Caribbean Getaway Guide: 5 Reasons to Go

BARBADOS: Food and Wine and Rum Festival
A legion of Food Network junkies invades Barbados seeking rum punch, cooking techniques and the juicy secrets behind Top Chef. By Anicka Quin

I'm trying to convince a rum shop owner I can be trusted. It's a steamy day in Barbados, and I've popped into the John Moore Bar for a classic rum punch. The fruit juice, nutmeg and bitters-rich drink, in a glass wet with condensation, tastes like nectar of the gods at this moment, and I have visions of lying poolside at home with the same bittersweet treat—if I can just get the recipe. "I live too far away to steal your secrets," I plead. He's not having any of it—though one of his customers is helpful. "Make sure it's at least half rum," jumps in Glindon, a glassy-eyed regular at the shop, who's had a few half-rum drinks himself. A chorus of men soon joins him on this point. "Yes! Half rum! Make sure!"

I'd landed a couple of days ago in Barbados for the country's first Food and Wine and Rum festival (organized by Food & Wine magazine, hence the conjunction-heavy title) to learn more about the art of food from the pros. Tom Colicchio, Marcus Samuelsson, Ming Tsai, Fergus Henderson and Vancouver's Iron Chef, Rob Feenie, round out the who's who of top chefs.

I'd been keen to get island-bound in a dreary winter, but there's another draw for me. I love Caribbean cuisine. Growing up in a Toronto suburb where roti stands and Ting sodas were as ubiquitous as the sushi shops are in my current hometown of Vancouver, I associate comfort food with island spice. Ten years into my life out West, I still lament how tough it is to find a decent roti.

Barbados has a reputation for being the culinary capital of the Caribbean. I suspect that status hangs largely on the shoulders of Sandy Lane resort (Tiger Woods wed here) and the Cliff, local favourite of Rihanna, Rod Stewart and Mariah Carey—both five-star spots where the locale plays as much a role as the fairly Western menus. But the rum shops that dot the roadsides are a part of that, too: pudding and souse (pickled pork with sweet potatoes) is a brunch favourite; cutter sandwiches—best found at Cuz's Fish Shack, a 40-year institution on the beach just outside the Hilton resort—are filled with fish, tomato and pickle, and topped with Scotch bonnet sauce, mayo and an egg or cheese, and are can't-stop-at-one divine. And then there's my favourite: mac pie, an island variation of mac and cheese that takes a hit of warmth from hot sauce. It's spicy food, comfort food, food that's cooling as it heats, food that's meant to be enjoyed outside.

The festival itself celebrates Bajan cuisine, but it's about sharing the visiting chefs' favourites as well. Opening night at the Hilton sees local tastes like bite-size fish cakes dipped in homemade Bajan hot sauce, grilled prawns, steamed pork buns (and, of course, rum punch) right on the beach. All the chefs are there, intermingling with the guests, though Top Chef host Tom Colicchio is the star attraction. It's a theme that continues for the rest of the weekend. After showing a crowd of 30 how to dress a roast at his cooking demo, the owner of such New York stalwarts as Craft and Colicchio & Sons opened questions to the crowd—assuming, you'd think, that they'd want a few more home cooking tips. Not exactly. "Have you ever considered doing a kosher-themed Top Chef?" asks one breathless guest. "Um, not really," replies Colicchio.

Ambrosia, the pinnacle event of the festival, takes place under a tent while a rainstorm thunders down. But the chaos of the flash storm seems fitting to the frenetic pace with which the international chefs dish out their hometown favourites: Ming Tsai brings a soba noodle sushi with tea-smoked salmon; Marcus Samuelsson, prawns on grits. And Feenie's classic butternut squash ravioli with mascarpone—modified to include a local sugar pumpkin—draws the biggest lineup, its combination of salty and sweet the perfect pairing to the rum punch cocktails.

It's foodie heaven, all right. But bliss comes later, when, despite our full bellies, we trundle down to Oistins for one last hit of local food outside festival turf. It's a fishing village that over the years has turned into an open-air party where locals and tourists gather to dance soca (or ballroom, for more romantic types) on Friday nights. Flying fish, kingfish, lobster, snapper—it's all on offer by local barbecuers who dish it up with classic sides of mac pie, cou cou (cornmeal and okra) or rice and beans. Bottles of Banks beer are a cool three for $5, and the night runs long and late—with nothing but love around the dance floor, as toddlers mingle with octogenarians out for their Friday night social.

