Barbuda in My Heart

There are special places in the Caribbean I pine to be. One is Barbuda (not to be confused with Bermuda or Barbados!)

Barbuda Sunset

I recently returned to this tiny island just off Antigua in the Eastern Caribbean, population 1,500 living mostly in Codrington. It’s a place where you relax, slow down and make your own way. Donkeys crossing the road is your only stoplight.

Several years ago I had the pleasure of staying at the exquisite Beach House, where I fondly recall walking out onto the pink sand beach on Palmetto Point, not a soul in site, with frigate birds circling overhead to protect their eggs. Tears welled in my eyes as I knew this was the Caribbean the way it used to be. No development, no people around, just me and nature.

Frigate Birds

Barbuda is home to the Frigate Bird Sanctuary located in the Codrington Lagoon.

Barbuda is rich in Caribbean history where the Ciboney were its first inhabitants in 2400 BC, and when Christopher Columbus landed on his second voyage in 1493, Arawak and Carib Indians soon followed. There were early settlements by the French and Spanish later succeed by the English colonies in 1666. Many present-day people of Barbuda are descendants of African slaves. 

The Beach House is no longer open, and a new luxury secret has arrived: Lighthouse Bay Resort. With only nine exclusive suites, it was hard to believe this was rustic Barbuda.

Lighthouse Bay Resort

This intimate resort offers five star amenities, fabulous gourmet cuisine of sweet Barbuda lobster by Beach House’s former Chef Lennox and every modern convenience imaginable. Mo, Terrance and the staff embrace you like family.

It’s so private, it’s the perfect high-profile guest hideaway…

Pink Sand Beach

There are a few things to do in sleepy Barbuda:  snorkeling, fishing, horseback riding, buying local handicrafts or exploring the caves. But for me, it was just a time to slow down.

I pray that Barbuda will never change. The miles of pink sand beaches are mine to EXPLORE, DREAM, THINK & BE.

Barbuda, you have made a permanent stamp on my heart.

Lighthouse Bay Resort, Barbuda provides a one-way helicopter transfer from Antigua to the resort and includes all meals and beverages. http://www.lighthousebayresort.com

The Egg Roll Lady on Martha’s Vineyard

There’s nothing like Martha’s Vineyard in the Fall. Crowds have since dispersed after Labor Day, and the crisp fall air makes for a perfect day to visit the Saturday West Tisbury Farmer’s Market. It’s a wonderfully colorful scene of fresh flowers, tangy-sweet Limeade coolers, seasonal fruits and vegetables, homemade jams and breads. There is even an Alpaca stall where you can buy the softest scarves, hats and mittens. For a pretty penny, you can even buy an entire alpaca (or 3 for that matter as they do come in herds).

But why are we really here? My amazing friend Tonya swears they sell the best Egg Rolls!

The “Egg Roll Lady” is Thi Khen Tran, a Vietnamese immigrant who started selling lettuce and even smoked bluefish mousse in her early days at the market. Her kids loved her egg rolls so much they convinced her to start selling them. Now people return year after year just to buy her famous egg rolls, at $5 each for either hot vegetarian or Vietnamese.

I would have never believed that a fresh farmer’s market would have to-die-for egg rolls, but after one bite, I was a believer.

Now I’m thinking it would taste good with the homemade jalapeño jelly I bought there too!

West Tisbury Farmer’s Market: Saturdays, 1067 State Rd., West Tisbury, Martha’s Vineyard

Parrot Cay…No Photographs, Please!

 

Oh boy, was I in for a treat! I was returning to Parrot Cay Resort & Shambhala Retreat for the first time since my Honeymoon which was oh-so-rudely interrupted by Hurricane Francis back in 2004– but that’s another story for another time.

I threw my suitcase together with a few dresses, oversized sunglasses and bitsy bikinis and I was off! Celeb hideaway…here I come! 

Parrot Cay (pronounced parrot “key”) was originally named Pirate Cay back in the day, but tourism started booming and pirates didn’t exactly draw tourists as well as the idea of plume-filled parrots. With 1,000 acres of unspoiled land and miles of white powdery sand, just for the record, there are NO parrots on Parrot Cay.

It’s a 20 minute boat ride from Providenciales on the turquoise waters to this white sand oasis, part of the chain of 40 islands that make up Turks and Caicos (535 miles SW of Miami,) where I was to do a site inspection of the locale where Donna Karan, Bruce Willis, Christie Brinkley and the modern day pirate himself, Keith Richards, all have second (or 3rd or 4th homes.)   

