Caribbean Comfort
Four Seasons Anguilla Hosts a Seaside Homestead
Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons Anguilla
It’s with fervor I announce: I have found the end of the rainbow, and understand why it has attempted to remain so elusive all this time. The best part? It resides only a brief flight south— nonstop from JFK, if you can snag it— in Anguilla, referred to locally as Rainbow Island. The mythical whereabouts of the aforementioned rainbow’s end specifically sprouts roots at the island’s Four Seasons outpost— a gleaming gem in the brand’s crown. The 35 square mile stretch in the Eastern Caribbean is umbrellaed in a near-constant prismatic arc. As this property stands a tantamount testament to Four Seasons’ storied reputation of inimitable hospitality, I’d like to imagine the staff strings these multicolored marvels from the sky themselves, tethering each end symmetrically between Meads and Barnes Bay.
Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
My journey begins in the neighboring St. Maarten harbor, boarding the Sunset cruise (both the boat’s moniker, as denoted on a cheery orange life ring, and circumstance of the excursion). A seasoned captain and adolescent deckhands, all lifelong seafarers, chauffeur me privately to Anguilla’s dock, making a mockery of the sizable waves with their instinctive navigation. The national sport is boat racing, they assure me, so tykes often tie sailing lines instead of soccer cleats as after- school enrichment and captaining one’s own cruise around the cay is a rite of passage. One of the deft deckhands, who requested I refer to him as Pongo, fiddles with an unseen cooler as his crisp white linens are speckled with seaspray. In a valiant act, Pongo proffers a pre-poured rum punch from a submarine cabin, anticipating my water-weariness and medicating it promptly. With a single sip, I knew I’d arrived, instantaneously eased into the ebb of the island’s rhythm.
While ferrying is imperative to inter-island travel, the Four Seasons insists guests are whisked to the property in style aboard private charters, lending a subtle luxury to arrival and departure. Such attention to detail is echoed throughout the stay, and begins the second I step foot off the dock. The breath of the island swallows you whole— a thick, sultry atmosphere (what we may in part credit for the romance of the rainbow), transportative and entrancing as is the lushness it nurtures.
Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
Anguilla— which translates to eel, referencing the island’s serpentine, sixteen-by-three mile limestone terrain— evokes a spirit of abandon in even the staunchest cynics. One is not only encouraged, but more often politely mandated, to traverse the pillow-topped beaches unshod— both to embrace the sumptuous sensation of sole meeting sand, and prevent intervention of shoe-bottom bacteria on the delicate reef’s ecosystem. Kaleidoscopic MOKEs traverse the island as if they’re endemic; verdant, flaming, and ultramarine convertibles braking gracefully for the genuinely native iguanas. The British-born cruisers greet me at the hotel’s entrance like the royal guard, lined at attention in their candy-colored attire, ravishing against the alabaster facade.
Immediately, I perceive that contrast is heavy handed in doling out Anguillan charm. The idyllic scape is carved by mother nature, the scarred crag of wave-beaten rock an evergreen muse ornamented by revered interior star, Kelly Wearstler. You sense Wearstler’s influence seeping through the surfaces, most interiors plastered with alternating (and, surprisingly, zen) onyx and ivory tiles, complemented by deep mahogany and ample textured stone. Sprawling palatial estates dot the emerald hillside, daring me to trade cabs for water taxis and smog for starlight. The property hosts a comprehensive residence program for guests opting to stay awhile, or– dare I say– in perpetuity. Wearstler-designed villas with up to five bedrooms equip visitors with all necessary extravagances of sanctuary: personal golf carts, private pools, and residential assistants eager to maximize bliss await my beck and call. Serene spaces, adorned primarily in blonde tones, set the stage for natural marvels to triumph. Tiffany, more akin to fairy godmother than villa host, slides open floor to (soaring, sixty foot) ceiling glass doors to reveal unearthly turquoise for what seems to be hundreds of miles, teeming with vitality. A grand foyer progresses to a sizable outdoor living space, accommodating every imagined need of an oasis: resort-sized pool, barbecue, half a dozen beach chairs, a swinging bed. I debate calling home and family of an address change— you’ll find me here for the foreseeable future.
