Welcome to Paradise. Just £1,500 a night. (Or a grounded flight.)

My mother, who's raison d'être was travel, had two firm rules.

Joanlee's Rule No. One: Always be kind to travel and tourism staff

It's shocking how awful tourists can be, often ranting at airline employees or hotel workers for things
that are entirely out of their control. And yet these are the people who control room assignments, upgrades and the quality of your whole experience. Like any human, they're more inclined to favour people who've treated them with respect.

Joanlee's Rule No. Two: Always dress presentably enough to look like you might be in first class

Travel staff are all about protecting their brand. They don't want anyone in the premium sections who can't act like they belong there. For your best chance of an upgrade, look and act worthy of one.

I don't know if following these rules was the direct cause, or if we just won a lottery, but we ended up spending our last night in Antigua in one of the island's most expensive and exclusive resorts. We weren't supposed to be on the ground at all, but local engineers needed more than two hours to figure out how to remove our plane's engine casing to replace a part, and by the time they had us ready to fly, the pilots had gone over the limit of time they're allowed to work at a stretch. So we were stuck for the night on a Caribbean island in high season, in need of approximately 170 rooms to hold exhausted and hungry passengers who'd boarded the plane at 3pm and been released back into the terminal four hours later. I honestly thought we might be sleeping at the airport.

Another two hours passed. The Virgin Atlantic flight crew rolled trolleys off the plane to do what they could for us. Unfortunately, health and safety rules had demanded the trashing of all the hot food, and customs restrictions prevented the serving of alcohol, but they were there for us. The captain, who had given us regular status updates throughout the attempted repair, was working the crowd. He stood stoically as people complained, and greeted each new passenger with a smile and heartfelt concern. I told him this was the best management of a significant flight delay I'd ever experienced. A PR triumph. I meant it.

Around 9pm, they allowed anyone who had somewhere to go to reclaim their luggage and head off until summoned by text message to return. Those of us without options waited in the terminal while Virgin Atlantic and the airport's information desk searched for housing options. An hour later, we were invited to grab our luggage and then queue up for room assignments. Piers went for the bags while I headed for the queue; confident I'd spot him in the crowd thanks to height, double-breasted blue blazer, old school rugby shirt and panama hat. Eventually at the desk, a member of the flight crew smiled at us, said she thought we would enjoy ourselves, and sent us to Hermitage Bay.

We had another 40 minutes to wait for a taxi, since, unsurprisingly, few of the island's force were on duty by this time. Which gave me time to search the internet and quickly see that the lady at the desk wasn't kidding. The number of "best" lists this 5* hotel appears in boggles the mind, most notably Conde Nast Traveller's Best All Inclusives in the World.  Another quick search told us the room rate ... had we walked up on our own ... would be £1,500 a night. Their web site also informed us that "while the hotel is close enough to accommodate day trips into town or excursions around the island, a private, unmade road separates Hermitage Bay from the rest of the world, contributing to its seclusion." Translation: you will have a bone-shattering journey from the airport before you even pull off the main roads, then be subjected to two miles of slow navigation and jarring bumps over perilous terrain in near complete darkness before you reach our heavily-guarded gate, where a sleepy security guard may be a bit slow to respond to your presence.

Once in, however, we glided down a verdant lane between lush tropical gardens to arrive at a Polynesian-style, open-sided welcoming pavilion, where I almost expected Mr Roarke and Tattoo to be waiting. (If that's a cultural red card, read more here.) Instead, a small team was still awake in the otherwise silent resort to guide three lucky couples to our destiny in swift, silent golf carts. Alighting onto gravel paths and surrounded by a concert of chirping crickets, singing frogs and the murmur of the sea somewhere nearby, we wound up some stone stairs ... staff carrying luggage, of course ... to end up at the front door of our villa.

It was a lot to take in, at nearly 1 am and after the madness of the day. A free-standing, Asian-style
pavilion built into a jungle-covered hillside. Our own generously-sized plunge pool, part of a wide verandah that wrapped around two sides of the building and featured a collection of cushioned sofas, chairs and tables. We could have comfortably hosted a cocktail party for a dozen. Inside, in an interior of black ebony and billowing white draperies, a towering four poster, looking towards a wall of plantation shutters that could be opened completely to take in the view. Through a door, the bathroom ran the width of the building, with an enormous free-standing tub. Beyond that, an outdoor shower allowing you to wash while communing with the flora and fauna. And, making no distinction between airline refugees and real guests, there was a club sandwich and a plate of exquisitely carved fruit waiting to banish memories of airline snacks.

We had just 12 hours to enjoy this paradise. I hated to waste time sleeping. (Even though the thread count on the sheets and the feather density of the pillows was exquisite.) By 6am I was back on our verandah, listening to the birds wake up and watching dawn's fingers paint the sky. I headed for the sea, which was close enough to hear but obscured by vegetation. The beach here is a wide, gentle curve of powdery sand stretching at least 300 metres. On the western, Caribbean, side of Antigua and sheltered by hilly promontories, embraced by the arms of a broader bay, this is the stuff of dreams. Unlike our original hotel, there was no sea grass here. I waded out more than 50 metres and was still waist-deep with smooth sand beneath my feet. And I was entirely alone.

Like all of Antigua's beaches, Hermitage Bay is technically public. But getting here, if you weren't a guest of the hotel, would necessitate either a very strenuous hike or drop-off by boat. Thus even when people started coming onto the beach mid-morning, the ratio of empty sand to human being was impressive.

