Pop, Lock & Drop It

Tiny Anguilla has the best beaches in the Caribbean, no contest. And when it comes to pumping out sunny reggae beats and being a foodie pioneer, it bolts ahead of its bigger brothers

There’s a great-value, feel-good place on Crocus Bay selling barbecued baby-back ribs and Piña Coladas. Everyone tries to get to da’Vida by 11 am to bag a lounger in the shade, but even if you’re late someone will shuffle along to share.

Up on stage, Omari Banks plays smooth R&B and light reggae; chickens scratch about in the sand, and hummingbirds steal sips from rum punches. Before lunch I take a long, lazy swim to neighbouring Little Bay, where kids climb up a craggy rock face to leap, squealing excitedly, into the sea. I could get used to Sundays like this. It is the West Indies I remember best; gentle as the Eighties Lilt advert with steel-band beats and that fanciful strapline, ‘a totally tropical taste’.

A skinny, flat island in the Lesser Antilles, Anguilla attracts an entirely different crowd to St Barth’s, which is just a 10-minute flight away. They say you go to St Barth’s to be seen, and to Anguilla not to be. Here the talk is about food rather than fashion, music rather than money. This is where Robert De Niro reads film scripts from his base at the supremely private Cerulean Villa, long known as the island’s best. Last year Justin Bieber spent a quiet family Christmas at the new Beach House on Meads Bay, with its clean lines, basketball hoops and infinity pool.

The real allure of Anguilla is its unassuming ways and sensational beaches backed by clapboard Wendy houses painted in sugar-almond pastels or bold rasta stripes. The Valley, its tiny capital, is but a few low-slung government buildings and a row of food trucks called The Strip serving conch soup, roti and salt-fish patties. Children walk to school in uniforms matching the colour of their building so you know where they belong, from the pinks of Orealia Kelly Primary to the greens of Vivien Vanterpool. There are herds of friendly goats and incessantly crowing cockerels. You’re woken up by a cock-a-doodle-doo no matter where you are.

Deliciously laid-back and instinctively unhurried, Anguilla is one of the few places in the world where time feels in good supply. Only 15,000 people live here and almost everyone knows each other or might even be related; there seems to be only a half-dozen surnames on the island. There are six traffic lights, but people are so considerate there is no real need for road rules. A taxi driver from Dominica tells me he moved here ‘for the quiet life’, a sentiment echoed by a masseuse from Jamaica, a bellboy from Guyana and a barman from St Kitts. There’s even a waitress from Nevis, who says she came here to escape ‘the rat race back home’.

I want to find Anguilla’s oldest resident to see if life here has always been this way, so I meet 95-year-old Daisy Wong (her surname was actually ‘Juan’ but nobody could pronounce it) at the public library. She’s dressed in her Sunday best and doesn’t let go of my hand as we talk. Yes, she says, things are much the same as when she was a little girl, except ‘we dressed better back then’. A real force of nature, Daisy was introduced to me as a poet and revolutionary. She delivers on both counts, reciting long stanzas she has written about the uprising against the British in the late 1960s.

‘Anguillians were yet to meet them with machetes, sticks and stones; rolling tanks and driving trucks ready to break their bones; the spirit of God had left them for they suffered hard and long; and now they were more determined, God made their spirit strong.’

Daisy herself served as a lookout on the beaches, tasked to warn when British boats were approaching. But the truth is this fragment of coral and limestone has never attracted much attention. After planting the flag, the British mostly overlooked this island and went about establishing ties with more attractive Commonwealth nations such as Barbados and Antigua. Small and barren with thin soil and low rainfall, it was described by an English politician in the late 17th century as a land ‘fit for little or nothing but goats’. Elsewhere in the region, cotton, tobacco and sugarcane plantations flourished and slaves-turned- subsistent farmers from Anguilla took to jumping on schooners to find seasonal work cutting cane in the Dominican Republic and British Virgin Islands.

It may be barren, but Anguilla has, hands down, the finest beaches in the Caribbean. From the best swimming at two-mile-long Rendezvous Bay to the perfect curve of Maundays Bay; the rollers, pelicans and beach bars of Meads (pronounced Maids) Bay, and remote Captain’s Bay, where dolphins play in the surf. Fridays are spent chewing over where to spend the weekend, one of the toughest decisions of the week.

But Anguilla is not go-slow in every way. The island is positively pioneering when it conies to food. It all started with Malliouhana hotel on the cliffs above Meads Bay and Turtle Cove, my favourite place to stay. When the British owner Leon Roydon opened the hotel more than 30 years ago, he hired Michelin-star-garnering French chef Joseph Rostang to oversee the restaurant, flew in quality ingredients, built up a vast private wine cellar carved into the cliffs and reset the culinary standard in the region.

‘Roydon was a visionary,’ says Albert Lake, Malliouhana’s sommelier, who was 22 years old when the hotel opened. ‘He built a five-star property when there was nothing here. No paved roads, a few gas lamps and an airfield where beaten-up planes flew in from time to time.’