Jeff, the Resort Manager, greeted me at the dock, telling me to be prepared for the ultimate VIP Parrot Cay experience. Ooh! Lucky me!

Taken by golf cart to my 3-bedroom villa with 25-ft pool right on the beach, I started to wave goodbye to my driver ”Sumantra” before he quickly informed me that he was not going anywhere and that he was going to be my Personal Butler for the next 24-hours.

Panic set in. I don’t know him! I start to feel bad. I can do things for myself…no really, you don’t need to unpack my things…no, I can find my way to the beach…no, really I’m not that hungry just yet.

(Flash forward: after 24 hours, I began to fully understand why celebrities become completely dysfunctional.)

Sumantra, by the way, happens to be Donna Karan’s private butler. He flies in from Malaysia when ”Donna” is going to be on island. Ooh la la. I’m feeling pretty special already.

I tell Sumantra that I’d like to go to the main infinity pool (after all, half the fun of Parrot Cay is the people watching.) Would I see Bill Gates, Cindy Crawford, maybe Britney?… all of whom are frequent guests of the resort.

By this time, I’m starting to draw stares all around me from my fellow “lookie-loo” guests. “Who is she? Is she an actress? Do we know her….?” The Butler is stirring their curiosity.

I’m having fun playing this all out in my head while eating a gourmet grilled fish salad pretending not to notice.  With my big Prada sunglasses (and butler in tow) my privacy is guaranteed to be respected.  No photographs, please!

(That’s me and the Parrot Cay GM at the World Travel Awards, the “Oscars” of the travel industry. A little Hollywood for the night!)

After a little sun, Sumantra has me on a pretty tight schedule. I’m headed to the uber-zen COMO Shambhala Retreat, specializing in Asian and holistic inspired therapies, to have a skin test done for the Dr. Perricone facial that I’m having at 4 PM.

I’m then whisked off to my yoga class where my fellow classmates are inside staring back at me watching Sumantra take my shoes from me and telling me he’ll be back to pick me up in an hour. I laugh to myself. This is all too much. I’m a bit apologetic as I enter the studio.

Having found my inner peace with some “remarkably taut-faced guests” Sumantra takes me back down to my villa where I find he has completely unpacked my things with borderline Obsessive Compulsive Disorder skill. 

I’m mortified! Are those really my fuzzy flannel PJ’s hanging perfectly in the closet? Why didn’t I throw in some La Perla or some Cosabella! All my makeup brushes were perfectly lined up, too!

Sumantra, can I take you home with me? I’m sure my husband won’t mind! He replies, “At your service,” with a bow.

Heaven help me…I’m becoming totally dysfunctional!

The Spa at Parrot Cay is amazing. It includes a 540 sq. ft. infinity-edge pool on the leeward side of the island, a yoga room and Pilates studio (both with specialist equipment), treatment rooms, steam, sauna and outdoor Jacuzzi garden. The smell of ginger and eucalyptus is everywhere, a distinct scent found only at COMO Resorts and Parrot Cay.

The Dr. Perricone facial is simply sublime.

I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to explain to my husband JB that I must now only use $90 Dr. Perricone eye cream if I’m going to look as “taut” as those 8-carat ladies from yoga…

The sun sets, and I have a fabulous dinner with the quietly sophisticated Crawford, the General Manager and a few other repeat guests (including the lovely Ken & Barbie couple -she was 20 yrs his junior) before retreating back to my mosquito-netted four poster for a night of slumber listening to the crashing waves.

I tell Sumantra, please don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine, but he tells me he’ll be waiting for me in the morning, but if I needed anything just call.

Okay, I do admit, this still all feels very strange to me.

Come morning, I make my way to my living room in my favorite flannel PJ’s. Sumantra is busy making me a “detoxifying blueberry smoothie“ so I head back into my room to change into my bikini to have breakfast by my pool. “At your service,” says Sumantra passing me the smoothie, bowing to me again.

I ask him all about who he is and where he’s from (getting very shy answers from him) and proceed to tell him to make himself a smoothie, too, and to please not fuss over me anymore.

He says he gets great pleasure being a Butler for guests, and that he is really quite happy and loves what he does.

I feel relieved. He really does seem peaceful and sort of “zen.”

Yes, Parrot Cay is a pure & rustic paradise, especially when you have a Butler catering to your every whim, but it’s never the same without someone you love, no matter how fabulous the place.

