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| GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN: Hanging out on a secluded beach after a morning cruise through the regatta. |
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| Toasting newfound friends. |
It could be argued that this is the year of Obama, Rihanna, and China. But for a certain segment of the population, 2008 is all about Carrie, Miranda, Samantha, and Charlotte. It was in the spirit of Sex and the City that four single women of a certain age recently boarded a plane at DFW. While the ladies in the film are forced to take Carrie’s honeymoon in Mexico (actually filmed in Malibu), there were no jilted brides here. Ours was meant to be a girls’ trip from the very beginning. And our destination was a whole lot better than Mexico or Malibu. We were off to Jumby Bay, A Rosewood Resort.
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| The path to the private beach at Jumby Bay. |
Jumby Bay is a private island just off the coast of Antigua, owned by the island’s dozen or so homeowners and managed by Rosewood. It’s an all-inclusive resort, which might bring to mind college-era spring breaks spent in Cancun and Puerto Vallarta. Think again. Jumby Bay is a paradise lined with million-dollar houses, and celebrities such as Jada Pinkett and Will Smith, Kevin Spacey, and Paul McCartney have vacationed here. Certain stars have tried to rent the island to exchange vows, but they were gently declined, as not to draw too much attention to this paparazzi-free zone. It’s that kind of a resort.
The legendary Rosewood service kicked in immediately upon our landing in Antigua. The customs lines were long, we were tired and hungry, and the prospect of enduring “Caribbean time” was almost too much to bear. Turns out, Jumby visitors don’t endure Caribbean time. After a minute or two, a Rosewood employee tracked us down and guided us to the head of the line. By the time we got through, our luggage had been collected. From the airport, it was a short car ride followed by a private boat ride to Jumby.
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| Goofing around with two of the many starfish just off the shore. |
The resort offers a number of lodging options, and although the guest rooms are unavailable due to a massive renovation, the villas are getting a facelift and will be ready for visitors in November. But none of that mattered to us, because we were renting a private home.
The ultimate girls’ trip merits the ultimate house, so we chose an 11,000-square-foot, beachside, six-bedroom manse called Tamarind Cove, complete with pool, cabana, and outdoor dining area. All of the bedrooms open up to the lush courtyard or the pool—or both. Travertine floors offer feet a reprieve on hot days. The location of the television, perched in an open-to-the-outdoors den, allows guests the luxury of watching The Hills and simultaneously surveying the inevitable evening rain shower. The identity of our home’s owner was not disclosed, but judging from some of the photographs of the senior George Bush, this guy’s vote is not one that Obama should count on.
On to happier matters. We were delighted to meet our personal chef, and even more delighted to see that he had wine for us. Although it was late, we sat down to a four-course dinner at a formal dining table overlooking the sea. After far too much wine, we drowned out the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks with a lively discussion on the three R’s: reality television, relationships, and Restylane. Back stateside, the men in our lives surely heaved a collective sigh of relief to be excluded from the trip and this conversation, specifically.
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| One of six bedrooms with ocean views. |
Despite the wine every night, our mornings began early. Our friend and D Magazine staff photographer was always first to rise, snapping pictures at about 6 am. A few of us had work obligations to tend to—phone service and wireless Internet access are not a problem on the island, and the resort also has a business center available to guests—while others noshed on the plate of fresh fruit and breakfast breads that miraculously appeared during the night. Once we finished our respective business, we gathered by the pool. One day, it was for Pilates class, taught by an enthusiastic and patient instructor who had to listen to stupid complaints such as, “Red wine and stretching can lead to retching.” After class, I told her, “I can see a difference.” She smiled politely.
Another day, we had massages under the poolside cabana, two at a time. The resort is building a spa, which should be completed in fall 2009. But in the meantime, there is nothing more refreshing than a private outdoor massage. We were lulled to sleep by the sounds of the sea; then, once we had our wits about us, we went for a dip in the infinity pool. That little combo was about all we needed for the best day ever.
