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island in the sunthe authentic caribbean endures on Grenada,

but chanGe is in the air for this classic beauty.

More than a third of Grenada’s 90,000 citizens live in the capital, St. George’s. Despite 350 years of tropical storms (and occasional strife), the city retains its timeless good looks.

story by MATTHEW PHENIX photos by MAcduff EvErToN

K

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yron AdAms knows GrenAdA.

He was born here back in 1947, and he grew up in st. George’s, right across from the new and exclusive Port Louis marina, where he now lives and where he works as a security guard. In 1955 he rode out Hurricane Janet, a storm that flattened about three-quarters of Grenada’s iconic nutmeg trees, and he

endured mother nature’s wrath again in 2004, when Hurricane Ivan pummeled the island, killing 39 people and leaving nine-tenths of its homes in ruins. He saw the former British crown colony proudly establish its independence in 1974, and nine years later witnessed a savage marxist coup d’état — and a liberating invasion by 7,000 U.s. marines.

“we had a lot of setbacks in this country,” he says. “we had two hurricanes; we had revolution; we had strife. But we’re still going good. we still remain the same: unspoiled.”

Adams was there too when the cameras rolled in 1957 for a big-budget Hollywood film called Island in the Sun, based on a best-selling novel by Alec waugh. The film itself is a campy, tangled mess, but it remains memorable for one bona fide star turn: Grenada’s dazzling portrayal of the fictional island of santa marta. The opening sequence depicts a winsome, widescreen vision of a Caribbean island and a way of life that

are now mostly forgotten. It’s a Technicolor glimpse back to a time before the incursion of mass tourism and the arrival of megaclass cruise ships, when attending to crops was more pressing than attending to tourists.

Adams remembers how Grenada was in those days, and to my surprise, he tells me he doesn’t see much that’s changed. “It’s still the same thing I knew as a little boy,” he says, looking out over the water toward st. George’s and the Carenage, a harlequin queue of squat buildings that defines the city’s vibrant harbor-front. “It’s more advanced, yes; it’s a little different, but it’s nice. everybody likes it.” He smiles. “we’re just getting along fine.”

FIFTy-odd yeArs HAve PAssed sInCe HoLLywood CAme And

went, but Grenada’s first city remains a dead ringer for the character it played in Island in the Sun. Architecturally, st. George’s is a happy hodgepodge of west Indian and european influences: stucco walls colored peach and cream and water-melon, with roofs of red clay tile or corrugated metal; steep cobblestone streets linked by a warren of narrow alleyways; and an array of churches — and one stately fortress — made of appropriately solemn limestone. Its vibrant harborfront curves around a lovely protected anchorage, within which sherbet-colored fishing boats and gleaming motor yachts commingle. All that’s missing is Harry Belafonte crooning the title song.

Grenadians agree that the best views in st. George’s are had not from some swank resort or chic eatery, but rather from the town hospital, the town jail and the town cemetery,

it’s a winsome vision of a caribbean island and a way of life that are now mostly forGotten.

A footpath leads to Mount Cinnamon’s

private beach bar. Above: Mount Carmel

waterfall, the tallest of many on Grenada.

Antoine Beach, on the rugged

Atlantic coast. Below: Nutmeg

puts the spice in the Spice Isle.

Famed for its silken sands and tranquil

waters, Grand Anse beach, just south of

St. George’s, is home to most of Grenada’s

resorts and hotels.

this two-mile crescent of suGary sand is the most postcard-perfect of Grenada’s beaches.

grenada

St. George’s 

Grand Etang Forest Reserve

Point Salines Int. Airport

Gouyave

Sauteurs

River Antoine Rum Distillery

Grenville

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the funds to repair it. But by and large, formerly roofless homes have roofs again, and formerly denuded trees have leaves; and the island’s hotels have long since rebuilt and reopened — and in most cases look better than they did before the storm. despite its swift recovery, though, Grenada hasn’t been able to pick up quite where it left off on september 7, 2004.

