Jean greets us with a warm smile and a rich island accent. "Welcome, have the best table in the house," she says. "I'm going to make sure you get everything you need." It's after 3 and Peter Island Resort's Deadman's Beach Bar & Grill is nearly deserted, but this little dose of island hospitality is just what we need. After oversleeping, rushing out of the house without breakfast or showers, nearly missing our flight and realizing we left behind the bag with most of my clothes, Jean's friendly invitation is the first good thing that's happened to us all day.
My husband, who was in charge of the alarm clock and the bags, senses a thaw in my mood. "Would punching me help?" he asks. For the first time today, I'm inclined to giggle instead of taking him up on his offer. Instead, I drink in the view of Deadman's Bay, the resort's hub. It's storybook beautiful here, with miles of white powdery sand, swaying coconut palms and glittering blue-green waters dotted with sailboats. Situated in the British Virgin Islands on 1,200 acres of lush tropical landscape tumbling toward the sea, the resort never hosts more than 116 guests at one time, and we are lucky enough to be two of them.
Jean returns with lunch, bubbling over with "must-do's" during our stay. Her pride is obvious. When I ask how long she's worked here, Jean smiles and gazes at the bay. "I came here in 1984," she says. "The only way I'd leave -- well, they'd have to run me off."
Cocooning in our elegant mini-suite on Deadman's Bay is the highlight of our day. Slipping into his-and-her robes, we watch the warm light of sunset soften the horizon, feeling like we're the only people on earth. Four hours on Peter Island and my bad mood has gone out with the tide.
For dinner we head to Tradewinds, the resort's gourmet restaurant overlooking Sir Francis Drake Channel. As other guests trickle in, we spot honeymooners holding hands across candlelit tables and "old marrieds" like ourselves more inclined to socialize with other couples. The buffet is excellent and perfectly complemented by a steel-drum serenade drifting in from the patio. After dinner we stroll along the channel, happening upon two lovers dancing in the moonlight. They hesitate. "Don't stop," I call. They don't, so we join in for a moment before moving along.
Our days are filled with every activity we can imagine: water sports (non-motorized, to keep the peace), spa treatments, hiking, tennis. But our favorite pursuits are those only a private island can offer, like spending an afternoon on secluded White Bay beach. We're joined by some new friends -- two 40-something couples like us, with kids, busy lives and the need to escape for a few days.
Precisely at 1 p.m., as requested, the resort staff delivers our picnic lunch. After the feast we venture to the north end of the bay to take in the show, an underwater extravaganza starring parrotfish, blue tangs, yellow jacks and elegant sea fans waving in perfect unison. Emerging from our snorkeling expedition thirsty, we happily find that, although the resort feels remote, the service is not. The staff is happy to bring us a few ice-cold Caribs. And we're happy to enjoy them.
Just before sunset, we take a 20-minute ride to the far end of the island to visit The Loop, a lookout point that juts into the sea, with steep drop-offs on all sides. Before us, rising from the water, are dollops of green: Norman Island, Anegada and St. John.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours," the driver says, leaving wine and cheese. Once the car disappears, there's no sign of civilization in sight. As the sun drops low, turning the sky a hundred shades of gold, we toast each other, and this place.
The afterglow shifts to pink, then purple, then a deep blue, and Jean's lilting voice echoes in my mind. "The only way I'd leave -- well, they'd have to run me off."
Posted online 03/23/04.
