell Bay. Literally. It’s utterly gorgeous. Soft yellow sand jade water and islets floating ahead.  Just a few boats and less sea grass. The water demands you enter. Though it’s surprisingly cool for a few minutes. Crabs wobble along sideways, their eyes on stalks, and then zoom into their burrows. Songbirds chirrup from the sea grape and frigate birds wheel and dive. Picture perfect. Here, the beach fills up as the day progresses. Little launches whizz holidaymakers over to the pair of islets: Sandy Island and Mabouya. It's definitely a contender for the Best Beach in the World List.

Lunch in an  upmarket Beach Club – heavenly sweet and spicy chicken wings and curried conch, which they call lambi here.  The bar serves every cocktail ever invented and more.

This place actually is called  Paradise Bay,  and not for nothing.

Labour Day

It seems they take Labour Day very seriously  here. Even though Ayeesha didn’t know that it was Labour Day. The ferries from Grenada are crammed and the beaches fill up, as dusk advances. The music lasts until midnight, echoing around the hills and bypassing my earplugs. The amplifiers in the Caribbean are far bigger than those anywhere else.

Carriacou and Some More Grenadines - with Froggy

Next day finds me blearily setting off for a round the island adventure. Crystal from  Michigan is also along for the ride.  Captain Froggy, distinctive in neon yellow hoodie, drives us  to the tiny airport, to pick up Polish Maria and Eryk, who live in London. They’re over from Grenada,  for the day.

First, a drive up to Windward, on the north-eastern side of the island. This is the home of the traditional  ship building industry. Then, onto Froggy’s specially designed boat. This has to be the most photogenic vessel ever. Though I’m a little nonplussed when he christens the deck with vodka and then has a shot himself, before climbing behind the wheel. It’s a ritual he repeats several times, over the course of the day.

Petite Martinique

Two and half miles from Carriacou across a bumpy sea, and we're alongside Petite Martinique. To its right, its Mini Me version - Petite Dominique.

Petite Martinique

• Petite Martinique, in the Grenadian Grenadines, is just over one tenth the size of Carriacou and has a population of 900
• The Capital of Petite Martinique is Madame Pierre Town, in the north of the island. It's named after the wife of the first settler on Petite Martinique, a Mr. Pierre, from Martinique, who left his home island shortly after 1700, seeking new fertile land to grow sugarcane and cotton. His proper full name was Pierre Philip.
• It is thought that he named the island Petit (little) Martinique because he thought its shape resembled that of Martinique.
• This is another volcanic island, dominated by a 700 foot central peak

Petit St Vincent (St Vincent and the Grenadines)

Next up, the sandy beaches of privately owned Petit St Vincent (known locally as PSV), a one island resort. (It seems that every major island has a smaller version.) And we’ve snuck over the border into St Vincent and the Grenadines (SVG) now. Petit St Vincent is the southernmost island in the Saint Vincent and the Grenadines chain. The diving centre on the island was opened by Jean Michel Cousteau, in 2014. Needless to say, we're not landing here.

Mopion Island

 But there is a stop at nearby Mopion Island, also in St Vincent and the Grenadines. It’s just a sandbar, with one straw umbrella on it, and some very welcome limpid water. Castaway fantasies are made here.

Jack a Dan and Sandy Island

Back into Grenadian territory and down the leeward side of Carriacou, past capital Hillsborough, to  the underwater sculpture park on the island of Jack a Dan.  Named A World Adrift it was designed by artist Jason deCaires Taylor (who designed the main sculpture park on Grenada) and features 30 sculptures of boats, to honour the island's boat-building heritage.

It’s a good job he did,  as Beryl has wreaked havoc on the reefs. There’s very little live coral. Plenty of tiny fish and not much which is larger.

Now we've reached Paradise Bay and Sandy Island. This is an even bigger sand bar, as the name suggests and time for another swim. Round the next peninsula, eventually  to Manchineel Bay. Froggy has been manhandling us on and off  the roof of the boat, where he has secured four chairs for us to admire the scenery in comfort.