It's a moment that comes back to me as I sip on my jury-rigged rum punch back in rainy Vancouver, and—like the heat of the Scotch bonnet peppers that permeate this island cuisine—warms me again.

DOMINICA: Champagne Reef Snorkelling
The King himself leads a couple around Dominica, one of the Caribbean's undiscovered gems. by Jesse Spencer

Like most visitors to Dominica—one of the least known of the Lesser Antilles—we arrived on a cruise ship. "Not much there," offered a fellow passenger, a veteran of Caribbean cruising, who opted to stay on board Liberty of the Seas for the day. He gave a dismissive wave. "Hardly any decent shopping."

That sounded promising, actually, and once we'd met up with the guide we'd hired online—a thoughtful, studious fellow named Elvis—and hopped into his air-conditioned taxi, we knew we were in for a great day. Elvis led us on a poke around the port city (and capital), Roseau, before heading up into the mountains. It turned out that his grandmother was a legendary herbalist, and that he himself was an expert biologist and proud island historian.

Each time we'd stop to take a dip in thermal pools, or wade upstream into the cavern Johnny Depp leaps into in Pirates of the Caribbean, or enjoy a spectacular vista—the ruggedly mountainous, 750-square-kilometre island is cut through with dramatic valleys—Elvis would give us a discourse on political corruption, or real estate prices, or the battles to colonize the island in the 18th century. (The Brits prevailed over the French.)

Its many microclimates make Dominica a riot of exotic flora and fauna. A dozen times or more Elvis stopped to point out a rare bird (including a Sisserou parrot, which adorns the commonwealth's flag), or break open the stem of a tropical plant so we could sniff it as he described its properties. "Pregnant women make a tea from this to stop a hemorrhage." Or: "You rub it on the skin to make broken bones heal faster."

We ended the outing with some of the best snorkelling to be found in the Caribbean, on Champagne Reef, so named for the tiny bubbles that rise from geothermal fissures in the ocean floor, then Elvis chauffeured us back to the ship with mere minutes to spare. Trading Facebook and email addresses, we asked about villa rentals and told him the next time we came it would not be for the day. The island with "not much there" has unspoiled natural beauty, a welcoming vibe and variety enough to keep anyone happy for weeks on end.

ARUBA: Kite-Surfing
Aruba's wind-swept shores make it a draw for water sports enthusiasts and the odd joiner, too. By Anicka Quin

I'm just going to say it: my instructor's chest hair is a little distracting. I've arrived at the beach at Fisherman's Huts in Aruba for my first attempt at kitesurfing and the Belgian god in front of me, muscles rippled from years on the water with chest hair that, yes, actually softly blows in the breeze, is making it hard to concentrate. Given that I'm about to try to harness some serious knots of wind by way of an oversize kite, it's not the ideal time to lose focus.

I'm a reluctant athlete. I've managed a few half-marathons, I'm a boot-camp regular, I kayak in summer and I ski in winter. I also consider myself naturally untalented in all of the above, and seem to persevere despite the evidence that I shouldn't. But, like a lot of people I know, I exercise because it's good for me. And though I'm just as keen to spend my time in Aruba lounging with my copy of The Help, piña colada in hand, I also like to feel like I've earned the right to do so.

Aruba is one of the breeziest islands, its unobstructed trade winds making it a draw for sailing and windsurfing fanatics (with the added bonus that said breeze makes even 30°C days feel comfortable). Kitesurfing—a hybrid sport where riders have a sail that is high up in the air, harnessed to their body as a means of providing direction to the board on their feet—is one of those slightly newer sports that attracts windsurfers and wakeboarders who think they're ready for a challenge. I haven't windsurfed since I was a tween at summer camp (and by "windsurf" I mean "didn't actually get the sail up out of the water") so I figure I'm pretty prepared. But the waters of Fisherman's Huts beach are a beginner's dream: just deep and flat enough to get moving, but shallow enough—I hope—to keep me from drowning.

But back to the lesson. After some time on dry land to get a sense of how to operate the kite, Belgian god decides we're ready for the water. I'm up first, playing with the tension in the ropes while the instructor keeps a firm hand on my harness. And I'm feeling pretty great. Maybe my awkward athleticism is behind me! Maybe I was destined for extreme sports after all!

