The Island Where Billionaires Go To Escape Millionaires

I took a speedboat from Carriacou to Union Island, Saint Vincent and The Grenadines, my 50th county to visit. I’d spent the last few weeks, since buying a hammock in Brazil, free camping in said hammock around the Carribean, and was living the best life. Roughly 4km2, Union Island was cozy, with a small town where you could buy provisions, and a weekly ferry to the other islands in the Grenadine chain. I spent a night on the beach, getting eaten by sand flies and midges, and the second night at the highest point, in my hammock in a gazebo, where I ran into bother trying to raise it after it sagged in the middle of the night. Ended up breaking one of the ropes and falling on my hole on a picnic table. Sleeping on a picnic table, with your clothes as a mattress, and your mosquito net as a sheet, is about as comfortable as you’d imagine it to be. The rest of the days were spent walking around to various beaches, which most people visit by boat rather than road, having beers at beach bars, chatting to people and catching up on work emails. There were a few abandoned houses that were pointed out to me by other tourists, but on closer inspection, they may be lived in or used by the local fishermen. There were also quite a few snakes on Union Island. Not ideal for hammocking. After waking at 4am on my picnic table, I was up in good time when the Wednesday ferry, M V Gem Star 2, got into port.

I was island hopping to Canouan, a bigger island in the chain, which from a glance at google maps, had far more reefs around it for swimming and snorkelling. Canouan is also a good access point to the Tobago Cays, one of the best marine parks in the world for scuba diving and snorkelling, and I’m hoping as it’s closer to Tobago Cays, it’ll be cheaper to get a boat from there. That was the extent of my research. My plan was to get to Canouan, find a place to store my backpack, buy a few bits to eat for a few days until the next ferry, and find a nice secluded spot to set up my hammock for the night.

Canouan is about 75.km2, with Charlestown, the port and main town, and has a population of about 1500 people. It’s quiet, to say the least, and getting off the ferry I felt at home. The first local fella I talk to offers me weed. This was going to be great. With no guesthouses to leave my hammock in, I drop my bag off at the police station, pay 15 EC for the heaviest two rolls of bread in the world and cheese, have a bite of breakfast,and make a plan for the day: head to Carenage beach, set up there and rest all day, it’s fucking hot. Maybe climb Mount Royal tomorrow.

I walk up to Carenage, and after a bitch of a hill and 45 minutes walking I come across a gate and security, where I’m told the entire northern half of the island is private property, but I could pay $150 to access it for the day, if I like. That’s a no from me, my budget is about €30 a day all in. Odd that half the entire island is owned by a hotel. I walk the 45 minutes back to down, and check out the windward side of the island. I’m sleep deprived and thirsty, and not on form at all. But, getting back over the hill to the windward side of the island, and the view is incredible, it’s as if the Great Barrier Reef was beside land, a turquoise blue water over white sand, barriered from the sea by a reef, that covered 3-4 entire bays. A really breathtaking view.

But still not good enough to put me on form, all I want to do is set up my hammock and sleep, and all these beaches look shite for hammocks, with hardly a tree to hang a man. I walk another 40 minutes until I find the perfect spot at Friendship Bay, an abandoned construction of a house, shaded, beside the beach - idyllic. I get set up, and finally get my nap in for a good two hours, only to be woken up by a guy telling me I’m blocking the road (he was walking), and I look around, the road continues a good 10 metres on from where the hammock is to the beach. Maybe this isn’t ideal.

Walking back to the main street on this side of the island, I find one of these old school grocery shops that is also a pub, and a hardware store, to buy a drink and fill my water. They have no water, but they do have coke. I walk back to the beach on Friendship Bay, drinking my coke, and find my dream spot- a crop of trees, secluded, with a homemade pull up bar, composed of two big sticks and a piece of rusty metal in between. Ideal place to spend the night. Walking back towards the grocery/hardware store/bar, secure in my place for the night, I discover that the road is covered with spotted tortoises walking, and bikes and cars have to swerve to avoid them. I met a guy who worked security earlier at the private property gate that stopped me going today. He's taking his boat out fishing for 2 hours this evening for dinner, with a string and hermit crabs. I declined the offer, but he has a boat, so maybe I could pay for a trip to Tobago Cays tomorrow? Sure, no problem.

