By 4:30pm, with everyone present and correct, the steward ushered us over the tarmac towards a nine-seater, settling us into its charmingly scuffed leather seats. Taking off ahead of schedule, we spent only 25 minutes in the air before our pilots made a swooping right turn towards a tiny landing strip with a green and blue painted terminal. Goats grazed nearby and a dog wagged its tail in welcome, while jade-cloaked mountains loomed above.
We had touched down in Bequia (pronounced Beck-way) from Barbados, a slither of an island in the Grenadines shaped like a lightning bolt. Neatly guarded by the neighbouring islands of St Vincent and Mustique — and only 9km long and 2km wide — you can easily walk across it. We had flown there in an ex-air ambulance, remodelled by the Bequia Beach Hotel, our final destination, to smooth the passage of its guests to this hard-to-reach island. Clambering into one of the converted pick-up trucks you see all over the island, we set off for the sweep of Friendship Beach, the warm afternoon breeze softening our travel-weary faces. The Atlantic coastline sped past in a blur of fishing villages and chattel houses, like a sun-washed postcard from the sleepy Caribbean of old.