He suggests we go back up again for our return to windward side. I’m more cautious. Will there be splash? Will my camera be safe? Froggy says  it will be fine. Maybe it was the vodka talking.  There are waves, pretty big ones and plenty of splash. I’m not impressed. We moor at Saline Island and swim with turtles, (they look much happier than the ones in the tank) before heading back to the Tyrell Bay.

Ferry Nearly There

Maria and Eryk are due to catch the ferry back to Grenada here. Except, it’s leaving, as we arrive. The morning ferry, it seems, left at midnight, packed with drunken revellers, so there wasn’t in fact a proper morning ferry. The folk booked on the morning ferry have just left on the afternoon ferry, which has departed early. There’s pandemonium for a while, whilst no-one seems to know what happens next.

 But then a lady emerges and it seems probable that this ferry will make another journey. There are other ferries in port, but no crew. It’s a four hour turn around. Ina and Jonathan are also waiting in the queue.  I was going to Slipway for dinner, so they all head down there with me. I’m slightly worse for wear by the time I leave for home. The German couple are very happy. Jonathan has proposed underwater, using a micro tie as a ring.

(Read more about Grenada here.)

Off to Bequia - Over Robinson Crusoe Islands with Chic

Next stop for me is Bequia, but that’s in SVG and there are no scheduled international  boat trips. So I’m paying an exorbitant price to fly there. It takes 14 minutes, in my 19-seater plane, bouncing through a few clouds and flying low over the some of the most beautiful of the Grenadines: Union Island, Mayreau, the Tobago Cays  and Canouan. Canouan is white sands, luxury villas and half taken up by the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

Union Island

The other three islands, I've already visited, on a delightful day trip to the Grenadines. from St Lucia, in a small plane. We flew into Union Island first. Another volcanic silhouette. This one is known as 'The Tahiti of the West Indies'. The highest peak is Mount Taboi, 999 feet (304 metres) above sea level.

Palm Island

Then, a catamaran to Palm Island, another private island, solely accessibly by boat. It's only a mile from Union Island, which we can still see across the clear turquoise channel which takes us to our pristine sand. This was once a deserted swamp known as Prune Island (I don't know if the two things are connected) - before the eponymous palms were planted.

Mayreau

And onto Mayreau, the tranquil, smallest inhabited island of the Grenadines, with a population of about 271. The island’s only village is perched on Station Hill. Iconic, half-moon, Salt Whistle Bay is the major attraction with the prescribed powdery white sands, coconut palm trees and crystal-clear turquoise waters. The beach is a narrow isthmus, separating the Caribbean Sea from the Atlantic side of the island, and features small, rustic beach bars and restaurants, serving local food and drinks. Saline Bay is the main arrival point, where the ferry docks. Here, there's a long, calm beach, dining options, and a view of the local salt pond.

Tobago Cays

Last, on this trip, Tobago Cays, the so called Jewel in the Crown of the gems that are the Grenadines, a natural marine park, with colourful coral reefs and wafting green sea turtles, The islets are deserted – your Robinson Crusoe island stereotype - and stunningly gorgeous. This is, without doubt, one of the loveliest areas in the Caribbean.

Bequia

• Bequia is a tiny Caribbean island covering just seven square miles.
• Bequia Means 'Island of the Clouds: The name originates from the ancient indigenous Arawak language.
• Bequia's massive natural harbour, Admiralty Bay, once a legendary pirate hangout now makes a Caribbean hub for international sailors and superyachts.
• The locals successfully resisted mass tourism, so there are zero high-rise hotels, chain restaurants, or cruise ship crowds. Beach Royalty:
• The island is culinary-famous for its local beachfront eateries serving up fresh, world-class lobster pizzas.
• Bequia has a fierce seafaring heritage, and is still famous today for hand-carved model ships and traditional wooden boatbuilding

Across Bequia

The Bequia airport staff are especially grumpy. I’m the only passenger who’s disembarked here, so I assume they’ve had to keep the airport open for me. No wonder my ticket was expensive. It was only half the price to go on, all the way, to St Vincent.