I’m loving these, sleep when it’s dark, get up when it’s bright days, especially when I wake up feeling rested, it’s an amazing feeling, almost as if it’s natural. The sandflies are about, but it’s windy enough to keep the fuckers at bay, most of the time. I do an early morning quick workout, hear one of the pieces of wood holding up the pull up bar crack, and give it a break- then jump in the blue blue water for a swim. Not a bad start to the day at all.

I head back to the grocery/hardware store/bar for some wifi, hit up the bank for money to pay the ferryman, and head over to Glossy Bay. I was told at the bar last night that Glossy Bay is private too, but just say you’re going to the supermarket and they’ll let you in, and I do need to go to the supermarket. Glossy Bay is hidden behind an airport, which, after walking around, seems to be private too, although it is taking a fair bit of traffic, from private jets to propeller planes. I get to a security gate, they look at me, and, no questions asked, wave me on in.

Before me, is a sign: Pink Sands Yacht Club. Declining the offer of a golf cart, I walk towards the town, right past a yacht flying an Irish flag named “Celtic Bhoy”. This island is mad. And Pink Sands Yacht Club is built as a replica of a Mediterranean port town, with cobblestones, and outdoor cafe seats, everything modern but expensive looking, bathrooms full of bronze with individual hand towels.The perfect place for a haggard, unshaven lad who spent the last few nights sleeping on a hammock the beach.

I settle down in, and grab a coffee at the cafe. Next to me, is a woman with a well to do American accent, pitching her fashion brand, that's going to take off, to one of the boat owners. I thought this only happened in the movies.

And as it turns out, Pink Sands Yacht Club is no ordinary yacht club, it’s a super yacht club. And this super yacht club is owned by an Irish billionaire, Dermot Desmond, which explains the Celtic Bhoy yacht on the way in, and why the pubs are called Scruffys and Shenanigans. It’s brand new, just open to the public- which explains why security let me in- they mightn’t be used to dealing with people yet. Or they just let me in because I was white. Who knows.

Their paradise beach, with its pub Scruffys, was paradise-y, yet I was the only one swimming there. I grabbed a beer, and looked around - the place is practically dead. Like a modern day ghost town, with beautiful buildings and modern amenities, and a supermarket fully stocked with British food, but nobody in it. I read up a little bit about Canouan while I was drinking my coffee, and the first article that comes up: ‘Canouan: The Island Where Billionaires Go to Escape Millionaires’. And I thought this would be a cheaper place to get a tour to the Cays. How wrong I was. Today I went from walking up on a hammock, to drinking a beer at a super yacht club, to eating peanut butter from the tub with my hands for dinner. What a day.

The next morning, I went with Camiel to the Cays. He wanted to stop and go diving for lobsters first, and I can come along if I like. He’d only one pair of fins and snorkel, but be grand. While we spent about 45 minutes at the pier watching the fishermen gear up and get ready to go out lobster diving, Camiel told me about a friend of his who got the bends after diving to 140 feet for lobsters 2-3 weeks ago, who can’t walk now, and is lucky to not be paralysed. Camiel changed his mind on lobster diving after telling me that story, we’re not going lobster diving then.

We were the first people at the Cays this morning. It pissed rain on the way over, but then a double rainbow came out. We had the place to ourselves, and Camiel told me he was going to hang at the bar smoking weed and drinking, and to come back when I was ready to go.

The Cays are lovely, and the water clear, but the reef outside my hammock is just as nice. They’re blessed on Canouan. On the ride back, Camiel, drunk and high, was flooring it in his fishing boat, getting good air time on the waves. It was better craic than the Cays for sure, and I was getting back on the M V Gem Star 2 that evening, on route to the main island, I shed a tear leaving this Caribbean paradise behind. Sure, maybe I’ll visit again in the future when I want to get away from the millionaires.