I returned home a few short days later  to find my darling husband welcoming be back…almost mockingly, bowing down and telling me that he was “at my service.” Now that’s the kind of VIP service money can’t buy!

No photographs please!

***Thanks so much, Sumantra. Tell Donna I said “hello,” and until we meet again…!***

Check out Condé Nast Johansens recommended hotels at: http://www.johansens.com

Titles Really Don’t Count

 

I’m headed to a very exclusive, private island hideaway: highly low key, full of interesting people, discreet service, and no matching luggage required.

I find myself sitting in a beautiful bungalow at a dock on the mainland, peacefully decorated in white-washed imported teak furniture from Bali, flourishing white orchids surrounding me, and the smell of peppermint and eucalyptus on the refreshing cold towel that I am cooling off with.

I am alone until an unassuming, cool looking gentleman enters the room, fresh off a plane, designer sunglasses still on. We wait. He is handed a cold towel by “Reki”, a beautiful Balinese woman who is there to see us off. The private boat arrives.

We are guided down the teak wood dock, where we introduce ourselves. “My name is Adam” he tells me. We get on the boat, ready to sail a half hour on the sparkling turquoise water to a white sand paradise where everyone is someone and titles don’t count. We are sitting side by side as the 85 degree sun beats down, passing chains of islands that make up our Caribbean paradise.

We pass Donna Karan’s sprawling abode, then see a sliver of Keith Richard’s island hideaway, and then Bruce Willis’ residence.

“I flew in from New York,” Adam tells me in his accent. “I used to come here back in the 80’s where I’d stay at the Third Turtle Inn on the mainland. There wasn’t much else here.”

Adam informs me that he’s returning to this paradise after several years when he used to visit the island with an old girlfriend he no longer sees.  He’s come to relax, use the spa, and eat healthy before he leaves again for London. “That’s nice,” I tell him as we stare out onto the breathtaking horizon. We talk about our love of travel as the boat slows over the tranquil waters ready to pull into the resort.

“What requires you to travel so much?” I ask Adam. “I’m a musician” he tells me. That’s interesting, I think to myself. “Are you with a group I might know?” I ask him. He humbly tells me.

Over the next 24 hrs I get to know Adam over lunch, visits by the stunning infinity pool and even taking a Pilates class with him. The truth is I really know nothing about “Adam” which I think he found to be quite a refreshing change.

Over the course of my stay he tells me about his life in a very unassuming kind of way. He recounts his childhood in Kenya, followed by boarding school in London (where he acquired the British accent rather than Irish), to public school in Dublin where he eventually met his band mates (never calling them by name,) his brief stint in a Christian rock band, openly how he got sober 10 years ago and his struggle with living a fulfilled life with all the fame and indispensable income.

Today Adams lives a more content life, enjoying what he considers the “finer” things in life (like visiting an art museum, reading and even taking Pilates or a yoga class.) Gone are the days of drugs and alcohol, endless supermodels and the excesses of an extremely high-profile person.

“Adam” I came to find is a very soulful, kind, down-to-earth person who albeit has fame, fortune and all that life has to offer, still has to live one day at a time like the rest of us. It was a fortuitous meeting for both of us in many ways, much of which I will keep private (and all very good.)

We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, and will keep in touch when he visits Boston next in September. We parted ways and he said “I’m really glad we met, good luck on your journeys and until we meet again.”

I told him, “Don’t lose sight of your dreams, Adam. You may very well become one of the most successful Christian rock stars of all times.” He laughed with me in amusement.

Adam, by the way, did tell me which band he was with back when I asked him that first day we met on the boat. “I’m with a band called U2” he told me very modestly. 

“Oh, yes, yes, of course…” I said realizing this was Adam Clayton, U2’s bass player, trying to contain my shock and amazement, all the while trying not to fall off the back of the boat.

There’s Something Fabulous About St. Barts

Jetting off from Anguilla via St. Martin (SXM) to St. Barts (French West Indies), I can’t help playing Lady Ga Ga’s “Money Honey” on my ipod to prep myself for everything fabulous about my trip to St. Barts.

Damn, I love the jag, the jet and the mansion. (Oh yeah)
And I enjoy the gifts and the trips to the islands.(Oh yeah)
It’s good to live expensive
You know it, but my knees get weak intensive
When you give me k-kisses…

The real truth is that me and my 53 lbs of luggage (filled with work stuff and shoes) were not exactly boarding a private jet or a mega-yacht like my friend, Tonya.  Win Air’s 10-seat puddle jumper (12 minutes to be exact on www.fly-winair.com) was all I really needed to get myself to paradise.  

