Bequia, the hidden paradise of the Caribbean

Thanks to the Bequia Beach Hotel’s private nine-seater plane, the island of Bequia, aka ‘the Caribbean’s best-kept secret’ to those in the know, is just a 30-minute hop from Barbados. Due to my delayed BA flight, my luggage didn’t catch up with me for another 24 hours but, such is the instant magic of this isle, any wardrobe woes evaporated on arrival.

Apart from the open-top truck waiting for me, the only action at Bequia airport was a warring pair of goats and children booting a saggy football around a dirt patch next to the runway. It might be the second largest island in the Grenadines with a population of 4,000 but, for reasons best known to itself, Bequia hasn’t changed in decades. And it has no plans to.

The neighbouring island of Mustique — infamous as a carefree playground for rock stars and royalty (Jagger was on my Heathrow flight heading to his Mustique home for some much-needed R&R) — has of late lost its shine with the influx of billionaires turning it into a gated community. Similarly, nearby Canouan, once a sleepy fishing community, now boasts a state-of-the-art marina and a Soho House. By comparison, ‘The Penthouse’, as I discovered on my first visit to Bequia a decade ago, is not a superclub; it is a roadside hut with a killer stack sound system and unquestionably the best New Year’s Eve I’ll ever have (it’s hard to beat dancing to Debarge’s ‘Rhythm of the Night’ under the stars).

Bequia Beach Hotel is about as developed as the island gets. Spread across 10 acres running along the crescent-shaped Friendship Bay beach, the hotel consists of cute cottages dotted around manicured gardens and three floors of suites overlooking the rolling waves. From its picket-fence entrance to its clubhouse reception, the place has bags of old-style charm.

There are two restaurants: the beachfront Bagatelle, serving international dishes with lots of Caribbean flavour (go for the fish caught yards from your table); and the more intimate Tropic Blue, offering a uniquely local take on Italian cuisine. The spa’s 60-minute deep tissue massage did not disappoint and, at a passing glance, there appears to be a fully equipped gym. The hotel’s cheerful Swedish owner Bengt Morstedt, who whizzes around waving from his Moke, hasn’t been resting on his laurels. During the pandemic downtime, he got to work on a new saltwater pool and, perched on the hill at the end of the property, two super-sized luxury villas.

An added bonus not to be missed is the hotel’s sister restaurant, Jack’s, located on Princess Margaret Beach (yes, HRH swam there once, prompting a quick name change). A 10-minute shuttle ride from the hotel, Jack’s is an open-front venue plonked on the end of a paradise beach. It seems to be happy hour every hour with boat crews, tourists and locals all enjoying live music and lobster with mac ’n’ cheese. Take a wander up the beach to Fay’s stall for cheap sun loungers, handmade merch, lethal rum punch and the latest island gossip.

Lower Bay, next to Princess Margaret, is also perfect for some sun-worship. Stay for evening cocktails at De Reef, then climb the hill up to Fernando’s Hideaway for one of the best dinners on Bequia. A fairy-lit shack cooking up whatever Fernando has to hand, it’s culinary roulette: on my visit shark was on the menu. Legend has it Fernando once even shot a goat in front of horrified guests for the curry. The Firefly Estate is another must: the 18th-century sugar mill is now a small, elegantly designed hotel with excellent food, stupidly happy rescue dogs and a cross-country golf course, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Wildly beautiful and content in its laidback bubble, Bequia is about to become the Caribbean’s worst-kept secret. A tip: pack a change of clothes in your hand luggage.