Barbados - The Caribbean pleasure island
My brother-in-law delivered a grave warning. 'Barbados has gone,' he said, shortly before we packed our premier cru Ambre Solaire and headed for Gatwick Airport. By which he meant that the bulldozers now outnumber the bullfinches, while battalions of chavs sprinkle the island not so much with gold dust, but bawdy bling that encourages hotels and restaurants to charge St Tropez prices.
And you know what? He's absolutely right and completely wrong. It all depends on what sharpens your pencil, because the trick with Barbados is that it's diverse enough to cater for everyone. Hire a car, head for Cherry Tree Hill in the north and you'll have to pinch yourself that this has become a notorious celebrity-charged hangout.You'll know when you've got there because suddenly the rolling waves of the Atlantic coast come into view with such theatrical effect that you feel like Moses arriving at the Red Sea.
What's more, the great man would have had a job calming these waters, let alone parting them. There is no development old or new within several hundred yards of this stretch of uncluttered coast. Strict laws forbid any construction, leaving the fields of sugar cane to sway back and forth as they have since the 17th century.
In fact, moving from west to east Barbados is like visiting two entirely different islands — and it's an almighty pleasure. To the north, we stopped half way across at St Nicholas Abbey and, not unnaturally, expected to find a building with a religious past.
Instead, we discovered one of only three remaining Jacobean plantation houses in the world (the other two being Drax Hall, also in Barbados, and Bacon's Castle, in Virginia, USA), dating back to around 1650. It's been lovingly restored by its current owner, and even in peak season we pretty much had the place to ourselves, prompting the friendly staff to let us sample far too much of their home-made rum.
We stopped and lingered at Bathsheba, about the midpoint on the remote east coast. Here, experienced surfers get their kicks, although just up the shore there are signs warning against swimming 'because the currents can take you away'.
We arrived just as a rickety school bus drew up to deposit its cargo of children, their uniforms still immaculately pressed after a day of work and play, none of them sporting a packet of crisps and a menacing face. They put their British counterparts to shame.
The 'other' Barbados on the east coast is light on places to stay (although The Atlantis, a ten-room boutique hotel on Tent Bay, has just opened). But, back on the busy west side, if you can strike a deal with the Coral Reef Club or its sister hotel almost next door, The Sandpiper, you'll feel as if you've been transported back a couple of decades. Both institutions have pedigree and, crucially, both are of no interest to Simon Cowell, Michael Winner or the Rooney mob, who can be found moored from time to time at Sandy Lane, a couple of miles to the south.
It was in the Fifties that Budge (sadly, no longer with us) and Cynthia O'Hara came from England to manage the then fledgling Coral Reef Club — and never left. Today, their three children and their respective spouses are all involved with the business — and I suspect it is they who last year pushed for the building of a new spa within the lush 12-acre site. I had what's called a Muscle Melt massage and felt, appropriately, that my excess blubber had been temporarily liquidised.
0 Response to "Barbados - The Caribbean pleasure island"
Post a Comment