There's a Place in the sun...

“There’s a Place in The Sun and Before “Your” Life is Done……”
Palm Island, The Grenadines, West Indies
 
(With thanks to Stevie Wonder for a fabulous top ten hit in 1966)
 
My first visit to Palm Island was forty years ago – in November of 1979. The trip was memorable for all the right reasons, not the least of which was nearly primitive nature of the place – a 135-acre island resort, devoid of a hotel, but bespeckled with “villas”.

Without an airfield or even a makeshift runway, Palm Island was accessible only by water. The sole restaurant on the island was the open-air dining room which played second fiddle to the glorious old bar where rum punch was available for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

There was a distinctly European flavor to the island back then – John and Mary Caldwell, the American couple who owned and managed the resort seem to revel in their own “non-American-ness”. The atmosphere was sybaritic – exuding a hideaway quality that felt like an invitation to visit with a spouse or a lover, undisturbed by the commotion wrought by families with children.  

For “activity”, one could snorkel, or arrange to have a massage, or even play tennis – but (with credit to Noel Coward) only “mad dogs and Englishmen” would run around a tennis court on this island that is less than 1000 miles from the equator. For added adventure, one could take a decidedly un-fancy boat to visit the nearby islands of Mayreau or Petit Saint Vincent. And that was it.

The ambience beckoned one to lie in a hammock and read a book, to observe the chameleons and the iguanas, the turtles and the sandpipers. And that’s just what we did.

Back then was long before the birth of Kindle and Nook, Wi-Fi and the internet. There was no ability to text friends or telegraph to the world on Facebook or Instagram the beauty of the place – it was unadvertised and almost unknown.

After a blissful ten-day vacation, I left Palm Island, not sure if I would ever see it again. The memories would last forever as would the friendship that was kindled with a Swiss couple who’d been coming for a number of years.

Fast forward to the late 1990’s when the couple, whom I’d visited on several occasions at their home in Bern (Switzerland), bought property atop the most scenic of Palm Island’s three miniature “mountains”. Villa Alma Viva they called the home they made for themselves, which had breathtaking views of the sea from every room.  

“Come and visit us,” they begged, and I did, year after year, sometimes for a week at a time and often for just a few days. Life centered around their mountain top abode, and I paid little heed to what was happening at the resort.    

But on my latest trip, less than a month ago, I set out on a mission – to re-explore the island in detail, to see if that magical primitive aura of forty years ago still permeated the place. Armed with my cell phone’s “health app”, I was able to measure the periphery of the island – it is exactly two miles. A few more private homes now dot the hillsides and several new trails up into the “mountains” offer the opportunity for a strenuous walk.
As for the resort itself, little has changed – the tennis court has few scuff marks across its green surface, a sign that the “mad dogs and Englishman” have come to their senses. The spa, now refurbished but still simple, offers an array of sublime treatments – including a languorous soak in a gardenia-filled tub in the gentle shade on the beach. The “villas” have a more elegant look, but they remain bungalow style. A casual outdoor restaurant has been added and the wonderful old bar has undergone a facelift – not as homey as its predecessor, but it still offers rum punch any time of the day or night. A boat from “unfashionable” Union Island is still the only way to discover this hideaway.

The iguanas continue to stroll about like small (and occasionally large) sentinels, as though the island is theirs and we’re merely temporary intruders – and they have it just right.

One concession to the demands of 21st century visitors is the availability of Wi-Fi on the island, but for the most part, time has stood still on the resort.

Palm Island is not for everyone – there is no glitz, no concierge service, no reason to bring a single piece of fancy jewelry or a pair of high heeled shoes. It remains a place where simple pleasures abound – reading, napping, getting a massage to recuperate from a frantic world “back home” (wherever home is). Romance is in the air on Palm Island – it once was, still is and hopefully will remain a paradise for lovers.