Pandemic free caribbean vacation
In 1958, Colin Tennant, the 3rd Baron Glenconner, bought the uninhabited island of Mustique for £45,000 from the government of St. Vincent and the Grenadines. There were no roads, no running water, no nothing, but its beauty was unmistakable. And a decade later, he decided to invite friends and transformed the island into a bohemian West Indies escape—far from prying eyes, far from pretty much everything. Tennant famously gave a plot to his friend Princess Margaret and then sold parcels for private development—to rock stars, celebrities, socialites—with the owners making a joint pledge to develop the island’s necessary infrastructure. And the Mustique Company, perhaps the world’s most fabulous co-op, was formed.
There are two small hotels (the island-owned Cotton House with seventeen airy rooms and the independent seven-room Firefly). Still, most visitors stay in privately owned villas, many of whom are rented, fully staffed, and not occupied by the owners. There are just shy of a hundred homes on Mustique, and while eighteen were architected by set designer Oliver Messel, they’re all distinct—whether in style, size, views, or proximity to white-sand beaches. There are small modern gems, Italian-style villas, and sprawling Balinese-inspired homes.
Privacy abounds because the island more or less is private—you take a small charter from St. Lucia. You must have a reservation to stay to book a seat (the Mustique Company dictates which plane you’re on, and in the age of COVID, you must furnish a negative PCR test to ensure that the island retains its COVID-free status).
Check out Basil’s Bar—an open-air dockside spot Kate Moss to Mick Jagger to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge—you can’t exactly pop over to Mustique and wander around uninvited. It’s that small.
There are also no cars: You zip around on foot or by golf cart, right past the statue of the mating turtles, which is one of the prominent orienting landmarks—after all, horny turtles are the unofficial island mascot because they are everywhere. That is, should you leave your villa, many people who come rarely venture out. Why would you? The homes are all stunning, massive, lined with infinity pools, outfitted with robust Wi-Fi, and staffed with lovely chefs and butlers who will fast become your friends. Some have private tennis courts, yoga pavilions, and other assorted amenities.
For people who want to voyage beyond the ocean, you can hike (wear sunscreen), scuba dive, bird-watch, go deep-sea fishing, charter a sailboat, help the island’s conservation team replant coral on the reefs, golf, play tennis, or ride horses on the beach (Cotton House also has a small but excellent spa). There are a handful of restaurants, though unless you’re picnicking at the beach, you’ll eat most of your meals at home before heading out to Basil’s.
While Mustique may be famous for drawing people who want to get a little crazy in the privacy of the Caribbean, the island’s biggest fans are arguably the kids. There are movie nights, snorkeling with sea turtles, a host of fantastic babysitters (ask for “D”) who know where to find the best shells on Macaroni Beach, and the aforementioned golf carts—little ones can safely get a little feral.
There are a few homes suited for four people, but most are intended to be shared, making this the perfect escape for reunions and multifamily vacations. It’s also likely that you’ll make some new friends. In fact, the island has a robust villa-party scene, so you’ll probably be cocktailing: After all, you order all your alcohol and wine to be ferried over pre-arrival, and in an abundance of caution, you’ll order too much and then try to drink through most of it. While many visitors rebook for the following year before they’ve boarded the plane home—particularly if they want to claim their favorite villa—you’ll meet other groups intent on staying in as many different homes as possible. And you’ll understand why: The famous beaches will linger in your mind, the water is unmatched, but the villas and staff really make the trip.