In the hotel’s kitchen the training was rigorous, and staff were dispatched to Antiles to hone their cooking and service skills. ‘They said to me, “Albert, you’re going to work with the sommelier.” “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s the man who pours the wine.” And then they sent me to vineyards in France and Italy to learn all about it.’

Malliouhana helped raise the bar for cooking island-wide, from down-home restaurants such as Tastys, owned by one of the hotel’s former cooks Dale Carty, to incredibly smart hotels such as Cap Juluca and the new Four Seasons, formerly the Viceroy. Tokyo Bay, the Japanese restaurant at CuisinArt Resort, may be nothing to look at, but Joe Richardson’s food is a blast. He picks his own ingredients from the hotel’s half-acre hydroponic farm, which grows edible flowers, oversized aubergines and microgreens, and his seafood is caught in the Atlantic fishing grounds off the island’s north shore. Richardson charges New York prices for his 10-course omakase menu, but then it is also of a New York standard: tomato ceviche with olive oil, spicy-citrusy togarashi yuzu powder and puffed rice; tuna, foie gras, sherry-unagi reduction and gold leaf; toro with chimichurri and ponzu; lobster roll with shiso-garlic butter and crispy carrot. I can recount the courses like my 12-times table. I’ll remember that meal forever.

At Veya restaurant chef Carrie Bogar tells me how she and her family upped sticks and moved here from Pennsylvania. ‘We wanted somewhere small but with a big-city clientele, and this was it.’ Sure, she admits, there are challenges running a restaurant on a remote island. Bogar tries to source produce locally, which can mean supplies are unreliable and small-batch: tomatoes from a taxi driver, baby rocket from a bank clerk and salad leaves from the guy who peddles solar-powered panels. But she says diners don’t blink when the menu reads, ‘carpaccio of conch with Asian cucumber chayote-squash slaw, and Moroccan-spiced shrimp cigars, roasted-tomato chermoula and sweet but piquant apricot sauce’.

When the feast is over the music starts. There is nowhere in the Caribbean, other than Jamaica, with so many good live bands. Anguilla’s coolest star has long been Bankie Banx (Omari Banks’ father), a folk-reggae singer who’s more Bob Dylan than Bob Marley with a musical career dating back to the 1960s when he made his first guitar. After world tours, he’s back hollering at his own haunt, Dune Preserve, a beach shack of split-level decks and makeshift stages with leads underfoot connecting keyboards to speakers and a strong whiff of marijuana in the air. The bucket for tips is weighed down by seashells. The first time I heard Banx play a decade ago he told me off for dancing on the tables. ‘You should be listening to the music,’ he said. He was right. Now I know better.

One afternoon at his ironically named Sunday School gig (let’s face it, there’s not a lot of religious instruction going on here) Banx played with Konstantin Merezhnikov, a Russian violinist. I’d fly half-way around the world to hear such beautiful, ad-hoc harmonies again.

Banx’s 27-year-old daughter Tahirah belts out her own compositions with a voice that hovers between Macy Gray and Lauryn Hill. Over a drink, her brother Omari tells me about his time as an off-spin bowler for the West Indies. ‘I’d play my guitar for my cricketing colleagues back in Somerset, or when we were stuck in hotels in Lahore,’ he says. We‘re joined by his old coach, Cardigan Connor, another former county cricketer, who is now Anguilla’s tourism chief ‘When I played for Hampshire, I’d come home in the winter and train on the world’s most beautiful beaches while my team mates were running in the rain back in England. I knew I was lucky. Anguillians are lucky.’

The following night I’m at another nightspot. The Pumphouse at Sandy Ground, once a salt-refining mill that backed on to Road Salt Pond. The Musical Brothers are a Thursday institution; they have only missed two gigs in 18 years, once because the lead singer had a sore throat and the second time when the bass player died.

The Pumphouse is owned by Laurie Gumbs, who has something of a buccaneer spirit about him. By day he is captain of a 50ft gaff-cutter-rigged sloop called Tradition, one of only three historic sailing vessels left in the Caribbean. Carrying neither winches nor windlasses, and with a 60ft mast made out of an electricity pole, this boat has plied the trade winds carrying cargo and contraband around the region; now Gumbs offers day trips and sunset cruises.

I want to see Anguilla from the sea and Gumbs invites me aboard. We meet at Sandy Ground, the main harbour where fishermen offload their catch and where there are bobbing boats named Happiness Joy and Bliss. As we set sail, he tells me about the strong sailing heritage and that boat-racing is the national sport. ‘They say if two boats meet in these waters, a race is born,’ he says.

We anchor, he strings up a bimini (a canvas top), and serves creamy lobster rolls. I jump in the sea for a snorkel and then float on my back, looking up at cliffs dotted with cacti named Pope’s Hat and Pipe Organ.

The next day I head to Prickly Pear, a pair of uninhabited islands six miles offshore, where Anguillians come to laze on the hot, white sand and swim in the incredible aquamarine sea. Snorkelling reveals nurse sharks and barracuda weaving through rock formations beside sunken shipwrecks.