It's a rustic  run from the airport, in the south, to the capital (of all the Grenadines not in Grenada,) Port Elizabeth. Steep roads clinging to the sides of the hills, fishing boats and fishing paraphernalia.  Driver Julian has one of the local open sided dollar taxis. Pick ups,with seats along each side. He doesn’t have any change. For that matter, no-one has any change for my 100 XCD notes presented by the ATM.

Shades of Blue

My charming Shades of Blue villa here has an even better view across Admiralty Bay and Princess Margaret Beach, than the one in Carriacou, a stretch of water that just about qualifies as a swimming pool and sunbeds, on a terrace.

Mosquitoes

The flaw here, in this paradise, is mosquitoes. I’m already covered in itchy bites, despite the two layers of insect repellent I applied. You can’t leave one tiny gap.  

Landlady Monica (not in residence at the moment, she’s in England) has written a whole  page in her Blue Manual on this subject. Apparently they thrive in this area due to the lush undergrowth. The itching is bad enough, but the female  Aedes aegypti variety  can transmit Dengue, Zika, and Chikungunya. Mmmm. I can hardly see them. they're the zoom across your vision type, like floaters.

There’s netting round the bed, but I’ve always struggled with mosquito curtains.  They only work if you can make sure none of the little critters are left inside when you drop them. And there are at least two, perched up high, laughing at me. It seems  I’ve offered myself up as a human sacrifice.

The apartment is armed with a whole box of tricks to combat the problem. Plug in mat vaporisers (no mats supplied), a zapper which I don’t understand at all and another racket shaped zapper. That requires batteries and you fry the prey. But, as the insects are perching on the furniture, or the netting, I’m  not going to be trying it. There are enough warnings about not using coils on the lovely wooden countertops'. On every email I’ve been sent. And there have been a few. And anyway, it needs batteries (not supplied).

Monica also says to spray the room with insecticide, when I go out. But I have to buy it. There’s a small gecko skittering around on my ceiling. I shall have to encourage him to eat more insects. And to fetch his friends. The Bug Mat, even when activated, is doing very little, it seems.

Princess Margaret (or Tony Gibbons) Beach

I’m directly above the beach and Jack’s Bar (expensive as it belongs to exclusive Bequia Beach Hotel, but serves mainly burger type food). There are a lot of steps down to more translucent water and a beautiful stretch of golden sand. It’s called Princess Margaret Beach, as she deigned to swim here on her honeymoon. Before that it was called Tony Gibbons Beach. (No-one seems to know who he was.)

Sunbeds for 16 USD at the bar. And they can't even be bothered to come and ask if you would like an overpriced drink. Out in Admiralty Bay, maybe another hundred boats bobbing. But these all belong to the yachting fraternity, and are mainly catamarans. Their tenders are lined up alongside Jack’s jetty. Bequia is lauded for its magical atmosphere. It’s definitely attracting the monied classes.  

Further along the beach, more bars of the rustic type, some of them sheltering under tented canopies. They all offer beer and rum punch. They also have basic beach beds for 10 USD - no mattresses and umbrellas.

Lower Bay

To the south of Princess Margaret Beach, over a headland, is Lower Bay. It’s very similar, but  smaller and wilder, with a couple of beach bars, linked to hotels over the road.  And there are fewer of those yachts off shore. I’m accompanied on my struggle up the steps by a small  brown and white dog, who settles under the sunbed next to mine. He's today's companion. If you don't count the lizard. Yesterday, a young cat leapt onto my lap, at Jack's Bar.

Port Elizabeth

There’s a walkway from Jack’s, all the way into the centre of  Port Elizabeth. Part boardwalk, part stone pavement, part through a plantation area. It takes about half an hour to get there. Port Elizabeth was named after Queen Elizabeth (it's all royal connections here), but in 1937, at the coronation of her parents, when she was just a princess. The beachside walk is home to a row of  restaurants serving pizza, burgers seafood and rotis with curries.  Mac's mutton curry is very tasty. Though I have competition from the Carib grackles - birds who have no compunction in hopping right up to my plate to steal some morsels. A local at the next table tells me they're known as sweets around here.