Eventually I climbed back up to our jungle eyrie to entice my husband to breakfast. This took place in   the rambling, open-sided, beach-side, Asian-style pavilion at which we'd first arrived the night before. Hermitage Bay is all-inclusive, but you won't find any buffets here. Meals are in a full-service restaurant, served by gracious locals who look to be wearing couture designed specifically for the hotel. Our waitress encouraged us to sample a range of delights from Caribbean eggs to French toast. A side of avocado was a must; they'd just ripened and been plucked from the garden. The pastry basket was tempting, but was it too much? No, she insisted. And, sure enough, the pastries were bite-sized miniatures of all the classics, flaking to buttery shards on our tongues.

We retreated to our villa for the rest of the morning. Lounging on sofas, soaking in the plunge pool, watching birds flit from one colourful bloom to another. All accompanied by gentle music floating over from the spa next door. Our return to the airport came far too quickly, but the hours of the delay will live in memory forever. Poor Ocean Point. Twelve hours at Hermitage Bay became our headline experience on Antigua, despite nearly two weeks at the other resort. Which raises an interesting question.

Is it actually worth spending three times as much, but going for 1/3 of the time, to have a more exceptional experience? I'm not sure. And I can't imagine ever feeling that I could justify a rack rate of £1,500 a night. But if Virgin Atlantic ever wants to disrupt my travel again for such an experience, I'm in.

Take to the water for the best excursions in Antigua

Every Caribbean island has its own vibe. A region that seems homogenous on first glance has a surprising variety of culture, landscape and tourism opportunities. Exploring that diversity is one of the strong points of a cruise, where you might get to five or eight different islands during one trip.

But sometimes, you just want to chill. My husband and I had worked all the hours we could in 2018 and by mid-summer could already anticipate total exhaustion by Christmas. We didn't want sightseeing. We didn't want to socialise with others. We just wanted a warm, picturesque place to recover. If we were doing the Caribbean, we wanted to settle into just one island, and we wanted it to be easy.

We'd visited Antigua on our 2016 cruise, and a great sightseeing tour across the island had softened us up for a return. It ultimately won our 2018 holiday investment because of:

• Direct flights from London that make travel convenient
• Well-priced package holidays at a range of resorts
• The much publicised 365 beaches (one for every day of the year...)
• An English legacy that skews toward British and Europeans tourists (sorry, Americans), and shapes the attitudes of the locals (the French islands can be hard work)
• It's suffered far less from recent hurricanes than other islands

Once settled at Ocean Point Resort, we admittedly didn't go out enough to offer any expert insight into the island. Our three excursions, however, gave us a good taste of a relatively small place. They were all fun and worth booking as packages, in our case all departing from and returning to our hotel. (Everyone we spoke to who'd rented a car regretted it; let the locals drive.)

CIRCUMNAVIGATION

My favourite day out involved circumnavigating the island aboard the Excellence. This is the middle option,  speed-wise, of three boats that do the same clockwise journey in and out of the capital and cruise port of St. John. You can go faster on a speedboat, or slow down on a catamaran, with length and number of stops adjusted accordingly. The Excellence is a big motorboat with an upper and lower deck and a good amount of shady seats on the lower for people with sensitive skin. If you are sitting outside, you'll go starboard to see Antigua's coastline, which is the main point of this sightseeing excursion. 

One of the crew gives commentary throughout. There's a bit of history, a bit of geology, and a lot of ogling the various resorts and neighbourhoods of the rich and famous. The more you cross the island's interior, with its shabby shacks and dubious infrastructure, the more you'll scratch your head at these Architectural Digest-worthy mansions overlooking the sea. Someone should study Antigua to refute the trickle-down theory of economics, because no public area we spotted matched the sleek prosperity of those private homes and resorts. Where do these wealthy residents shop and dine out? I never saw likely options.

The circumnavigation also teaches you the importance of offshore islands and island positioning for your holiday destination. On the Atlantic-facing eastern shore: strong winds, choppy waters. North (where we stayed) and south: not as rough but still subject to strong winds and tides sweeping through the channels that separate Antigua from neighbouring islands. (Barbuda to the North, Guadeloupe to the South.) It's the eastern, Caribbean-facing shore that offers the gentlest tides and the longest, most placid beaches. 

Offshore islands and deep bays can counter the Atlantic effect. We stopped for lunch and snorkelling half-way around Antigua at Green Island, a natural barrier between the Atlantic and Nonsuch Bay. The snorkelling wasn't very good ... a lot of dead coral and perhaps a dozen varieties of tropical fish, few bigger than a hand's length. But the small beach we'd edged into was exquisite.  After lunch, the Excellence continues around the island, making a short detour into Falmouth Harbour where you'll see how the other 1% lives. Yachts here rival anything in Monte Carlo. Mansions on the hills above are the domains of the super-rich. We briefly overshot St. John's to drop passengers at the Sandals Resort (we'd picked up there on our way out) and got back to St. John's at about 3:30.

ISLAND SAFARI

Our Island Safari showed us more of the interior of this 108-square-mile island. It left me with three enduring impressions. One: Antigua's roads are in deplorable shape. Even the main ones have potholes and undulations so severe it's like off-roading. I'm appalled that with all the port fees they must collect from cruise ships, nothing's been spent on such basic infrastructure. Two: Even though there hasn't been a major hurricane in years, it looks like one just came through. A third of properties seem abandoned, another third seem under construction. Our guide explained that property taxes are very high but are only assessed on completed buildings, so many locals live in places with derelict or unfinished bits. The result, sadly, makes much of the island look like a third-world charity appeal zone. Three: The stone towers of the old sugar mills are the most enduring things on the island. You'll see scores of them. Some are integrated into new buildings, one that we saw (at Betty's Hope Plantation) has been restored, and many stand as overgrown, roofless ruins around the island. Sugar is no longer produced here but its architectural legacy is strong. 