And then he lets go of me. My first instinct is to put on the brakes, pronto: I pull down hard on the tension ropes and fly up, up and out of the water. My bikini bottoms stay behind. Yes, I've just mooned the Belgian god.

I hand him my harness, grab my book, and head for the beach bar.

Aruba Active Vacations offers beginner's kitesurfing lessons at Fisherman's Huts Beach from $50 per person. aruba-active-vacations.com

MUSTIQUE: Vacationing on a Private Island
Sick of lineups, waiting for tables and generally being inconvenienced? It's time to meet Mustique. By Charlene Rooke

The Barbados customs line looks like a nightmare, boisterous and snaking. The possibility of grabbing lunch, making your connection and keeping your sanity is a pipe dream. But say the magic word—Mustique—and you are whisked away to a counter with no line and given a hand-written boarding pass that's your ticket to the most civilized vacation ever. Mustique, the world's best-known private island (and glam getaway of Tommy Hilfiger and Mick Jagger), is not snobby.

From the minute you arrive at the thatched-roof airport, everyone assumes you belong, asking if you'll send your kids to the ridiculously well-equipped equestrian centre or tennis club, and if they'll see you at the Cotton House hotel's Tuesday-night cocktail party or at Wednesday's "Jump-up & Barbeque" at the beach bar Basil's. They may ask which of the 74 villas you've rented, and your answer will tell whether you're a two pools, secluded hilltop, eight-bedroom type (Yemanjá, named after a Brazilian goddess of the sea) or a minimalist who prefers a breeze-cooled seaside white pavilion (Indigo, by Canadian architect Jack Diamond). Nobody will ask what you do for a living; it would be a little gauche.

Pay 25 bucks for the best souvenir ever, a Mustique driver's licence, and rent a "mule" (a jeep/golf cart hybrid) to tool around the mostly unpaved roads. Stop and snap a photo of the copulating giant-turtle statue at Tortoise Corner, which was donated by eccentric U.K. poet Felix Dennis, whose books you'll find at the Mustique Great General Store, alongside the carnaroli rice, mint jelly and racks of Bordeaux. Your villa will have housekeepers and a chef, but whip down to Sweetie Pie Bakery in the "village" one morning for the joyous smell and crust of fresh-baked bread.

If you've been charming, the invitations will start to trickle in: to a lantern-lit dinner at the Japanese villa Shogun or a picnic on Macaroni Beach, perhaps. If not, you'll sit by your villa's pool, happily drinking gin and tonics and the good life. At the airport, grab a dog-eared paperback or foreign-language tome from the Mustique Book Exchange shelf: I took Brideshead Revisited, as I plan on going back.

TURKS & CAICOS: Best Beaches in the Caribbean
Your guide to the fabulous beaches of Turks and Caicos. By Charlene Rooke

It's powdered-sugar pale and fine and feels cool and silky, even on the hottest day. When it's magically viscous wet, it looks like a frozen piña colada and becomes an excellent castle-architecture medium. You've come to the main Turks and Caicos island, Providenciales, for the white-sand beach. You'll stay on the 12-mile-long crescent of Grace Bay beach, where you'll thank your choice of god for perfect northern exposure and a reef that keeps the lapping jade waves tame enough for the kids. You should also thank the parrotfish, which chomp on the reef then eliminate heaps of coral sand. They're one of the reasons these islands aren't eroding and disappearing like other paradises—snorkel right up to a reef just off the beach from the West Bay Club and take a look. Or hop on a bicycle and head down to Blue Hills to dig your toes into the sand under your picnic table at da Conch Shack, where a microbrew from Turk's Head cuts the greasy goodness of the fritters.

If you're an extreme eater, cross the island to Long Beach, with darker sand, mountains of conch shells and a tide so low you can score giant conch without diving. It's a little tricky to juke one out of the shell for ceviche-style conch salad, but just ask a local how. (Conch isn't endangered here, so it's one of the few places to nab a legal shell.) You could head to the southernmost point of Sapodilla Bay for a quiet sunset, or maybe up to the national parks area near Amanyara for more of a rugged, crashing-waves beach vista.

When you get back to Canada, you'll shake the powder-fine grit from your suitcase and clothes and grouse, with more than a little regret, about the mess. wl