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| The last dip of the day. |
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| Side-by-side massages in the outdoor cabana. |
As one can imagine, massages, stretching, and splashing around in a pool cause near famishment, so we usually jumped in the golf cart for a perilous ride to the resort restaurant, The Verandah, for lunch. It is a completely walkable excursion, but, this being a girls’ trip, we decided that other than Pilates, we would exercise as little as possible. The workout room was visible from the business center, and that’s about as close as we got. The nice thing about Jumby Bay is that it’s possible to avoid even walking to the bar, because the staff is more than happy to retrieve your drinks for you, even beachside.
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| Strolling back to the pool, along the trellised path. |
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| The chef shows us how to prep a whole snapper. |
Back to the food—which is where a lot of all-inclusive resorts get into trouble. Although you can order a few items off the menu, the majority of the food at The Verandah is served buffet style, including a beautiful assortment of salads, vegetables, fish, meat, and desserts. The foodie among us raved about the lunchtime pumpkin and broccoli salad, made by grilling the vegetables and tossing them with salt, pepper, and olive oil. (We asked.) Recently hired chef Andrew Taylor has done wonders. Our curly-haired friend—the Carrie Bradshaw, if you will—had been to Jumby Bay before (with the ex). She mentioned again and again how much better this trip was—due in part to the freshness of the food and company, of course.
Afternoons were spent on the beach drinking daiquiris, margaritas, and Jumby Jamborees; talking to other guests (a surprising number of families, a not-so-surprising number of couples); and reading trashy magazines. Two of our friends attempted a bit of sailing, but either the Jamborees kicked in or the wind inexplicably came to a halt, because they didn’t get very far. Later in the day, another friend ditched her bathing suit top to pose with huge starfish over each breast. Afternoon drinking is fun.
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| Sashimi with seaweed salad. |
Then it was off to the house for a catnap and a late cooking class, followed by a dinner of the items we had “prepared,” including a magnificent whole snapper, sashimi with seaweed salad, and Grand Marnier crepes. Though we could have gone on like this forever—hanging out with only our group, in the cozy confines of our little manse—Jumby Bay offers a number of opportunities to socialize.
Every Sunday, there’s the White Night Beach Party, a barbecue complete with bonfire. The formal, white-tableclothed restaurant, The Estate House, open only for dinner, offers an impressive wine selection and gourmet dishes such as roasted grouper with mashed sweet potato and sun-dried tomato and olive relish, lobster risotto, and pan-fried veal cutlet with vanilla pasta and truffle jus. But if guests are looking for excursions or a change of pace from Jumby, resort staff will happily book passage.
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| One of the boats competing in the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta. |
We spent a day on a boat, checking out unbelievable yachts—and the handsome boys on deck—competing in the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta. “How much does something like that cost?” one friend asked our captain. “People always say, ’If you have to ask how much it costs, you can’t afford a yacht,’” he answered. He did allow that simply filling one up with gas could cost around $100,000.
Ordinarily, in Dallas, we would have been outraged by that number. But we were in a Jumby Bay state of mind. We had grown used to being treated like rock stars, celebrities, and, well, rich people. So instead of yelling about waste, war for oil, and ExxonMobil’s excessive profits, we merely nodded, instructed our captain, “Back to Jumby Bay, please,” and began discussing shoes.
Our Sex and the City transformation was complete.
How To Get There
American Airlines (aa.com) flies from DFW to Antigua daily, with a connection in San Jose, Puerto Rico.
Where To Stay
Jumby Bay, A Rosewood Resort
P.O. Box 243
St. John’s, Antigua, West Indies
268-462-6000
jumbybayresort.com
Rates (in November 2008 and January-April 2009): from $2,500 per night for villas; from $5,000 per night for private homes. All rates include welcome by airport concierge, round-trip airport transfers, personalized in-villa registration, all meals and beverages, unlimited use of water sports and golf cart, and personal staff of housekeeper and chef. During the 2008/2009 holiday season, all villas and private homes require a 10-night minimum. The 10-night Estate Home Escape (December 20, 2008–January 6, 2009) includes all of the above plus two one-hour spa treatments per day and one dinner at Le Bistro for $70,000 to $175,000, depending on the accommodation.