Before Ivan, the tourist trade was a secondary consideration on the island, if that. Agriculture was king. Grenada’s dark, vol-canic soil is spectacularly fertile, and its wild middle is a crush of tropical greenery: trees heavy with cacao pods, mangoes, bananas, vanilla, cinnamon and nutmeg — especially nutmeg. This historically prized seasoning arrived here from its native Indonesia during the 19th century, introduced by spice traders. It flourished, and Grenada soon emerged as the world’s second- biggest nutmeg producer. Just how much does it mean to this nation and its 90,000 people? That’s a nutmeg pod on the flag.

But with the nutmeg industry so traumatized by Ivan (most estimates suggest at least 60 percent of pod-producing trees were obliterated in the storm), the government has spent the last few years courting tourism investors. new hotel and resort proper-ties have opened, and more are on the drafting table, though the world’s economic doldrums have clearly slowed things down in recent months. By most accounts, developers seem keen to preserve the island’s oldfangled charms along with its matchless natural beauty. But change is change, and as the bleached bulk of a lone cruise ship weighs anchor and fills the basin of st. George’s

each of which occupies a supremely covetable tract of hilltop acreage. no matter: you don’t have to be infirm, incarcerated or interred to appreciate this city’s panoramic grandeur. There is hardly an open window or patch of sidewalk from which you can’t catch a glimpse of cool Caribbean blue.

on the whole, Grenada is devotedly easygoing, but st. George’s is another matter: It’s brisk and busy, the air permeated by city noises and cooking scents. The Grenadian people seem perfectly pleased to welcome visitors to their island, but as a visi-tor, I can’t quite shake the sense that they wouldn’t have missed me if I hadn’t shown up. Fishermen would still sell fresh-caught jack off their boats along the Carenage; kids in dark uniforms with striped ties would still trudge to the schoolhouse every morning; and fruit sellers would still jam shoulder-to-shoulder into market square to hawk papayas and breadfruits and coco-nuts. Look up at imposing Fort George: Built by the occupying French between 1705 and 1710, it straddles a volcanic spine 175 feet above the waters of st. George’s harbor. what is it today? A museum? A cheesy tourist trap with a gift shop and a frozen-drink bar? not on your life: It’s the police headquarters.

Five years after Ivan, the physical wounds inflicted by the storm’s 160-mile-per-hour winds appear almost entirely healed. yes, vivid reminders of Ivan’s fury linger, such as st. George’s 128-year-old Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, which stands defiantly roofless as parishioners slowly but surely raise

harbor with the bellow of its horn, I can’t help but think that as the business of tourism gains momentum here, something’s got to give. How much longer will the Grenada of today resemble the island in the sun that kyron Adams knew as a boy?

CoLUmBUs sPoTTed GrenAdA In 1498; BeFore THAT IT wAs inhabited by the Carib people. european influence here passed from France to england and back again for decades, until the French at last officially yielded to the english in 1783. The comma-shaped, 121-square-mile island is 21 miles long and 12 miles wide. It fronts the smooth Caribbean sea on the west and the roiling Atlantic ocean on the east. Its rain-soaked mid-section, which includes the Grand etang Forest reserve and a dormant volcano, 2,756-foot mount saint Catherine, is green and untamed and dramatically hillocky, its jungle laced with fast-moving rivers and lazy streams and populated by troops of long-tailed mona monkeys, a species brought over from Africa during the height of the slave trade.

The island’s cove-carved perimeter is more or less paralleled by a single road and strapped across the middle by a couple of others. The main road is understandably nameless; it’s generally just called de road, as in “Just follow de road.” It goes two ways — dis way and dat way — so getting lost on it requires some genuine determination. That said, road signs are a rare sight along de road, and Grenada’s 650 miles or so of paved byways

by most accounts, developers seem keen to preserve the island’s oldfanGled charms.

Asian themes with a twist of Italian style at elegant Laluna.Opposite: A working, 396-acre plantation, Peter de Savary’s Mount Edgecombe harvests a bounty of tropical produce.

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can be squiggly, steep, unnervingly narrow and occasionally less than billiard-table smooth. It’s safe to say that driving a car or a sport-utility vehicle is not for the faint of heart, so rentals should be approached with an ounce of caution. even without a rented ride, though, getting around Grenada is surprisingly simple. Hop aboard a tour bus to sites outside of st. George’s, or hail a taxicab (they’re everywhere). or if you’re really intrepid (and really frugal), join the locals and cram yourself into one of the privately operated minibuses that crisscross the island, horns honking and stereos thumping, with hair-raising haste.