And maybe there is a fourth: Hell is other people. John Paul Sartre would have found copious illustration for his philosophy in the two children on our eight-person tour. About nine and seven, New York-raised daughters of English expats who seemed unfamiliar with concepts like "boundaries" and "discipline", these two took the stereotype of "spoiled brat" to new heights and could slip from happiness to screaming rage in a nanosecond if displeased. We waited for our tour driver for more than half an hour at the farmers' market from which we started and through it all, the younger shrieked at a pitch and decibel level I didn't think a human voice could sustain for that long. They were, quite simply, the most awful children I have ever been exposed to throughout my life. Fortunately they improved a bit once we were under way, but there were still traumatic explosions throughout the day.

Our remarkably patient guide and driver, Sherwin, carried on with aplomb. We crossed through several small towns, saw some of the island's earliest churches, skirted around Antigua's impressive cricket ground and paused above Falmouth Harbour for a gorgeous view, with a much needed rum punch. We stopped at the donkey sanctuary, which ... inexplicably to me ... is one of the island's big tourist attractions. There's a wild community here who often get into trouble, so they're brought to the sanctuary to recover. It's basically a muddy yard about the size of a football pitch occupied by 20 or so donkeys who nudge against you to request attention from the brush you've been given on entry. Perhaps exciting for city kids who like the idea of animals but never get close to them? Not the case for our little new New York fiends, who whined vociferously at the mud and flies.

Lunch saw us at the high ground of Betty's Hope Plantation, a partially restored sugar mill.  You'll see one restored mill (top photo) and the foundations of the barracks where British army officers once lived. There's an old barn with a small museum inside featuring a diorama of the place as it would have looked when functioning and display boards explaining the history of sugar and slavery in Antigua. The stop was too short to consume all the content and it's a shame that the displays are so basic. This is important history. But Betty's Hope is really just a pretty picnic spot for a variety of tour companies, who all converge here to dish up barbecued chicken, salad and beans and rice (the inevitable Caribbean excursion lunch) to picnic tables arranged under the trees. No culinary satisfaction for the little demons; the family were staunchly vegan. No wonder they were so bad-tempered.

Next was the departure point for Stingray City, which also fed our snorkelling and mangrove swamp tour.

The speedboat zipping us past promontories and offshore isles was great fun, and ended up at tiny, uninhabited Bird Island. Here you'll find a small, pristine beach within easy swimming distance of plenty of reefs. Even with changeable weather and lots of chop, this was the best snorkelling I did in Antigua and probably the best I've had in the Caribbean in the past two trips. The fish weren't large and there's still a lot of dead coral, but variety was wide and fish were swimming in big schools. I would have happily stayed here for the afternoon but part two of the aquatic bit of the safari was kayaking through mangroves.

I had anticipated the problems long before we arrived. Balance. I don't have any. Simply sitting still in the damned kayak and keeping it from tilting over was terrifying. Adding movement was infinitely worse. We made it about one hundred metres, with me constantly wobbling and desperately trying to adjust my weight to balance the boat's precarious rocking, before I tipped the damned thing over. I didn't have enough upper body strength to haul myself back on board, especially when there's nothing to push off from. (If you step on the "bottom" of a mangrove swamp, you immediately sink up to mid-calf in soft mud.) I swam to the dock, while Piers managed to get into the kayak and paddle back. We prepared to sit it out and enjoy the view while the others explored the swamp. Unfortunately, the beastly children didn't like kayaking either, so we had to share our dock with them and their parents for half an hour. If I'd spotted anything carnivorous I would have thrown the little shits off without a moment's remorse. No such luck.

It is no surprise that Sherwin dropped the Anglo-New Yorkers off first, making the last half hour delightfully quiet as he brought the rest of us back to our hotels. Safari verdict: if you like both kayaking and snorkelling, this is a fun day. We should have gone straight for Stingray City, combined the rays with snorkelling and skipped the land-based exploration.

MIGUEL'S MAGIC

Our third excursion might have been the best, had the weather been better. Calling the destination Prickly Pear Island is being generous. It's more accurately Prickly Pear Rock, stuck in the middle of a fine stretch of reef, with a small beach and a wooden shack providing bar and shade. It was clearly visible from our hotel, and hard to ignore as visitors shuffled past us every morning on their way to the beach where the boat to ferry them over would pick them up. 

Though Prickly Pear is owned by the government and open to all (as are all beaches in Antigua), local legend Miguel and multiple generations of his family run the excursion and own the shack. They are wonderful hosts, giving us the warmest and most authentic experience we had on the whole trip. Our bargain package, just US$36 per person, included transport to the island, a cooler with snacks and drinks, and access once we were there to Miguel's open bar, with cheerful and well-behaved grandchildren (the antithesis of the New York brats) passing around trays of snacks. You can buy a different trip that includes lunch provided by Miguel's family. The hook-shaped beach is an idyllic stretch of powdery white sand, the view back towards the main island is fine and the reef is a 100-foot swim away.

