Here Comes the Sun
~ Words by Vickie Sam Paget, Sky Blue Content ~
Sun, Mud and Lightning: St Lucia Never Fails to Feed the Senses…
“I arranged for the sun to come up for you this morning,” the handsome stranger notifies me in a professional manner. “And I’m going to do the same tomorrow. What time would you prefer the sun to come up Vickie?”
For half a second I’m convinced. I don’t doubt that this handsome stranger could indeed arrange for the star at the centre of our solar system to rise at an allocated timeslot that is pleasing to me – and me alone.
Then a cheeky smile erupts across his face and he emits a belly laugh of such epic proportions that I think it could indeed send a few celestial bodies off-orbit and result in the sun rising at around 10a.m. Which, if I’m completely honest, I would kind of like.
Ladies and gentlemen, please may I introduce Roger, my butler during my stay at Sandals Regency La Toc, St Lucia.
Yes, you heard right: butler. And he’s a fine, fine butler at that. He’s been trained by the elite Guild of Professional English Butlers – Sandals has an exclusive partnership with the guild in the Caribbean – and it’s his job it is to ensure that I am unashamedly pampered to within an inch of my life during my stay. There’s even an added bonus in this already winning equation: Roger the butler has an absolutely cracking sense of humour.
Roger takes me to my Sunset Bluff ocean view one bedroom butler suite, where I’m wowed by the indulgent whirlpool tub, the two plasma screen televisions, the ridiculously enormous four poster bed and the spacious balcony with its endless Caribbean views.
Having poured me a drink and offered to unpack my bags (I feel instantly at ease with Roger, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for him to handle my smalls yet, so I graciously decline), I’m informed that Roger and his colleague McCann are at my disposal 24-hours-a-day to make my stay as sublime as possible. As if to prove the sincerity of his intentions, he firmly hands me a cell phone so that I can call him, day or night, with any requests.
Hmmm… I could get used to this. I could also get used to the relaxed, plantation-style ambience of the resort, the stretches of gold St Lucian sand, the mouth watering Châteaubriand in the unspeakably stylish La Toc bistro, the jerk marinated pork in the gloriously al fresco Pitons Restaurant and the quirky English beers on offer in the quaint Cricketers Pub.
Then there’s the plethora of Island Routes adventure tours on offer. I jump on a catamaran and soak up the cool sea air as I sail down the west coast to Soufriere. Multicoloured villages nestle into the rugged cliffs, a whale makes a star appearance especially for the tourists, the idyllic Marigot Bay effortlessly demonstrates why author James Michener called it ‘the most beautiful bay in the Caribbean’, the captain throws a line over the back of the boat, and the iconic Pitons stretch high into the Caribbean sky.
I arrive in Soufriere, a mysterious town at the foot of the Pitons that basks in the shadow of a smoking volcano. The name Soufriere is a French term that literally means ‘sulphur in the air’. The atmosphere is muggy; ram-shackled elegance lines the streets, cute kids kick footballs and wizened faces gaze up from front porches. The atmosphere is misty; heavily exotic.
At the Diamond Estate Botanical Gardens I meet the most mysterious of Soufriere’s sons: A gentleman who goes by the name of Alexander the Great. Why is this flip-flop-clad Alexander so great? Well, when he’s not giving tours around this lush, tropical garden or hanging around the steamy town’s cafés, he can usually be found climbing a Piton. Either one will do; the man just loves to spend his time climbing a Piton. He claims to have climbed them over 300 times – including one time with John Lennon and George Harrison. Which, I have to admit, is ‘great’ stuff indeed.
At the town’s Sulphur Springs – one of the most active geothermal areas in the Lesser Antilles – I lather myself in mineral-rich mud that, if I can be honest, does NOT smell as fresh as a daisy. In fact, it smells like rotten eggs – old rotten eggs. But I persevere and wait patiently while the icky, stinky mud dries in the heat of the sun – the sun that Roger the butler arranged to rise for me this morning. Then I wash away the noxious muck in a cool, outdoor shower. And although I don’t manage to get completely rid of the foul aroma, the putrid gunk does seem to do wonders for my itchy mosquito bites.
Back at my blissful Sandals suite, I can see that Roger has been busy working his magic. I’m met by a hot bubble bath that’s practically overflowing with petal-dotted suds – which is just the ticket for a girl who wants to banish the aroma of rotten eggs.
Roger’s skills never cease to amaze me. When he’s not busy creating Cleopatra-worthy bubble baths or arranging timetables for celestial bodies, I think that he tries his hand at weather-orchestration.
The moment I flop into that brilliant bubbly bliss, the sky darkens and a massive tropical storm erupts outside my window. Furious rain pounds off my balcony and sheets of lightning dart across the St Lucian sky, as thick, lush greenery soaks up the downpour. Roger must have given the sun a coffee break. But I’m not complaining: this is nature’s grand theatrics perfectly timed to coincide with some bubble bath heaven.
It’s dramatic stuff; electrifying stuff. Which, I guess, is what a visit to St Lucia is all about, after all.
Image: St Lucia Tourism
This feature first appeared in Canadian Traveller magazine.