The town is the epitome of shabby chic Caribbean charm. Colourful shacks, boutiques  and bars, mainly gingerbread style, with frilly facias, and a  couple of cannabis shops. The coast road, at the town proper  is lined with booths, running up to the ferry port. Vendors touting fruit, juices and trinkets. Inland, supermarkets, banks and more bars. Knights Trading has fairly well stocked shelves and there’s even (sweet) yogurt, along with  some supercilious service. I have to go to a special till to pay with a credit card. The lady in charge can’t even bring herself to look at me, as she hands me the receipt.

Today’s missive from Monica reminds me that I  must remember to wind the sun umbrella down, if I use it.

Mustique -  A Jolly Good Day Out

Mustique

• Mustique is a billionaire's playground, a completely private, ultra-exclusive two-square-mile island famously owned by its wealthy residents.
• This is the ultimate paparazzi-free hideaway for icons like Mick Jagger, Tommy Hilfiger, and the British Royal Family.
• Guests zip around the island's lush hills and wild beaches in open-air golf carts called 'mules'.
• Basil’s Bar: this legendary, over-water beach shack is globally famous for impromptu jam sessions and star-studded cocktail parties.
• To protect its raw Caribbean beauty, the island enforces a strict ban on high-rise hotels, streetlights, and plastic.

My boat trip to Mustique is shared with four London husbands, who are on a Lads Only Holiday. Larry originally comes from St Vincent and wanted to share the culture and gorgeous scenery with his friends, Camillo, Marc and (George Clooney look alike, they say) Milton. They’re great company and allow me to share in their round the island  taxi and lunch, so it's much cheaper for me too.  

The sailing boat, captained by Alan, takes over two hours to reach Mustique; the wind is against us. Alan has a thick accent and is hard to understand. It’s not helped by the fact that he only seems to have one tooth at the front of his mouth. But he seems to know what he is doing. Shimmying up the mast, when the main sail gets tangled.  His sailor assistant seems less practised and even we can understand when Alan bellows. ‘Not yet. Wait till I say so.’  ‘Not like that !’

We munch on banana bread, before hugging the coast of Bequia round the southerly headland dotted with abandoned stone houses. These ruins were once part of the Moonhole community, a settlement was founded, in the 1960s, by NYC advertising executives Thomas and Gladys Johnston as an eco-conscious community. The houses were built directly into the cliffs, using local stones and whale bone fragments, designed with open layouts and no electricity.

North again, past the airport and Paget Farm, the fishing and boat building area and the most populous part of the island. Then, across to Petit Mustique(!) with its old whaling station and Mustique itself.  We moor, in Britannia Bay, by the famous Basil's Bar.

There are only three taxi drivers on the island. Most of the villas have fleets of those golf cart 'mules' for their guests.  Picky, our driver, is well named. He’s exceptionally stiff with us, answering questions unenthusiastically, until we laugh at his stories of flag waving, as a school boy, whenever Princess Margaret arrived. Then, he thaws.

Mustique is even more groomed than I expected. Abundant exotic flowers, immaculate roads, gingerbread shops and public buildings. Even the airport runway is perfectly smooth. (This is a short take-off and landing (STOL) runway, with sloped ends, so its limited to small planes - and private jets).There are only 206 permanent residents, but over 1000 islanders, including all the staff, cooks and butlers, to service the one hotel and  85 or so villas.

Picky points out the most famous residents’ houses: Mick Jagger, David Bowie, Brian Adams, Tommy Hilfiger, Mark Healey (of MFI)  - who has built a monstrosity of a mansion on the highest hill. He seems especially fond of Mick Jagger. Mick is said to serve at Basil's and he hosts an annual party which funds the primary school and other educational bursaries extremely well. I wouldn't mind a job there. Most of the properties have more or less private access to the fluffiest of white sand. Once vaunted Macaroni Beach, on the wilder Atlantic coast, however, is now covered in the sargassum weed, which piles up as fast as they remove it.