Sadly, this was the worst weather day of our trip. Clouds and squalls didn't pass, but resolutely hovered in the area. Winds were strong and water choppy. I'm a confident swimmer and an experienced snorkeller. These conditions make snorkelling hard work, but you can see things. If they bother to come out. The fish were too smart for that. It was a bare reef. And the swells were big enough that you risked getting slammed onto the coral just below the surface. If you've ever had a coral cut, you won't risk getting another. So I let wisdom prevail and returned to Miguel's shack, wishing I hadn't waited until the last day of our trip to discover this little piece of magic. It's the only memory in Antigua that's really calling me back.

Overall, the island delivered the R&R we were looking for, but nothing extraordinary enough to cast a spell. Bonaire, the BVI or even a return to Puerto Rico would beat it on a list for the next Caribbean trip. Unless, of course, I happened to win a break at a little place called Hermitage Bay. For that extraordinary tale, check out my next post.

A perfect setting for Caribbean R&R, but Ocean Point's Italian soul can wear a bit

Companies talk a lot about exceeding expectations. The older I get, the more I'm convinced that the secret to success lies in setting them properly in the first place.

For exhibit A, I give you Ocean Point, Antigua.

The 69-room resort hotel on the North coast of this Caribbean island provokes a variety of reactions (both on Trip Advisor and during chats at the bar) ranging from delight to disappointment. Our expectations were modest. We were looking for a quiet place that offered complete relaxation. We were operating on a budget big enough to get us some winter sun, but not luxurious enough to reach 5 star. (Given that our beach holidays since marriage have been a Viking Cruise, the Maldives and Mauritius, we were tightening our belts significantly.) Given all of the options that fell out of my spreadsheet as too expensive, I thought Ocean Point looked the best for our budget at offering the R&R we wanted, but I expected it to fall below those other beach holiday experiences. And that's pretty much what we got.

Ocean Point is a small, adults-only property with pretty gardens, an enormous pool and two small, essentially private beaches. (Technically, all beaches in Antigua are public. But because access to both of these is through private property, you're unlikely to see anyone but your fellow guests here.) It's owned and run by an Italian family; in this lies both strength and weakness. The constant presence of the owners and their drive for quality ensures that the place is spotless, the service is cheerful and the whole experience has a cozy, personal feel. But Italian-run also translates to 50% or more Italian guests who are organised, Butlin's style, by perky and ever-present tour operators. Insipid Italian pop blares too loudly and too often from the bar's audio system, English is definitely the second language and the buffet is unremittingly Italian ... which may sound great but gets boring quickly.

If you believe, as I do, that a perfect beach holiday is built around working your way through a large stack of paperbacks, alternating your reading location from pool to beach to the porch of your room, with opportunities for view-filled swims between chapters, a source of rum-based cocktails nearby and ... of critical importance ... minimal noise to interrupt your contemplation, you will be happy here. Even though they were operating at full capacity throughout our stay, you could always find empty sun loungers (though the five umbrellas near the pool were always snapped up by 9am). Two beaches, neither more than 50 metres long, each curve behind breakwaters that calm the sea. There's no snorkelling off the beach and the sand gives way to see grass pretty quickly, but these are nice areas if you want a quick dip. I preferred the smaller crescent to the West of the bar and restaurant, its

20(ish) loungers rarely more than half full.

I was often one of only three or four people on the beach, and got into the habit of pulling a lounger right into the surf to let the waves lap at me while I read. Bliss. There's a third beach area that juts out into the water like a small peninsula between the two, amusingly decorated with three cannon facing out to sea. Given that the name of the bar behind is The Black Pearl, topped by a skull and crossbones and a cheerful statue of Long John Silver, one suspects they're meant to keep authorities away rather than pirates. The restaurant is also on this beach level, two of its sides open to the air.

Climbing a ramp, or taking a staircase through the open-air spa, brings you to the pool deck at the heart of the hotel, with an arched bridge across the water. The main hotel buildings curve around this space, recessed balconies gazing down like boxes in an old-style European opera house. The buildings wear bright Caribbean colours and are fronted by climbing bougainvillea, rambling hibiscus bushes, palms and other tropical delights. The gardens are exceptionally well maintained, with the crew amongst them constantly to trim aggressive ramblers and remove dead leaves and branches.

The main check-in area, rising once again to road level, is built around an old sugar mill. These round stone towers are a constant in Antigua. Most have been left to go to ruin but some, like this one, have been given a new life. The ample lobby behind this is full of comfortable bamboo furniture with beautiful tropical fabric-covered cushions; it's almost a shame that it sees so little use. People wait here for taxis or excursion pick-ups, but the real focus is the water, bar and restaurant beyond.

The rooms are basic, in a pleasant beach style. Tile floors, double bed, desk and chair of traditional style in pale wood, TV. Nothing special but the bed is comfortable, the air conditioning works well and the wi-fi, though not great, was good enough to stream Netflix for after-dinner entertainment. Most importantly is a balcony with a table, two chairs, a drying rack and a lovely view of the pool and the sea beyond. Unless there was a live band or a big party (which only happened once or twice a week), our room didn't pick up any sound from the restaurant or bar below. Prohibiting children helps to keep things quiet, but I think having the only bar next to the beach ensures it. The noise stays with the alcohol.

Our biggest frustration was probably the food. Which we expected. "All inclusive" often means low-end mass catering, and buffets naturally limit the quality of what you can serve. Trip Advisor reviews indicated Ocean Point's buffet would be better than average, and it was. But it could have been so much better. I had two main issues.

