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the Zen of Antigua
If A is for Antigua then Z is for Zen at The Hermitage resort where Patricia Von Levern slathers herself in luxury and elegance
From the VC Bird airport in Antigua to the quaint village
of Jennings the taxi ride was pleasant, rural scenes of island life and a few animals running wild along the way. We looked forward to unwinding from the pressure and hassle of corporate life. Suddenly, we drove off the smooth asphalt on to a crude dirt road, with no signs until we passed the entry pillars with blazing purple bougainvilleas lining the drive way to the hotel.
We were greeted with welcome drinks of ice-cold lime and mint. Passing the picturesque beach cottages where one could open folding doors and go about 50 yards to the sea, I couldn’t resist slipping my sandals off to feel the warm sand on my feet, but we chose a hillside cottage. It was an adventure being in the small buggy climbing the narrow pathway; every inch of land was covered with tropical shrubs, flowers, trees and vines, and scented blossoms perfumed the air.

A king-size four-poster bed dressed in crisp white Italian linens invited me to relax. Discovering a state-of-the-art bathroom, I shed my travel-stained clothes and climbed into a sculpted bath tub meant for two, and slathered on aromatherapy scrubs placed conveniently for my use. Out the back door was a unique rain shower; being there in the buff, amongst trees and hidden by foliage was a tantalising experience.

Each cottage has its own plunge pool, situated beside a wraparound veranda; luxurious sofas and soft cushions lay near by. Wrapped in plush white robes provided for us, we relaxed with a glass of wine and enjoyed the spectacular view of mountains and the ocean in peaceful silence—no radios or chatter, just birds twittering and the occasional rustle of leaves.

Refreshed and ready to explore, I meandered down the shady walk admiring the skillful interweaving of the surrounding hills, the lagoon and the pristine bay it embraces. Coming upon a rambling bar where guest meet and mingle, order tasty snacks, sip iced lattes or just read a book, I found Carlton, the bartender, who flashed his infectious smile and offered me a delicious pineapple mango cocktail. I curled up on a covered divan next to the shimmering infinity pool and lazily watched the sea as waves gently rolled on to the shore.

Dining is a culinary experience at The Hermitage Bay. Breakfast and lunch can be served wherever you like, but at night the dining room reflects pure elegance. We sat on chairs swathed in white cotton, and with lighted candles on flower-laden tables, there was romance in the air as we sipped a glass of fine champagne. Resident manager Michael

Eutrope, a sophisticated and witty Frenchman from Guadeloupe, wished us a pleasant evening. Having worked for several years in Antigua, he described The Hermitage Bay as “Exactly the type of hotel I wanted to work—intimate, beautiful surroundings. For what more can I wish, n’est ce pa?’’

My order of plump seared scallops in a delicate cream sauce with seaweed and tiny mushrooms was succulent, followed by a delicious breast of duck with a fragrant wine and raspberry sauce on a pillow of crushed cassava served with a salad of greens fresh from the garden. To finish our meal Chef Desi sent us a concoction of local Black Antigua pineapple, in a baked crumble, topped with iced cream balls. Soft tradewinds cooled the air as the strains of old folk melodies were heard; a local entertainer played his guitar, and sang a few well-known calypsos.

Later, we walked in the moonlight at the water’s edge and saw the water turn silver; the sand was still warm and some yachts anchored out at sea bobbed in the reflection of shimmering lights. This is how I dreamed cool tropical nights would be. Wonderful food, excellent service and charming staff are the keys to any establishment but it is the peace and serenity found at the resort which endears us to this little paradise. One of the owners, Jamaican-born Swiss-trained Andrew Mitchelin, told me it was his concept which has come to fruition. He said, “We will never be a large hotel. It is the aim at The Hermitage Bay for the guest to experience a feeling of being physically rejuvenated and to leave the resort refreshed, able to face the world outside with renewed vigour”·

An unexpected legacy of the hurricanes and tropical storms that have struck Grenada’s coastline in recent years has been the construction of the world’s first underwater sculpture park. Shocked by the damage to the reefs, British sculptor and diver Jason de Caires Taylor, 33, was moved to give nature a helping hand by installing an artificial reef on the sea bed at Molinere Bay just north of capital town St George’s. Reefs the world over are desperately endangered and installing artificial ones helps to provide a habitat for marine life and allow corals to grow and develop naturally. I had heard all sorts of comments about these sculptures. Most of the pieces are fashioned from bodycasts the artist took of local people and were inspired by Grenadian history and folk tales. “Eerie,’’ said one person I spoke to. “Why?’’ said another. “Fantastic,’’ someone else remarked. I was fascinated by this work but I didn’t know what to expect.

First of all I couldn’t find it. I was expecting signposts, like a notice saying “sculpture park here’’ with a big arrow. We sailed up and down a few times until we found the rocky little cove with a tiny beach in the corner. There is nothing theme park or Disney about this place. You have to interact with it and go and find the sculptures yourself, which all adds to the adventure.

I slipped into the water and swam up and down searching, not really knowing what I was looking for. Then I floated into a shoal of tiny fish; I parted my hands sending a ripple of shimmering bubbles aside and there it was about 15 feet below me—a dark indistinct figure kneeling all alone on the ocean bed. It was Sienna. When I looked closer I could see she was made of wire. She is a character from a story who was able to dive to great depths. She was taken advantage of by hunters for sunken treasure and her story ends in tragedy and betrayal.

Further off lie the figures which make Grace Reef, all cast from the body of a Grenadian woman named Grace. They lie scattered in the sand like huge heavy ingots. There are 16 but I couldn’t spot them all because sometimes they become hidden as the sand washes over them.

I really wanted to see The Lost Correspondent and I eventually found it deep down in between two dark rocks. A man sits at a desk, empty except for an old manual typewriter. It had a sense of humour about it and it is a comment on how rapidly communication has changed. When it was made, the top of the desk was laminated with old newspaper articles about Grenada’s political history. Over the months it has been down there, the stories have become obliterated by the build-up of silt.

de Caires Taylor chose this material so that marine life could easily adhere to the surface and grow—just like children.

And then I found La Diablesse. This was the figure that someone had told me was so eerie that she didn’t want to see it. Now I can see why. In herdeep and dark watery ravine she looks sinister. In French, her name means She Devil and she comes from an old Caribbean folktale. The fish swam in and out of the rib bones of her skeletal body. Her face is hidden under a widebrimmed hat. When she was made she had eye sockets but now they are filled with sea plants. Her skirts are weeds flowing in the water like petticoats.

The photographs on de Caires Taylor’s website that document the various states of transformation as the sculptures change from their original pristine state and gradually return to nature are fascinating to see, and it is surprising just how much they have altered in less than a year. This otherworldly experience is equally rewarding for the casual snorkeller and the scuba diver. Floating weightlessly in the warm clear water above this astonishing installation, senses distorted by being submerged, the fragile beauty of our underwater world is revealed.

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