Orient Bay
"The water here is the colour of something a painter would invent and then think looked too fake to use."
I swam out about fifty meters, turned to float on my back, and looked at the beach. From the water, Orient Bay looks like what the word “Caribbean” is supposed to look like — a long white crescent backed by low sea grape trees, the sea going from pale aquamarine at the shallows to deep blue at the reef line, a scattering of catamaran masts off to the east. It is, objectively, one of the most photogenic stretches of coastline I have seen anywhere. Orient Bay is aware of this, and manages to carry the knowledge without too much arrogance, which is harder than it sounds.
The beach divides itself, informally, into zones. At the northern end, near the parking area, are the restaurant operations with lounge chairs for rent and cocktail menus on laminated cards. Moving south, the beach becomes progressively less organised. By the time you reach the far southern end where the former Club Orient naturist section begins, the infrastructure has largely disappeared — no umbrellas, no waitstaff, just sand and sea and a group of people who made their peace with tan lines a long time ago. I find this end of the beach oddly calming. The social contract operating there is simpler than at the main beach.
The reef at Orient Bay is what makes the water that colour. It also creates a break line that keeps the waves manageable inside the bay while providing decent snorkelling near the reef itself. You can rent masks and fins from the beach shacks for next to nothing, and the coral, though somewhat depleted from recent storm activity, still holds enough reef fish to make an hour in the water worthwhile. I saw a trumpetfish hanging vertically beside a brain coral, motionless, waiting for something it intended to eat. I watched it for longer than was probably rational and came away with the feeling you get from being in the presence of extraordinary patience.
The restaurants along the main beach do a confident version of the French-Creole overlap that characterises the island’s better eating. Grilled mahi-mahi with rice and peas appeared on several menus, as did accras de morue — the salt cod fritters that turn up everywhere on the French side and that I could eat every morning without complaint. The beach bars operate on a principle I respect: chairs in the shade, music at a volume that allows conversation, and rum drinks made with enough ice to stay cold. When the kitchen at one of the beach shacks sent out a plate of grilled lobster that I had not ordered, the explanation was that they had cooked one extra and it would go to waste. I accepted this without asking too many questions.
The wind picks up at Orient Bay in the afternoon, which transforms the scene — the kite surfers appear from the eastern end of the beach and work the trade wind with an efficiency that is beautiful to watch. The bay faces east into the Atlantic trades, which is why the conditions are so good and why the water is so clear: the same wind that drives the kites keeps the sediment moving and the visibility high.
When to go: Morning, before 11 AM, when the sand is still empty and the light hits the water at an angle that turns it green-gold. Afternoons get crowded in peak season. Weekdays are noticeably quieter than weekends. Stay into the afternoon if you want the kite surfers — they arrive with the afternoon wind and are worth watching until the light fails.