First, very little variety. Every lunch and dinner had the same range of make-your-own-salad components on one side, mixed cold salads on the other, two "pasta of the day" options prepared fresh at a hatch that led to the kitchen and a couple of steam trays full of protein and hot veg options. One was always a white fish fillet (though toppings would change), another a thinly-sliced meat in some sort of sauce. With the exception of one day of our 12, when someone went wild with some sweet and sour pork, there was no budging from Italian classics with some Caribbean additions. In frugal Italian style, one day's rice, vegetables or pasta ended up as the next day's arancini, fritters or salad. I love roast aubergine (eggplant), but if I don't see any for a month I'll be content. My husband, who can't see the point of cooking veg and then allowing them to go cold, found at least 20% of the offerings to be unappealing. (Though, happily, his tomato allergy proved much less of a problem than I'd feared.)

We've been on holidays where we've enjoyed buffets (admittedly at a higher price point) but they've alternated cuisines to keep things exciting. Indian night, Mexican, Southeast Asian, etc. Without that mix, by day 7 we'd tried everything in the chef's repertoire and by day 10 were bored silly. I understand that Italian is Ocean Point's "thing", and perhaps the Italian guests want the regularity, but the lack of variety is the main reason we wouldn't return to this resort.

New Year's Eve buffet

Getting really picky, I'd also point out that once you get past the cold salads, Italian isn't a cuisine that works naturally with buffets. The best Italian food is cooked quickly and goes from preparation to plate in seconds. It doesn't sit around. So while they tried their best, the reality is that mass-cooked pasta re-heated before serving is never going to taste as it should, and scallopini cuts of meat with sauce, while delicious straight out of the pan, turn into shoe leather when lingering on a steam table all night. The latter, sadly, meant that most of the meat and fish was pretty tasteless. Our first meal upon returning home will be a rare steak.

The irony of these culinary quirks is that I probably ate more healthily here than on any holiday inyears, with a daily diet heavy on roast aubergine, roast courgette and heart of palm salads. Whatever benefit I gained there, however, I suspect I lost at the bar. The all-inclusive wine was average and unmemorable (again, to be expected at this price point), but easily quaffable and the bartenders soon came to anticipate our nightly request of two plastic pint glasses of white wine to take to our room fridge, along with our full dinner glasses, to libate our evening's in-room entertainment. More notable for its flavour profile was a wide-ranging cocktail menu, all made fresh with generous pours from the alcohol bottles.

And what was the price point for this experience? Approximately £500 per day per couple. (It's hard to break out exactly, since we bought a package and Ocean Point doesn't publish a standard "rack rate".) Seeing that in cold print makes me wince, as that seems a lot for what we got. A Viking Cruise, however, is more like £750, while five-star resorts like those in Mauritius and the Maldives hover around £1000. We probably could have found more various food and a more central location but, at least on Antigua, that means being in enormous resorts that lack the quiet intimacy so essential to getting rest. Hiring a holiday home would no doubt be cheaper (and was an excellent option for us two years ago in Puerto Rico), but Antigua's not a great island for that and daily cooking and cleaning takes away from the R&R. There's always skipping the all-inclusive for restaurants, but ... again ... Antigua doesn't appear to be a great island for this and Mr. B and I can quickly destroy budgets when menus and wine lists get into our hands.

In summary: Sun, quiet, attractive surroundings, decent if unremarkable food, free flowing alcohol. For Brits, it also features the convenience of direct flights from London. If you're looking for a lazy retreat, Ocean Point is a decent option for Christmas sun and relaxation at a moderate price point.

A more pertinent question is probably: would we return to Antigua. Thoughts on that in my next article.

Beware: Viking is still trying to figure out the Caribbean

We quickly noticed an impressive pattern on board our cruise ship. Well over half the people we spoke to were repeat Viking customers. Some had been travelling with the company for decades, and were well into double-digits on past cruises. Marketers would place everyone I spoke to solidly into the "advocate" column. That's incredibly impressive, and rare.

Most of that experience had been gained on Viking's established river cruises. This is Viking's first year in the Caribbean on their ocean-going vessels and, sadly, they have a long way to go to meet the expectations established by their original fleet.

Tours, in general, under-delivered. Aside from our magnificently-named guide "Mirage" on Antigua, all of the guides on the included tours had a set patter and couldn't go much beyond it to answer questions about history, economics, government, etc. Indeed, in most cases their English wasn't good enough to understand what was being asked. In our worst case, our guide in Guadeloupe seemed more like a local plucked off the street than a travel professional, going on endlessly about the rivalries between the locals of La Moule and Pointe-a-Pitre, or telling us where her family's favourite picnic spots on the island were, rather than giving us the expected tour. For example, an overview of what the island's typical products were, what to look for when buying local spices and whether or not bargaining was appropriate would have been just the thing before getting dropped off at a local market. Harsh? Perhaps. But Viking differentiates themselves on "enrichment", helping you to delve deep into a destination's history and culture. Their delivery in our Caribbean destinations was well below expectation.

It may be that Viking's model is not an easy fit with the Caribbean. It's easy to load people onto a bus in Prague, Bordeaux or Copenhagen and blow their minds with history, architecture and culture for four hours. While the Caribbean has similar highlights, they're fewer and further between. Thus we inevitably spent hours driving around looking at spectacular views, vegetation and ramshackle villages. Nice, but if I had it to do over I would have skipped most of the included tours and done my own thing. When you consider that those included tours are part of why you're paying a premium price ... not good.