I order a whole grilled snapper at Johnno’s beach shack, where finches flit between the tables. The owner tells me about how his first bar was built from the wood of dozens of rum barrels, and how he used to fish from Monday to Saturday then cook up a storm for long lunches on Sundays. He is also the only father of triplets on the island.

Johnno made me swear I’d go to a Sunday jazz session at his mainland outpost, Johnno’s Beach Stop. When I drop by it‘s rammed.

I’m now beginning to recognise people and they greet me like an old friend: the boatman, Johnno’s three identical daughters. The lead musician, Sprocka, turns out to be Daisy Wong’s son. This kind of thing happens all the time here.

On my last day I am at

on Rendezvous Bay. There’s a hand- painted surfboard on the root plus a few Christmas decorations and giant shamrocks from St Patrick’s Day parties. I sit on the sand eating barbecued chicken legs. The band is playing Gregory Isaacs’ ‘Night Nurse’. A guy with a saxophone joins in. Garvey stops by for a chat. The sun dips lower. I go for a swim behind the break. On my way up the beach I ask the waiter, Teak, when they shut up shop. ‘Not until everyone’s had enough,’ he smiles. It was going to be a long night.

Anguilla: Tuning In Hotels & Villas.

On a bluff overlooking Meads Bay and Turtle Cove, Malliouhana, an Auberge Resort, reopened in late 2014 after a three-year makeover incorporating chinoiserie, vintage diving bells, mirrored floor tiles and Haitian art by Jasmin Joseph. There’s a two-tiered pool, spa and superb restaurant under chef Cupertino Ortiz.

The 35-acre Four Seasons Resort and Private Residences Anguilla has taken over the Viceroy, long known for being the best spot for sundowners with aged rums, Cuban cigars and crispy sushi. There’s also the signature restaurant Cobà on the headland, and the stealth beach hideaway Half Shell on Barnes Bay serving salads and wraps.

Known for its great snorkelling and watersports, 63-room Zemi Beach House Resort and Spa on Shoal Bay East is the freshest hotel on the scene. The spa is in a 300-year-old wooden house brought from Thailand plank by plank. There’s also a toes-in-the-sand restaurant, tennis court and rum bar.

Some say the 179-acre Greco-Moorish Cap Juluca is on the island’s most perfect beach: Maundays Bay, where all 69 rooms front the sand. There are tennis clinics, fitness classes and a wellness centre, and cheery staff who bring around chilled flannels, iced water and sorbet.

CuisinArt Golf Resort and Spa has a spa and 18-hole Greg Norman-designed golf course. This is a brilliant place for foodies: farm-to-table produce, acclaimed restaurants, including Tokyo Bay, cooking classes and wine tastings. High-end sister hotel, The Reef by CuisinArt, is due to open this month.

At Las EsQuinas in Little Harbour, more a gorgeous home than a hotel, Robin Ogilvie has created a breezy bed-and-breakfast decorated with travel mementoes. The showpiece in the living room is the ‘biggest cock on the island’, an eight-foot, hand-painted wooden rooster from Bali.

Classic Cerulean Villa on Barnes Bay is one of the largest, loveliest and best-managed houses to rent on the island, decorated by New Yorker Scott Salvator and with some covetable artworks, ceruleanvilla.com.

Beach House is a smart new villa on Meads Bay with eight bedrooms, split-level decks and terraces, an infinity pool, a tennis court, gym, theatre, basketball hoop and games room, all done up in a contemporary style.

Restaurants

Behind an enchanting entrance of blossoming white bougainvillaea is De Cuisine. Denise Carr’s dishes, which change regularly, include foie-gras mousse with spiced-mango preserve and hibiscus reduction, and shrimp-stuffed dumplings with lobster broth.

My favourite lunch spot is Blanchard’s Beach Shack for its chunky gazpacho, flat-bread sandwiches, pulled-pork tacos and flat-top hot dogs. Bargain big bowls come with a mountain of jerk chicken, rice, black beans, sweetcorn salsa, pico degallo, onion and Monterey Jack cheese.

On the more remote side of the island, the area around Hibernia Restaurant Art is great for good surf and boogie-boarding. There’s a delicious mix of Thai, French and Japanese food here: smoked fish with horseradish and ginger cream cheese on brown bread; wahoo in shio goji with purple sticky rice; crayfish with vanilla and lemon grass. Plus there’s a brilliant collection of Asian art; the owners source the paintings from Burma to Bali.

Straw Hat has recently moved to the Frangipani Hotel alongside some of the best beach-front joints. The low-key menu has West Indian veggie burgers, NYC-style bagels, spring rolls and spicy fish sandwiches. It also has some of the loveliest souvenirs, with bold graphic T-shirts, signage made from driftwood and cookbooks.

Beaches

Maundays Bay is small and perfect: a sweeping one-mile crescent. Meads Bay is a wide and expansive with top hotels, villas and restaurants. Rendezvous Bay, my favourite, has laid-back bars and guesthouses facing the hills of St Martin.