Bequia "island of clouds" in the Carib language, is the northernmost of the idyllic-sounding Grenadine islands, which dot shallow turquoise seas between St Vincent and Grenada.
It lay entincingly close on the near-horizon from St Vincent and, in the last few days, I had been looking forward to making my way there. There are several ferries a day leaving from Kingstown and I caught the four o'clock out of the harbour, joining a few local families, who had bag-loads of shopping. It was an hour's journey across the strait, and as we crossed the sea an eight year-old Bequian boy kept us amused with his stories of crab and lobster-catching with his father.
The ferry made its way into the sheltered Admiralty Bay, filled with yachts and fishing boats and surrounded by a crescent of low pale-green hills. The capital of Bequia, more a village than a town, is called Port Elizabeth, named after the Queen Mother, Elizabeth Bowes Lyon, who visited in 1937.
Just outside the ferry dock, people sat in the shade of Indian almond trees. This was was also the stop for the one-dollar (1 East Caribbean Dollar, equivalent to 25 Euro cents) minibuses which headed off to villages across the island. Here, I tried a cup of spinachy Callalou soup from a vendor. Later, I found out that this gathering spot under the trees is known as the Houses of Parliament. I guess on an island with only 6000 inhabitants, much of the news, gossip, networking and decision-making happens here.
Along the waterfront, there is a pedestrian path and small road, lined by a few shops and bars. Occasionally an old landrover or scooter would pass.
Here was the Bequia Pizza Hut.
And there was a little (or lickle, as the islanders say) wooden cottage, where sailing trips around the island could be organised.
The Green Boley, one of several bars overlooking the bay.
This was along the Belmont walkway, built a few inches above sea-level.
Which also took me to the charming and historic Frangipani Hotel, my home for the next five days.
The setting was idyllic, on the edge of the water, with a pier where yachties and fishermen would disembark.
On the other side of the ferry dock in Port Elizabeth, there are more shops, with a fair proportion specialising in boating equipment, sail-mending, boat-building, traditional main-stays of this island.
I loved this old abandoned Land Rover on the beach. I asked the boy how long it had been there. He shrugged his shoulders. Longer than he's been alive, maybe.
All village services and shops were marked with the VHF 68 sign, so that yachties and locals could put in orders more easily. You could be on your yacht and VHF Miranda's Laundry or the Bequia Pizza Hut and they would come out and deliver.
At the entrance to the bay, high on a promontory, stands Fort Hamilton (named after Alexander Hamilton, who was born on Nevis and went on to become one of the founding fathers of the US constitution and the country's first treasurer). The fort was built in the late 1700s to protect the island against French raiders and, ironically, American privateers.
At the end of a day on Bequia, sunset across Admiralty Bay was almost always like this.