Even when we got to something meaty, the destination had been woefully oversold. Stony Hill

was not the "resplendent estate" promised in the tour literature (at least not for any Brit with a National Trust membership); it was the lovely home of a prosperous professional with one hell of a view and a garden that, while nice, was mare national gardens scheme open day than what you'd expect from that "resplendent estate" billing. The much-lauded cemetery in La Moule was, indeed, impressive; but having driven by two almost identical ones en route, everyone on the bus wondered why we needed to drive an additional hour each way to see wasn't this one?

When it came to the not-included, additional fee excursions, I had other disappointments. Having paid the premium for a ship that markets itself in a different league, I expected similarly differentiated shore options. In every case we bought into, they were standard mass-market offerings, with passengers from Carnival or Princess embarking for the same things at the same time. (Though in different groups.)

The biggest debacle was the St. John's Swim and Snorkel. Our last day of the cruise. Our last opportunity to snorkel. We made a choice based on the title, and the promise of snorkelling. We passed up an alternative trip to snorkel with turtles, based on the reputation of St. John's reefs. Once on the boat, the captain made it clear that it was not a snorkelling excursion. (Though it was printed on our tickets.) And even though she had the equipment on board, health and safety wouldn't allow her to let us use it. (I, fortunately, had my own mask with me.) The same guidelines for some reason meant that, because it wasn't a snorkel tour, we had to take rubber rafts to the beach rather than just swimming the 100 yards from the boat. Perplexing, as clambering off and on a rib (rubber dingy) from a catamaran when both are bobbing about is a hell of a lot more dangerous than descending the cat's stairs and swimming off.  Everyone on the tour was irritated, and we made a point of registering our complaint in person as soon as we got back. Given Viking's marketing skill, I expected an apology at the minimum, and a refund as best practice. There was no reply. This, on our last day, left an unfortunately sour taste in my mouth.

I was surprised at how unhelpful the staff on the Explorers' Desk (the concierge service) was. Every time I asked for any information on shore excursions or a destination, they turned to the same web pages I already had access to. They didn't seem to have any personal experience of the islands or knowledge beyond what was in the brochure, thus were unable to make useful recommendations. We did have a great conversation with the customer services manager earlier in the cruise, who explained that they were still learning the Caribbean and encouraged our feedback. When I asked one of the desk guys for an email address, rather than their printed forms, so I could give them mine in detail, he promised to get back to me. Then never did. If you don't take the offer of my private constructive criticism, then I'm afraid you default to this public space...

Our final issues came around the unique circumstance of cruising at Christmas. Lessons learned for next time, should we ever do this again.

As I wrote earlier when I discussed what exceeded expectations, we loved the heavy Scandinavian influence on food and drink. My half-Danish husband pointed out that this was the reason that all the traditional holiday dishes were served on Christmas Eve. Fair enough, but they probably should have warned the primarily American and English customers of the fact. I overheard many disappointed diners on Christmas night, who'd not ordered the turkey and Christmas pudding the night before, or even worse had gone to the buffet, saving themselves up for the traditional meal on the 25th. A meal that wasn't on offer.

Worse for us was the celebration of Christmas itself. We'd decided not to go to a Christmas Eve mass in St. Kitts because a midnight service with readings and carols was on offer on the ship. We were expecting something gentle and serious, presumably with the captain doing the readings. (Commanding officers can double as religious authorities at sea, right?) Instead, we got the same entertainment team who'd just finished the all-singing, all-dancing holiday show leading a happy-clappy, evangelical style production that wasn't that different from the earlier razzle-dazzle. We lasted five minutes. Granted, we're perhaps in the minority as traditionalists who wanted something more solemn. My criticism of Viking here is only that I wish they would have been clearer about what was actually on offer so we could have made it to that mass on shore. (I was seriously tempted to join the Jewish passengers' DIY Hanukkah service, which I suspect would have been much closer in spirit to what I was after that the televangelist party in the main theatre.)

Viking charges more than the mass market cruise lines, and sets the bar much higher in their marketing. Surprisingly, they delivered the inverse of my expectations. Experiences on board were superlative; on shore deeply average. This won't stop me from booking with them again; their Viking Homelands cruise is solidly on our bucket list. But I'd steer well clear of any new destination and, if returning to the Caribbean, would think hard about arranging my own itinerary on land.

Eastern Caribbean Round-Up: Narrow view offers amuse bouche without a main course

CRUISE PORTS: San Juan, Puerto Rico; Road Town, Tortola; St. John's, Antigua; Castries, St. Lucia; Bridgetown, Barbados; Pointe-a-Pitre, Guadeloupe; Basseterre, St. Kitts & Nevis; Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas 

 Cruising is a double-edged sword. The same floating-hotel convenience that whisks you across many cultures in a single trip also deprives you of a deep local experience. Viking Cruises try to overcome this ... and succeeds to some degree ... by putting a heavier emphasis on learning. But once you've made your choice of an activity for your day ashore, you're inevitably thrown in with the masses for a limited view. It's like trying to evaluate a whole restaurant based on one bite of food.

This struck me most forcefully in Castries, St. Lucia, when I decided to take a long walk. While St. Lucia is a famed holiday destination known for luxury resorts, they certainly aren't in the capital. It is ramshackle, a bit edgy and resolutely local: the cruise passengers don't seem to wander around much and the sidewalk traders are there for residents, not tourists. It's the closest I've felt to the heart of Africa since visiting Zambia, and I didn't pass another white face for five or six blocks. (An excellent experience for any white person who thinks England or America is so integrated that being a minority is no big deal these days.) A market sold a mix of tourist tat, local spices and some bits of intriguing craft work, but very few cruisers had wandered in to wake the traders dozing beneath ceiling fans. There must be a love-hate relationship with cruise ships. Tourism is essential for job creation, but I saw little in Castries reaping the benefit. And once I was on a tour bus, little of what I saw reflected, or even admitted to, the challenges of life in town.

