Oh, I guess that this place is like any other paradise.  Palm trees, warm breezes and see-through water.  That kind of thing.

I guess I think of Bequia as a perfect island to get away from it all. To catch up on a book or ten. There is nothing really going on to distract you. I think that this would be a good spot to play Hemmingway. Warm lazy days. Mellow besotted evenings. Etc.

Here is the daily itinerary in Bequia:

7:12 am: Get up early (c’mon, it a bright, beautiful day). Wander down to the unpopulated white sand beach for a wake-up dip in the balmy crystal clear Caribbean sea. Shuffle back to the house for some fresh mangos and orange juice. Pick up a book, guitar, crossword puzzle, whatever, and park yourself on the balcony perched high above the tranquil harbor. Relax. Relax, until the sun climbs high in the sky.

11:35 am: Jump in to the ubiquitous, topless Suzuki Samurai and bumble down to Port Elizabeth. Wander into the small, steamy email office and catch up with the folks back home. From there, it’s but a short walk by and through the handful of shops that dot the dock-area. Browse.

12:30 pm: With a few bags in hand (perhaps toting fresh oranges and mangos for the morning, and some cheese and bread for the afternoon), head to the sandy shore for lunch.

 All of the quaint little restaurants look about the same. Mostly open air, with a small wooden bar inside and a few plastic or wood tables on a cement/sandy patio, shaded by a myriad of tropical foliage. Smell the aromas of island-style Creole cooking and fresh flowers. Lull in the gentle breeze. Listen to the tiny harbor waves as they gently lap the sandy shore.

Pick one such restaurant/bar – say the Green Boley.  Grab a seat on the porch and say hello to the now familiar proprietor/waiter/bartender/Mayor of Bequia (no kidding), Lyston.  Order a Carib beer and a chicken Roti (kind of a curry, potato, chicken burrito thing) – maybe some callalou soup.  Order another beer.

Share small talk with the yachties and tourists that populate the cafes. Laugh at the eight sunburned middle-aged Canadians who nearly sink their teeny inflatable dinghy as they buzz back and forth to their yachts moored just a few hundred feet off shore.  Eat slowly.  It’s hot.

Lunch takes a while. Not to prepare, but to finish. Why move? Don’t. Food, beer, shade, water, beer, view. I imagine that many have slipped in to more than one blissful coma here.

2:14 pm: Peel yourself out of the chair and putter back home for a nap on the porch.  Easy.

Fruit Man 

Cold Beer

4ish pm: It’s a short drive down hill to Lower Bay ("Low Bay"). Cocktail hour, you know. Order a famous rum-punch (which comes from a well used old milk jug, and served in a plastic cup with a lime and some fresh local nutmeg grated on top). Here it’s back and forth between the beach, the water and the bar (hell, it’s a doable 25 foot walk – tops). Grab a plastic chair and anchor it in the sand at the water’s edge so that the waves periodically kiss your feet. This is the spot to watch the after- noon melt away. The spot to watch the sun drip into the sea. The spot to wonder how in the hell three local rum-punches could have this wonderful effect on your body and soul. Take note to question whether neurotoxins (from perhaps some damned local puffer fish) were secretly introduced into the fruity elixir.

7:32 pm: Once the sun disappears, and you are sure that it ain’t comin’ up again for a good long while – it’s time to head up for the evening shower.  And a beer – to keep the whole thing flowing properly.

7:37 pm: Grope back in the Suzuki, and go to a relaxing dinner. There are probably ten or fifteen restaurants on the list. 

Some are back down in Port Elizabeth, some in Low Bay, and a smattering here and there. Go somewhere that you didn't go last night.

7:39 pm: Pop out at Coco’s Place, high above Low Bay. Take a seat on the open air, pink/blue/yellow/green painted wooden balcony and marvel at the glistening yacht lights reflecting off the still calm water.

Order lobster fritters, an icy bottle of water – oh, and a nice cool chardonnay. Crunch through a crispy salad. Toast life. Dig into fresh (really fresh) broiled "catch of the day" with Creole vegetables.

8:30: Sit back and rub your tan, swollen belly.  Put a toothpick in your mouth.  Grin proudly at each person at the table - one at a time, clockwise.  Do the same to the folks at the table next to you.  Wink at the last one.  Grab your glass of wine, make that "trying to suck that little piece of lobster out of your teeth" sound while raising your glass to toast for the umpteeth time, then just before delivery, sit back again, laugh and shake your head (starting with the "no" shake then transitioning smoothly into the "yes" nod).

9:02 pm:  Here you have a choice: (i) the easy one: saddle up to the bar for a banana cream night-cap, or (ii) if you are feeling lively, head back down the hill to catch a bit of the weekly "jump-up" – which is a local tropical style beach party complete with rum and live local reggae.  Order a German beer and dance to the hypnotizing sounds of Bob Marley.  Take a break and soak your feet in the ocean.   Dance some more.

Whenever: Make it back to the house somehow and pass-out anywhere.

7:12 am: Get up early (c’mon, it a beautiful, bright day). Wander down…

Turtle Man

Local Crafts

Babies

Look at that Water