Tourists tend to stick close to st. George’s and Grand Anse, so the island’s outlying towns — such as second-city Grenville on the Atlantic side and the west-coast town of Gouyave (pronounced gwahv), the island’s fishing capital and the site of a rousing Friday-night fish fry — tend to be considerably more rustic. don’t be deterred; the island’s people are famously warm and approachable, and its far corners are terrifically explorable, with out of the way treasures such as the big nutmeg processing center in Gouyave and, north of Grenville, the river Antoine rum distillery — among the world’s oldest, dating to 1785.

Grenada’s geologic origins are volcanic, but it nevertheless has several exquisite white-sand strands, most with fine small reefs right off the sand. Just south of st. George’s, and doubt-less the most postcard-perfect (and most visited) of Grenada’s beaches, Grand Anse is a lazy, two-mile crescent of sugary sand with a limpid swath of blue on one side and, on the other, a

lineup of beach resorts and hotels: the Grenada Grand, the Allamanda, the Coyaba, the spice Island, the Flamboyant and, my first stopping place, mount Cinnamon.

Built in 1970, the property was known as the Cinnamon Hill Hotel until 2006, when British developer Peter de savary snagged it for a song. The following march, it reopened — refreshed, repainted and refitted — as the mount Cinnamon resort. The hillside property consists of seven one-bedroom suites and 14 two- and three-bedroom villas, all with dazzling views of Grand Anse. Inside, each one features its own candy-shop color palette and a raft of natty touches specified by de savary himself, in-cluding ginormous four-poster beds, groovy shag carpeting, and retro-style refrigerators by Italian appliance-maker smeg. There’s a tidy spa, a colorful restaurant, and a bar, savvy’s, that’s named for the youngest of de savary’s five daughters, savannah.

de savary (or “Pdes,” as he likes to be called) fancies himself one of the most fervent champions of the old Grenada — and one of the architects of the new. A spry 65 years old, he made his fortune in the shipyard and oil-trading businesses and later demonstrated a genuine flair for high-end hospitality. He created the st. James’s Clubs in London, Paris, Los Angeles and Antigua; the Carnegie Club at skibo Castle in scotland (madonna mar-ried there); and the Abaco Club at winding Bay in the Bahamas. Lately, he’s turned his attention to a passel of properties on Gre-nada, an island he visited with his parents as a child. He sees it evolving into a sumptuous redoubt for the beautiful people,

de savary sees Grenada evolvinG into a 21st-century take on the st-tropez of the 1950s.

Patrons of Grenada’s acclaimed Aquarium Restaurant dine on some of the island’s best fish and lobster.Opposite: Far below Maca Bana Villas, Magazine Beach delights snorkelers with a superb reef right off the sand.

n ov e m b e r 20 09   c a r i b b e a n t r av e l+l i f e   6 5 6 4      

‘INTERVENTION’ STRATEGY Beside the road to the airport sits a modest memorial: two slender arches that intersect over a stone block with a bronze plaque affixed to it. The monument, in its own words, “expresses the gratitude of the Grenadian people to the forces from the United States of America and the Caribbean, especially those who sacrificed their lives in liberating Grenada on 25 October 1983.” As a rule, Grenadians are genial, chatty people. Ask and they’ll gladly bend your ear about cricket standings or why Grenada-brewed Carib beer is better than Carib from St. Kitts or Trinidad. But the sequence of events leading up to and including the American intervention — Operation Urgent Fury, in Pentagon-speak — is a very different matter. Even 26 years on, a good many Grenadians are understandably sore about the ugly power struggle that saw their prime minister deposed and executed and, for a few awful weeks, turned their island paradise into a shooting gallery. What is today for most Americans little more than a Jeopardy! question remains a lingering heartache in Grenada. It’s a topic of conversation visitors should broach with extreme delicacy — or better yet, not at all. — MP

The fresh fish, simply prepared, is predictably sublime, and when you can get it, the grilled lobster is out of this world. A scoop of nutmeg ice cream makes a fabulous (and fitting) finish.