Picky knows the rental price of all the villas. The cheapest is 17,000 USD a week, but most are around 40000 USD. You can’t even rent here, let alone buy, without the approval of the Mustique Company, who manage everything, including all the staff.  It is  owned by the islanders and originally established by Colin Tennant (his statue is in the centre of the island), who bought the island and gave some land to Princess Margaret. She built a house, which she visited regularly, bringing various guests to amuse the media. Her villa (sold by her family) is in the very private non accessible south. It was a very clever move of Tennant's, resulting in one of the most exclusive and private retreats in the world.

Lunch at The View restaurant. The panorama across the bay is indeed lovely, though the claim that this is a place serving local food has to be taken with a pinch of salt. And it takes a long time to come. Followed by a quick cocktail at Basil's, over the water. This legendary institution has Indonesian architecture in the ceiling, a piece of an Ariane space rocket outside and mixed reviews on Trip Advisor:

'Having now been there, I now have absolutely idea what the fuss is about. It’s a scruffy rustic bar, partly on stilts in the sea and partly on land. The cocktails were great, the food was really poor quality and you wait an eternity to get it. The adjacent beach is lovely, but if you’re waiting for food you may not have time to enjoy it. Unless you’re staying in Mustique I really wouldn’t waste any time going to Basil's. You would normally travel there from Bequi, my advice is stay there, it’s way nicer.'

Then, back to Bequia, tacking north east and round the privately owned  Isle a Quatre and accompanying islets this time. It was a jolly good day out.  

The Boys are Back in Town

Monica is still sending missives. 'It’s very impolite not to greet the locals when you pass them on the street,' she says. Alongside the list of things I need to do to check out.

The Gang of Four Men are on the same ferry as me, to St Vincent, the main island in St Vincent and the Grenadines (the clue is in the name). It’s only an hour, and this time the vessel is almost empty. There are two that ply this route and several more in  Kingstown Harbour, waiting to set off for other islands. ‘Perhaps they could sell some to Scotland’, quips Milton.

Kingstown - The City of Arches

Bustling Kingstown, the capital and largest city, of SVG is very much based around the port. It’s vibrant, rather than pretty, with stalls and booths rammed into spaces (or not even spaces) on the pavements and spilling into the roads. Like most Caribbean towns this one sprawls up steep hillsides, but this island has streams and fresh water. The town is split by the North ‘River’, finding its way under makeshift concrete bridges and through  culverts, to the sea.

Apparently, Kingstown, is often called the 'City of Arches', due to its numerous traditional stone archways. For me, the stand out piece of architecture (no contest) is the extraordinary Cathedral of the Assumption of Our Lady ( or St Mary’s). Its history dates back to a first structure, erected in stages from 1823, although the present building was completed in the 1930s.  How to describe it, with its two towers, one with cut outs? It is a combination of Moorish, Romanesque, Byzantine, Venetian and Flemish. Google says it contrasts strongly with the rest of the town. That’s an understatement.

Directly opposite, is the much more sedate cream Anglican church. That one gives its name to the parish of St George. The courthouse is also singled out, in guide books, as a distinctive building. It's actually the House of Assembly and Court House building constructed in 1798, by the British. It serves as the legislative body for the country. Behind, is is the prison (so you don't have to walk far after your trial). Opposite, the stalls of the central market. The old Public Library (now the National Trust) was sponsored by Andrew Carnegie, the philanthropic steelmaker. Most of the other buildings are wooden with some brick (brought as ballast from England) and volcanic stone. There’s a lot of peeling paintwork.