I'm setting that scene to explain why this roundup of Caribbean destinations is laughably broad-brushed, highly opinionated and doesn't come near an accurate view of any individual island.  Our days were a series of amuse bouche: some excellent, others disappointing. If you're ever cruising through the region yourself, they might help you to choose how you spend your day.

BEACH AND SNORKEL
My perfect day features floating placidly over a coral reef before recovering on a powdery sand beach with a rum cocktail in hand.  Thus three of our days featured catamaran sailing packages. I enjoyed them all, but they were bittersweet. The decline in the health of these reefs in the nine years since my last visit is shocking. I'm also now able to compare Caribbean offerings to Mauritius and the Maldives; both of these Indian Ocean destinations offer significantly better, and less crowded experiences. So the quality of all the these trips was a bit disappointing, despite putting me indisputably into my "happy place".

The sailing from St. Thomas to St. John is wildly picturesque as you cross from Atlantic to Caribbean and the horizon is dotted with an array of Virgin Islands. We moored off Honeymoon Beach on St. John; not as striking as Trunk Bay a bit further up the coast, but still picture-postcard stuff. The reef here had the most living coral of the places we visited, though not the variety of fish. Captain Theresa (a refreshing standout in a male-dominated trade) and her crew were highly professional, more attuned to health and safety, packed the boat for a high margin, sold extras and pushed tips more than the others. Probably no surprise that this was our only all-American, all-white crew. In retrospect, a half-day for this excursion just doesn't do it justice; it really needs a full day with confirmation that snorkeling, lunch and beach are all included. If any less, I would not book it.

Indeed, it was the day-long excursion from St. Kitts that was the best of the three. The catamaran left from a dock adjacent to the cruise ship (almost an hour of your excursion in St. Thomas is getting to and from the catamaran's dock) and sailed down the picturesque coast of St. Kitts before anchoring off the southern tip. The reef here was badly damaged by hurricanes and global warming; more a jumble of boulders than a collection of coral. But the sea life was actually better here than off St. John, allowing me to spot more than 20 different varieties including two types of sea urchin and three of parrot fish. We then crossed the channel between St. Kitts and its sister island of Nevis while having lunch, before dropping anchor for some time on the beach. A less crowded boat and a more laid-back Caribbean crew made for a more magical sail, especially as they allowed passengers to ride in the nets up front (prohibited by the Americans).

Weather made it hard to judge our Barbados excursion accurately: grey skies and steady wind made for choppy seas, and it rained at least half the day. The sail never went up. Instead we motored to a bay within sight of the cruise ship. I assume this was because of the weather. The snorkeling was pretty good, however, thanks to a nice little reef created by sunken ship. A few hundred yards over in the same bay, lazy giant turtles rely on expedition leaders for feeding, rather than doing their own hunting. The near-guarantee of seeing these magnificent beasts is wonderful, but the crowds were so bad as to almost destroy the experience. Up to 30 snorkelers were thrashing about in a circle around the turtle, many trying to prod it or otherwise get in its way. I felt terribly sorry for the beast, and the whole thing felt more like a zoo than a natural experience. It left a bad taste in my mouth..

SIGHTSEEING
San Juan is the obvious winner here. Where American oversight seemed to hinder a catamaran cruise, it's a boon for an old colonial town. San Juan is in far better shape than most of the other ports we visited, and clearly has a life beyond tourism. Wander down gracious streets with an old world feel, follow impressive old walls, explore two historic Spanish forts. I had a delightful clamber around Fort San Filipe del Morro, which looks similar to the fort at St. Augustine, Florida, but expands Tardis-like once you're through the main gate, spilling down the cliffs to the sea below. The nearby Ballaja Barracks are as spectacular as anything you'd see in Madrid, and have just benefitted from a multi-million dollar renovation as they were transformed into a cultural centre. Nearby, however, the crumbling, down-at-heel cathedral reminds you how difficult it is to preserve anything in this climate of humidity, pests and hurricanes.

Next comes Antigua, thanks to Nelson's Dockyard. This was the British Navy hub in the Caribbean, where ships put in to have hulls cleaned and sails and rigging refitted before return journeys. Now the restored historic buildings offer a museum, shops, a boutique hotel, restaurants and a yacht marina. While the museum was resolutely old style ... no interactive tech in sight ... it was filled with interesting stuff and we would have liked to have spent longer here. The place is perhaps more relevant to us as we live near, and have regularly explored, the dockyards in Portsmouth. Having the start of the naval journey in our heads, it was interesting to see the other end of the line. It's a shame that they don't have any historic ships, as at Portsmouth, to further bring it to life.

We only had a few fleeting minutes driving through central Charlotte-Amalie in St. Thomas, but it was enough for me to see the town's Danish roots in its architecture. Now that I know Copenhagen, I can recognise kindred elements in this tropical former colony. With more time, it's an angle we would have loved to explore more.

Viking tries hard to play the history and culture angle at other Caribbean stops, but without much success in this ... there first year in the region (see next entry for more).

STUNNING VIEWS
This could be the dominant theme of our cruise destinations. Unsurprising, considering most islands in this stretch of the Caribbean are in fact the tops of volcanoes. (Some dormant, some active.) On the ship, a guest lecturer gave a talk on the geology of the volcanoes and coral reefs that make up the landscape; a nice background for our drives.