As THe sUn seTs on GrenAdA And my FLIGHT To

someplace decidedly less unspoiled draws nearer, I unwind on my veranda at maca Bana after dinner and study the way the polished expanse of the sea fills in the scalloped edges of the land. my eyes follow the west coast all the way to twinkling lights of st. George’s. I ponder the beauty of the island and its enduring traditions, and I contemplate the seductiveness — and the fragility — of such authenticity in the modern world.

I recall my conversation with kyron Adams days before. “you feel that sun?” he asked. “you feel the way that warm breeze is blowing?” He closed his eyes to soak in the midday light and let the soft air from the harbor slide over his face. “That’s how it is here: easy. Like always.” He smiled big, and before I could say a word in reply, he delivered a little nod and a wag of his finger and added: “yes, I know you’ll be back.”

He’s right. I’m spellbound by Grenada. I will come back, and when I do, I’ll look up kyron Adams. I’ll ask how he’s doing and how Grenada’s doing, and I hope he’ll turn and gaze across the harbor toward his boyhood home, smile that big smile of his and say, “we’re just getting along fine.” ✸

For THE ESSENTIAlS on Grenada, see page 94.

The incongruity of such a deluxe proposition on an island like this seems acute when you stroll across the street to a scruffy little clapboard-sided house, painted lavender, from which Patrick’s Homestyle restaurant serves real local fare. Chef Patrick Levine learned to cook in the kitchen of a dearly departed culinary mainstay on Grenada, mamma’s, and in the mamma’s tradition, he delivers a cascading sampler of Grenadian foodstuffs — creole fish, cou-cou, breadfruit salad, saltfish cake, green papaya, sea urchin and other dishes. Heaping little bowls hit the table four or five at a time, dispatched from the impossibly small kitchen by Levine’s hardworking sidekick, Compta mcdonald. A scoop of fresh pineapple sorbet finishes things off, followed by a shot from a big jug filled with dark rum and stuffed with a secret recipe of leaves and twigs, purportedly giving it healing powers. I can’t confirm the medicinal value of Levine’s “under the counter,” but I will concede that I did feel awfully good after a hit of it.

From the Grand Anse glam of mount Cinnamon, I head down to the island’s southern tip and make myself comfy at the intimate and artsy maca Bana villas. The hilltop property looks down upon the soft sands and bright waters of magazine Beach. Its seven unique villas feature gourmet kitchens, outdoor hot tubs, and a smattering of inspired touches, courtesy of the artist rebecca Thompson, a British expat who owns maca Bana with her German-expat husband, Uli kühn, and lives on the property with their two teenagers and two dogs. The couple also own one of Grenada’s most acclaimed restaurants, the Aquarium, situated down the hill from maca Bana and opening right onto the beach.

sort of a 21st-century take on the st-Tropez of the 1950s. mount Cinnamon’s current shape is positively humble compared with de savary’s expansive vision for it, which includes more villas and, in place of its modest beach bar across the street, a sprawl-ing waterfront club and recreation center. He also owns (and rents out) a grand old mediterranean-style waterfront manse called Azzurra Castle and, in the island’s lush north, an even grander and older plantation house called mount edgecombe, which yields a shopping list of exotic fruits and spices. nearby, he’s purchased 200 wild acres, within which he plans to build an eco-spa called Tufton Hall, designed to pamper no more than 50 well-heeled guests at a time.

Among de savary’s Grenadian endeavors, however, the Port Louis marina (where kyron Adams works) is the main event. Perched on a lagoon that once served as a dumping ground for old cars and other detritus (one project manager told me that they hauled out the carcass of a russian-made helicopter during the $3 million cleanup), the property now includes a row of megayacht-ready slips and a beer-and-burger joint for visiting sea dogs. But de savary’s got bigger plans for this prime chunk of real estate, which encompasses the lofty former grounds of the Islander Hotel, bombed out during the American invasion in 1983. The project proposal includes dozens of cliff-clinging Italianate villas, a 150-room hotel and a yachtie playground with all the usual dining/drinking/self-indulging facilities.

he smiled biG and delivered a little nod and a waG of his finGer. “yes, i know you’ll be back.”

St. George’s harbor shimmers as night falls on Grenada. Opposite, from above: Kirl Natoo makes goat cheese at Belmont Estate; freshwater crayfish, à la Patrick Levine.