'Beq in time'
Sunday Times Travel Magazine
01 Jan 2019
While the others on my Boeing 777 from Gatwick were doubtless stuck in Barbados traffic en route to their hotels, I found myself on a 22-seater inter-isle mosquito of a plane, feeling excited to be flying — unconventionally — onwards (the big-name Caribbean destinations are persuasively stop-and-flop).
Peeling away from the package crowd, I found remoteness to rival the Indian Ocean — only nicely priced, friendly and bling-free. The two pilots under their teddy-bear-ear headsets badgering the dials, throttling back on the descent to Bequia, scooped with perfectly white bays. No resort complexes here, only red and green corrugated homes peppering the hills of this silhouetted coal lump.
First morning, from the hotel breakfast terrace, the outcrops of the Grenadines were atmospherically peaky; scissor cut-outs of smoky crepe paper on the horizon. Over there, somewhere, was celebrity Mustique, idyll of the late Princess Margaret, keeping it royal. Over here: Bequia with its banana pancakes, keeping it real. Bequia Beach Hotel was made for morning people. By night, Brenton, the bartender, might do a devilish Ocean Blue