Nail biting twists and turns on St. Lucia took us to a private house called Stony Hill with impressive tropical gardens and tantalising views of what I suspect were much nicer parts of the island than we'd seen on our tour.  Back on Antigua, the striking viewpoint at Shirley Heights makes it clear why the British chose to fortify the place; a stunning vista over critical sea lanes.  In Guadeloupe we drove out to Castle Point, where breakers slam into pillars of rock sending towers of white foam heavenward. Ironically, it reminded me strongly of the bay at Vik, Iceland, I'd stood on almost three years ago to the day. At different ends of the temperature spectrum, but sharing a magnificence of sea, sand and surf.

St. Thomas lays its American marketing flare onto its views, transforming the picturesque Mountain Top point into a vast barn selling tourist tat and flogging banana daiquiris, supposedly invented here. Ignore the commercialism and the view is indeed spectacular, particularly of the unusually long and narrow Magens Bay. I have fond memories of this place from a trip in my 20s, and was sorely tempted to skip organised shore excursions to just go to the beach here.

SHOPPING
If you stick close to the cruise ports, you'll assume the Caribbean is just one huge shopping mall for jewellery, with a few big chains operating in every port. Diamonds, emeralds, tanzanite ... there's bling to rival anything on Bond Street here. St. Thomas is probably the most commercial of all the ports, balancing the parade of jewellers with some galleries of local arts and crafts to break things up. San Juan does the same, but actually has department stores and offices where non-tourism happens as well. It would be hard to distinguish between the shopping areas in most of the other ports, with similar places selling the same brands at prices that seem fairly consistent.

As with any shopping these days, you need to be careful and do your research in advance. The Philip Stein watch bands I was after were significantly cheaper than any price I could get in the UK. But my husband, having shopped for and identified the Tissot watch he wanted, had it delivered home for more than £300 less via Amazon. From what I saw, the more you were planning to spend, the more vendors were willing to deal. It's probably not the best place to buy a single, moderately-priced item, but if you're planning to drop £40,000 on a diamond necklace I suspect you can negotiate a steal here.

Few places, sadly, have much local colour. The covered market at Castries had charm, but they weren't selling much beyond tee shirts, beach clothes and tacky souvenirs.  Point-a-Pitre has the elements of a fine local experience, combining its French heritage with tropical flair. There's a spice market in the centre of town with a magnificent cast-iron roof and a sound system piping in Debussy and French Jazz. Ladies in colourful local madras prints sell the island's vanilla, nutmeg, other spices and bottles of flavoured rum punch. It would have been better if all the bottles hadn't shared the same "hand painted" decoration, making me think there's some industrial production line hidden away that's churning everything out of one place. I got the same feeling about the spices, which were all bagged and priced identically, no matter the vendor.

Sadly, the vendors cling to the kind of French customer "service" that's mostly disappeared back in Paris. When I had my French-speaking husband along, vendors were polite but perfunctory. Once I was on my own, they ran the gamut from frosty to hostile. A few blocks further on I was enchanted by a thriving vegetable market, but when I tried to explain in my halting French that I was from a cruise, so wouldn't be cooking anything, the woman actually made angry motions to wave me away and stop wasting her time. A real shame, as in most markets around the world people who love food naturally share and enjoy a bond, whatever the language.

Still, this was the island where we did the most shopping, coming home with spices, cinnamon oil and jewellery hand-crafted in silver with a stone called larimar, found only in the Dominican Republic.

MISSED POTENTIAL
Without a poor tour (of that, more in the next story) and bad attitude, Guadeloupe might have been my favourite of all the islands visited. Distinct architecture ... including magnificently creepy black-and-white cemeteries climbing up hillsides ... intriguing history and two lobes of a butterfly-shaped island with radically different terrain (one mountainous, one flat) invited further exploration. It was the place that seemed to have the most distinct local culture, technically a part of France but very much its own beast.  It's the island on which Death in Paradise, one of my favourite BBC mystery shows, is filmed, so I have a sense of the bits we didn't see.

BIGGEST DISSAPOINTMENT
Everyone knows about the Caribbean's hurricane season, but the tourism industry seems to conspire to keep the Christmas Winds under wraps.  Turns out that December is actually the end of the rainy season in the islands, and most locals will tell you that the Christmas holidays are always peppered with storms. By the first week of January everything calms down, opening the legendary high season when the Caribbean Sea is calm as a lake and it rarely rains. But if visiting for the holidays, expect storms, choppy seas and reduced visibility for snorkelling.

We still had mostly sunny days, with only two complete wash-outs. Frustratingly, one of those included high winds and driving rains so bad they prevented us from getting ashore in the British Virgin Islands. (We were to have dropped anchor and taken the ship's tenders in to port.) I had fully expected Tortola, and our half-day excursion to Jost Van Dyke, to be the highlight of the trip. Only the delights of an exceptional ship kept me from being seriously disgruntled by my extra day at sea.

IN SUMMARY
Though the ship was exceptional, our excursions were average. Every island had its high and low points; no single destination stands above the rest. If returning by cruise ship to most of these islands, I would probably now organise my own activities in advance with local guides. But we're more likely, if returning to this part of the Caribbean, to stay on land. The Virgin Islands is the obvious choice, with their spectacular beauty, great snorkelling, British and American flavour and ferries allowing visitors to island hop. Though I have to admit, Guadeloupe is the one that leaves a wistful "what if" dancing in my head.