Pitaya Suites

My apartment Airbnb here is lovely. Beautifully organised with a hostess who is a great communicator. Sadly though, it’s up the hill, on the edge of town. Everywhere in the Caribbean is up a hill. It’s called Pitaya Suites, after the dragon fruit which she cultivates in the garden. It’s a nocturnal flowering plant and the flowers are spectacular, opening after dark and lasting only until dawn, when they wilt. Clare pollinates the flowers manually to ensure that they fruit. I will take the bizarrely shaped  dragon fruit more seriously in future. Although the purple fruit is so unusual that maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Opposite, on the Leeward Highway, is the Massy Supermarket. This is more like it. A whole cabinet of yogurt. There’s even pots of granola. Wraps. Sandwiches. And take away meals.  

The SVG Botanical Gardens

Even further up the hill, on the Leeward Highway, out of town, are The SVG Botanical Gardens, billed as one of the most important and popular sites in St Vincent. These are The Oldest Botanical Gardens in the Western Hemisphere (established in 1765).  They are arranged even further up the hill, of course, and their 20 acres comprise  a palm lined hibiscus walk, what is called a Doric temple, but is actually a diminutive  green dome on columns (the central feature), a smallish lily pond, a breadfruit tree grown from a sucker of the trees on the Bounty and a conservation aviary.

This is where the endemic St Vincent parrot (Amazona guildingii) has been bred and saved from extinction. This is the national bird. Subtly pretty, rather than flamboyant, the parrots are sadly enclosed in what seem to me to be too  small enclosures. I suppose that’s better than being eradicated. Over the years they have been hunted for food, trapped for the cage-bird trade and suffered habitat loss due to deforestation. The introduction of the nine-banded armadillo didn't help. They undermine large trees, causing them to topple.

Fort Charlotte

Today, I have taxi driver Fitz, a true Rasta, in his tricoloured hat, he even says ‘Right on Man’. West, along the coast road to Fort Charlotte, 600 feet above the town, on Berkshire Hill. It was begun in 1763, after the British had vanquished the French colonists and  not completed  until 1806. So, begun under George III, named after his wife and completed in the reign of George IV. Great views across to Bequia and the Grenadines, as well as the port. It was intended to house approximately 600 soldiers and a battery of over 30 cannons. But here, the cannons point inland to protect against attack, rather than out to sea, with the main threat deemed to come from the Carib Indians.

The fort has officially been closed for several years, for renovations, but the hoardings are easily moved aside and a self-appointed guide takes me round, at a cost of 10 USD. I'm not sure it's value for money. His knowledge is sketchy and the tour short. But it's very windy and he makes sure I’m not blown over the edge.

The Leeward Side of St Vincent – Another Jolly Good Day Out

I’m back on the Leeward Highway, waiting to be picked up by The Lads, in their taxi. Randy’s Drink Outlet over the road is unexpectedly belting out gospel music. It’s a busy road. The many dollar taxis zooming by toot, in case I would like a ride. That’s kind of them.

Dark View Falls

St. Vincent is the rugged, volcanic mainland of the country, offering an adventurous contrast to its flatter resort-island neighbours. Here, it's raw, dramatic landscapes, dense rainforests, and rich cultural heritage. We’re heading up the west coast, to see Dark View Falls. The island is astonishingly craggy, with the steepest of peaks and the deepest of valleys. The road twists and turns between them, sometimes hugging the coast and sometimes winding right into the rain forest. The guide books say to leave the driving to the locals and I can see why. Driver Ken, who runs Naz's Tours, from his caravan minibus, is not deterred. Mind you, it's what he’s used to. He’s phlegmatic the whole way, with just the right blend of caution and speed.

So, we are treated to  varying scenic views on this, the drier side of St Vincent; it reminds me at times of Jamaica. We sweep through assorted villages, each with their own roadside bars, soccer/cricket pitches  and, of course, a church. Volcano Soufriere looms in the distance. It's a long hike to the top, and it's still active. The most recent eruption was in April 2021.

From Chateaubelair, it's an unmade road, to the falls. Then a wobbling bamboo bridge. That's the most exciting moment. The cascades, in two sections, upper and lower (18 metres high), are pretty enough, but it's definitely a case of travelling hopefully is better than arriving. I’m not tempted into the shallow pool.