St. Barthélémy was formed by a crashing, volcanic explosion, to become the crown jewel of the Caribbean (sold back from Sweden to France in 1878.) It’s 25 square kilometers with 22 beautiful beaches, fabulous luxurious boutiques, and a bevy of traditional Creole houses and mega yachts for your viewing pleasure.

Aside from the fact that my pilot looked like he had just graduated from high school, landing in St. Barts is an adventure in itself. Beautiful vistas of carved out beaches calm my nerves in prep for the frightful entry where I would close my eyes tight before landing. Over a mountain, drop and land. Yes, that is the ocean in my immediate sight.

Ok, I readily admit that I glorify all things St. Barts, but when you land (and open your eyes,) it’s like you have transformed yourself into one of those fabulous people you read about. You’re in St. Barts, therefore you must be fabulous.

First stop, a beautiful seaside resort called  Hotel St. Barth Isle-de-France. http://www.isle-de-france.com/ Is it my imagination or is everybody here seriously good looking? The beach boys look like they’ve stepped off the pages of French Vogue. Relaxing on the beach, I’m having one of those moments where I say to myself…”My life does not suck right now”…Cue Mr. GQ Beach Boy…“Yes, I’d love some more Evian, si vou plait. Merci.”

I see a few famous faces in the high-season crowd, decline an invitation by Mr. GQ Beach Boy for an “island tour,” and I’m off to my next stop…the highly chic Le Sereno. The fever is setting in… 

Driving in St. Barts, by the way,  is not for the faint of heart. Small cars only (Mini Coopers or Smart Cars) and the whirrrr…whizzzz….vroom….around each bend and corner playing “chicken” with each oncoming car will make you suddenly start saying prayers to ”St. Barts” (the Saint of ‘please don’t let me die today.’)

Le Sereno Hotel www.lesereno.com is located on the Grand Cul de Sac Beach and designed by famous Parisian designer Christian Liaigre. Only 37 suites, its sleek, Caribbean cool appeal is sophisticated and stylish.

With no shortage of good looking, Euro-model types dressed in crisp white linen and steel gray tanks, the appeal of this hotel is all about minimalist beach chic with lots of privacy.

By this time, ”a kill me now” fever had set in, but nothing the French version of Tylenol didn’t fix in one night. I was back to being “fabulous” by morning and off to Le Toiny (www.letoiny.com ).

Le Toiny is on the Morne Vitet with only 15 gorgeous villas (with private plunge pools). A hideaway of sorts, this Relais & Chateaux property is all about getting away with your significant other.

With a stop at the newly renovated Carl Gustaf Hotel www.hotelcarlgustaf.com overlooking the bustling Gustavia, the main town named after King Gustaf III of Sweden where all the high end shopping is found (fortunately it was Sunday so I didn’t have to find out how many euros I couldn’t afford!)…

I headed to Eden Rock to check out the new “Villa Rockstar” being debuted later this spring. With over 6,000 sq. ft. of pure minimalist luxury, if you can drum up $15,000 a night, you too can be a “rock star.” 4 master bedrooms, 2 personal assistant rooms, private pool, movie theater seating 20 and a private recording studio…

I found myself taking an inventory in my head of my own personal credentials wondering if I had what it takes to be someone’s “personal assistant.” The answer was an astounding “yes, as long as they didn’t go all ‘Naomi Campbell’ on me!”

Last stop…Hotel Guanahani & Spa. www.leguanahani.com Beautiful cottages of bright turquoise, yellows , tropical oranges and pinks make up this gorgeous beach resort set in between two beaches. With a plethora of Prada, Louis Vuittan and Pucci cover-ups on the ladies and expensive Vilebrequin swim shorts  (the St. Barts uniform for men) in sight, I headed over to the oh-so-relaxing Clarins Spa featuring Frederic Fekkai salon for a deep tissue/relaxing massage. I’m having another one of those “my life doesn’t suck moments.”

 

So with one last buttery croissant, finishing up the actual work meetings that I promise did take place and putting the hotel inspector’s stamp of approval on Le Guanahani for 2010, this Cinderella was headed home via St. Martin with one stop in the beautiful and historic Old San Juan, Puerto Rico.

Au revoir, mon amie! Thank you, St. Barts, for bringing out “all things fabulous” in me!