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After breakfast, Bhavna and I retraced the path I had walked alone earlier that morning. The sun was higher now, and the light harsher. We made it to the top of the hill, just past where the pavement turns to gravel, and she stopped. “I’m done,” she said, and I knew she meant it. Her voice was flat, not unkind, but final. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and stared ahead without moving. Her shirt was already clinging to her back. I looked up at the hill we hadn’t yet climbed and nodded. She’d given the morning all she had. No point pushing. On the way back down, we saw the couple from our daily breakfasts at Sugarapple Inn. I’m good with names but I don’t remember theirs. They looked just as hot and just as tired. We complained to each other about the hills and the humidity—laughing more than whining. They were searching for the Bequia Whaling Museum, which I knew was just over the other side of the ridge. I might’ve joined them if I’d been alone, maybe even walked back up. But Bhavna couldn’t be convinced. So we said our “see you laters” and carried on down the hill. View from Friendship Road with Semple Cay, Middle Cay, Petit Nevis, and Isle à Quatre. · Wednesday 14 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 160 · 1/1700 sec XF27mmF2.8 R WR · 27 mm · f/5.6 Partway down, Bhavna stopped again—this time to point into a patch of dense White Leadtree (Leucaena leucocephala), a fast-growing shrub with long feathery leaves. Something rustled deep inside. We squinted into the shade. There, just for a moment, an iguana froze in the middle of the thicket, one claw wrapped around a low branch. Its body was a dull olive green, with darker mottling along the tail, and it was easily half a metre long. Its eyes were steady and unblinking. For a moment, we just looked at each other—us and the iguana. Then it vanished, crashing through the undergrowth with surprising weight. The branches bounced and stilled. I had tried to swap lenses, but it was too fast. Earlier that morning at breakfast, we’d chatted with the Sugarapple Inn groundskeeper about our failed attempt to find lunch in Lower Bay the day before. He’d nodded slowly and said there was a spot, hidden, known only to locals—no signs, no advertising. “You need to know someone,” he said with a little smile. We took his directions on faith. As we made our way back down from the hill, tired and sweaty, we decided to detour and look for the lunch spot. The path led through a gap between two homes and into a small open area bordered by trees—maybe plum or sugar apple, I couldn’t say for sure. The structure wasn’t a shack exactly, and certainly not cobbled together. It was built of wood, simple but solid, with a galvanised metal roof catching the sunlight. There was no sign, no posted menu—just the smell of something cooking and the sound of dominoes slapping down on plastic. A few workmen were gathered around a table, laughing between plays. One man, shirtless, flashed us a grin and asked if we are lost. We smiled back, and asked about food, and a woman stepped forward, wordless, took our money, and minuted later handed us two warm foil-wrapped parcels. We thanked her, and she nodded once before disappearing again. We took our food back to the cottage. I don’t remember what I ate—maybe fish, maybe stew—but it was savoury, spicy, and exactly what we needed. We sat on the verandah and ate with our hands, licking sauce from our fingers. Afterward, we changed into swimwear and headed into the water. Sea Almond (Terminalia catappa) · Wednesday 14 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 160 · 1/150 sec XF27mmF2.8 R WR · 27 mm · f/3.6 The sea was flat and warm, clear right down to the sand. We waded out slowly, then floated, our limbs loose from food and sun. I ducked under and looked up through the surface—the sky above was pale and quivering. We swam for a while, then drifted in the shallows. There was no rush. When we came out, we sat again on the verandah and shared the last of the fruit Cousin Carlos had given us. Two mangoes and a starfruit—bruised, sticky, sweet. The mango peeled easily, and the juice ran down our wrists. The starfruit was still cool from the fridge, tart and refreshing. It was the kind of snack you eat slowly, not because you’re hungry, but because you don’t want to do anything else. In the shade of the Pink Trumpet-Trees · Wednesday 14 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 160 · 1/2900 sec XF27mmF2.8 R WR · 27 mm · f/2.8 The trees rustled gently above us. A small breeze came up from the water. Nothing pressed on us—not time, not responsibility, not even the heat. I stretched out on a beach chair under the Sea Almond (Terminalia catappa) and Pink Trumpet trees. The ground was cool in the shade. I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I opened my eyes again, the light was golden and soft. Time had passed. Eventually, it was time to rinse off the salt and head to dinner. We walked the short path to the Bequia Beach Hotel. As we approached Bagatelle, we heard music—low, rhythmic, unpolished. A band was setting up on the open patio: guitars being tuned, a mic being tested, drumsticks tapping out little trials on a snare. Mojito · Wednesday 14 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 6400 · 1/80 sec XF27mmF2.8 R WR · 27 mm · f/2.8 The bartender greeted us warmly. The hotel, he said, was hosting a mixer. “Get to know your fellow travellers,” he smiled. “Drinks on you, hors d’oeuvres on us.” That sounded fair enough. I ordered a mojito, light on sugar, and we found a quiet table in the corner. The lights over the bar flickered on as the sun dipped lower, one by one. The band leaned into their first song—a slow reggae groove with just enough swing to make the palm fronds sway. The singer wore mirrored sunglasses, even as dusk settled. It was impossible not to relax. Cover Band · Wednesday 14 May 2025 FujiFilm X-T3 · ISO 6400 · 1/80 sec XF27mmF2.8 R WR · 27 mm · f/2.8 Then came familiar faces—Brian, and the same couple from earlier in the day. We raised our glasses to each other and waved. Everyone looked more relaxed now, mellowed by sun and rum and music. The crowd was loose, the mood was easy. The kind of night where nobody watches the clock. Eventually, our dinner table was ready. I think I had curry conch with rice. Bhavna might have had grilled vegetables, but I don’t remember. I was on my second cocktail and too content to care. The food arrived slowly, which was fine. There was nowhere else to be. We ate, talked, listened to the band, and let the night carry us. I never did see the cuckoo again. I had hoped to—had carried my camera just in case—but the branches stayed quiet. Still, I didn’t mind. The day had been full: sweat, salt, fruit, and music. Sometimes the thing you’re chasing hides in the trees and vanishes before the shutter clicks. But other things find you—hidden lunches, quiet swims, and mojitos under trumpet trees. ### Like this: Like Loading... Food, Beer and Wine Lifestyle Bequia Bequia Beach Hotel Caribbean Travel Curry Conch Friendship Bay Iguana Island Life Lesser Antilles mojito Plum Trees Saint Vincent and the Grenadines Sugarapple Inn Terminalia catappa Travel Journal Windward Islands

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