This is more or less as far as the highway goes. Attempts to join the roads up the east and west coasts have stalled, due to the magnitude of the project – and costs.

Walliabou Bay

Turning back, we head to Walliabou Bay, which doubled as Port Royal, in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. The owners of the establishments here  have capitalised on this fact to the absolute utmost, extending the sets and their contents and erecting huge pirate statues, complete with skeletons and coffins. I don't recall those in the movie. I shall have to check.

Cam has gone fully rogue today. He's bought a hat with fake dreadlocks attached and makes use of every one of the props on display.

The Leeward Coast

It is one and a half miles to Barouallie (known locally as Bagga), a fishing village known for its unique harvesting of blackfish. In this deeply rooted Vincentian tradition, 'blackfish' refers to the short-finned pilot whale (and occasionally other small marine mammals). The community utilises the entire animal, processing it into two primary local delicacies: blackfish meat (the flesh is typically salted and dried, turning black, and is then often stewed or cooked similarly to salt cod) and crips (the skin and blubber are rendered in large metal drums, to produce a gelatinous, salty, and meaty delicacy. Thankfully, I can't see any on sale.

There's ongoing development (if slow) in most of the black sand bays. Cumberland Bay stoically awaits more construction. Google says it's perhaps the best known yacht anchorage on the island of St. Vincent, but the empty ocean here belies this suggestion. Further south, Black Sands Resort, at aptly named Peter's Hope, a ghost town of empty villas from one failed project,  has stood empty for ten years, awaiting direction. Sandals Resorts have commandeered Buccament Bay and, distaining the black sand, have covered it with the imported white variety.

We choose Mount Wynne Beach for our swim. Refreshingly clear water and some snorkelling on the rocky headland, with shoals of yellow finned fish and a few other colourful sea creatures.

There’s a (perhaps) surprising amount of industry in the areas further south. Container ports, mills, fishing. and some entertaining and idiosyncratic names: Questelles, Buddy gutter, Campden Park, Buccament, Petit Bordel (usually known just as petit!) and Kertains. We finish with views across the port of Kingstown, and across again, to Bequia.

The Windward Coast of St Vincent

Larry and the Fun Bunch are leaving before me. Time to explore the windward coast of the island. This time it’s Rasta Fitz again. He’s a careful driver and considerate towards me, but I wish he would stop asking me if he can come with me when I leave........

The Belmont Look Out

Into the interior first, for the Belmont Look Out. A great opportunity to savour a cross section of the island. This is an extinct volcano crater, emerald green with lush fertile soil, the agricultural heart of St Vincent. 

The Black Point Tunnel

The eastern, Atlantic Coast, is wild, with plenty of  breakers (and lots more sargassum) on the jet black sand, as you would expect. But the inland scenery is not quite as  dramatic, the road less twisty. It's replete with coconut palms, impressive villas and pretty gardens.

Towards the top of the highway, on this side, is Georgetown, the old capital.  The main export here was sugar. They even blasted a tunnel, about 360 feet long, through the rock, at Black Point, using slave labour for the digging. Considered a marvel of engineering for its time, the tunnel enabled easier transport of sugar, from the mills of Grand Sable Estate, to the wharf at Byrea.

Villa Beach

On the south-east corner one, of the best beaches on St Vincent (the Grenadines definitely have the edge here). Villa Beach  is a yellowish stretch of sand, lined with hotels in Indian Bay. Some rocky outcrops dot the ocean and  opposite is Young Island, another privately owned up-market island resort. That looks to have a lovely beach.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Back to Grenada, on InterCaribbean Airways, then home. I'm apprehensive, as I've read that they weigh you, your luggage and your carry on and are very strict, using the information to tell you where to sit. In the event, only my case is weighed and the check in guy tells me it’s free seating.

The airport is new. The old one is further south being turned into a shopping mall and hospital. The escalator into the departure lounge isn’t working and the whole food court is shut. It’s six in the evening. I really don't want to leave.