5 Bedroom Residence, Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
Morning rousings are performed by the roaming rooster, as it’s sojourned in the flowering lantana bush flanking my residence. His reverberating crow substitutes any concierge-delivered wake-up call. As I navigate the resort’s palm-canopied pathways in the blushing dawn, frangipani blooms unfurl themselves before me, illuminating the groaning teakwood trail way and offering their sunny centers to be caressed by imminent daylight. Suddenly, I’m grateful for the early bird. I pace a spiny-tailed iguana to the shoreline, where I’m spellbound by two sunrise-spurred rainbows, ducking between cotton-candy clouds. They subsume the entirety of both the eastern and western horizons simultaneously as a result of the previous night’s lingering dew. I cannot help but surrender to the vacant sand, following the sun above the contoured palms as it chases the spectacle from the sky. Going forward, I concede to taking waking-hours recommendations from the fauna while treading their habitat.
The hotel’s silhouette, as viewed from the bay below, is a cubist mosaic refracting near-constant sunlight— save for a singular, boldly inky blot on the bleached bluff. The infinity pool is the beating heart of the hotel, a hospitable beast. As the clock strikes five each day, formerly land-bound bartenders enter the Olympic-sized sanctuary clad in rash guards and swim trunks for in-pool happy hour. Tequila Sunsets (in this part of the world) and mojitos are mixed atop an inner tube moonlighting as a floating bar, fully stocked with all necessary tidings for a good time. Seeing as the aptly-dubbed Sunset Bar (perhaps the best spot to catch the lauded spectacle on property, perhaps in the world over) fills up an hour-plus prior to nightfall, bikini happy hour is often the wisest way to score a seat.
Sunset Lounge, Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
A particularly robust culinary program defines the resort’s identity. Chef Emmanuel Calderon dazzles diners with innovative iterations of island classics, echoing the resort’s commitment to bolstering Caribbean culture on the international stage. The Barefoot Barbecue, to which I arrive appropriately sans-shoes, is hosted on the shorefront. The special occasion is a palpable favorite of regulars, who hover around the communal Paella (the size of a table for six) as children would the ice cream man. Sea salted air is perfumed with the intoxicating ambrosia of woodfire rendering rich, fall-off-the-bone fats. Another glass of champagne is poured, ice to the touch in the torrid evening breeze, before I notice the first is emptied. Steel drums complement live vocals of soulful melodies, blissfully lulling me into a food coma to the tune of a downtempo “Caribbean Queen”.
At SALT, the upscale anchor restaurant, the still-steaming scent of cornmeal lures me to my cliffside table like I’m trailing a cartoon pie. In lieu of a breadbasket, the napkinful of Johnny cakes is sprinkled with mint-muddled, island-harvested salt and slathered heartily in housemade butter. No sooner have I swigged my welcome aperitif than I see a flash in the illuminated water. A passing hostess, noticing my intrigue, follows my eyes, fixed to the shadowed horizon and explains: Generations of Hawksbill sea turtles, a critically endangered species, dwell in the cove beneath SALT. Each night, swaths return home from an active day on the reef as diners tuck into their Anguillan Surf and Turf (crayfish and Wagyu short rib) or Jerk Cauliflower, a fantastical custom further proving miracles mark the mundane here.
SALT Restaurant, Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
Dockside beach bars that would make Bourdain coo commingle with world-class, seven star service from dive bar to fine dining. It is not pomp that renders the Anguillan experience inimitable— it is the complete lack thereof. Staff and residents alike will at once recommend their lauded local haunt, made so by a heavy pour for a paltry price, while insisting you not lift a finger to adjust your chair’s back. On Barnes Beach, attendant PeeWee escorts me to a solitary pair of chairs he’s arranged on the creamy, wave-groomed dune. While I’d initially opted for an ocean view table at the open-air Half Shell Beach Bar, the opulent incarnation of a tiki shack, PeeWee personally insisted that lounger-bound lunches are non-negotiable. He presents me with a veritable banquet, any need for my toes to hit the ground obsolete. Immovably transfixed by the cerulean expanse before me, I haphazardly deconstruct a plateful of fresh-caught colossal crayfish (drowned in garlic butter) and fresh-cut watermelon. To ensure balance in this healthful indulgence, I manage to wash down the banquet with a Carib, PeeWee delivers a gilded bucket of Carib, his beer of choice. As the beach is otherwise deserted, we chat enthusiastically, trading recommendations from various corners of the world, and I promise to one day return the favor by providing him with a pack of my favorite brews.
An endless inventory of HobieCats perch ripe for the taking on floatie-friendly Meads Beach. Swan inflatables sail through the adjacent pool with the grace of their animated likeness, mimicking the bejeweled beauties practicing backstroke at the adult refuge a stone’s throw away. The scene, taken in a panorama, elicits the imagery of Slim Aarons— an otherwise bygone epoch of peace, defined by idiosyncratic elegance. Blues are bluer. Tones are polite, familiar— except when engaged in jazzed bacchanalia, which is often.
Photo Courtesy of Four Seasons
