Caribbean > Antigua and Barbuda > Antigua > Antigua > Resorts > Articles > Antigua and Barbuda: The Naked Truth

They say there are 365 beaches in Antigua. It's a neat bit of arithmetic - one beach for each day of the year - but has anyone actually counted them? Either way, we did quite well at the Hawksbill Beach Resort which claims four of them, including Eden Beach, the only official 'clothes optional' stretch of sand on the island. Topless bathing is not really appreciated in Antigua, although there is an unofficial nudist beach beyond Hawksbill, but by all accounts it can only be reached by boat or perhaps voyeurs who are very strong swimmers.

Anxious to explore the extensive Hawksbill estate before the Caribbean sun climbed too high, we strolled along the Eden sands one morning before breakfast (cameras are banned from breakfast until late afternoon) and found ourselves the only fully costumed couple among a handful of naked fellow strollers. One woman who engaged us in conversation was quite difficult to identify at dinner with her clothes on. A day or two later, Len, a friend we made during our stay, tried the same walk during the heat of the day. "By the time I had passed eight naked couples, I felt I had no choice but to follow suit," he said. "So I stripped off too."

The Hawksbill resort, halfway down Antigua's west coast, is undoubtedly one of the island's most impressive locations. It takes its name from a single outcrop of coral that resembles the head of a hawksbill turtle (but, rather like the Matterhorn, it looks completely different from the other side). Appropriately, on our walk along Eden Beach, looking down to avoid the gaze of strolling nudists, we spotted the imprint of some hawksbills' webbed feet making pretty patterns in the hot sand. It had been a new moon, and presumably (we didn't dare disturb the sand to investigate) some of these wonderful creatures of the deep had waded ashore to lay their eggs.

As with any of the world's hideaway tropical islands, there tends to be a conflict between lying back on sun-loungers with an hourly cocktail and a small library of books, and trying a few of the possibly tremendous (though possibly tedious), and certainly expensive, daily outings. In our case, my wife and I had conflicting agendas. Vivianne, who had been longing to switch off from her busy work schedule, wanted to do absolutely nothing but chill out (if that's possible at 30¼C). I, on the other hand, wanted to try some of the excursions.

The three main opportunities seemed to be a circumnavigation of the island on a mini-booze cruise aboard a catamaran with loud music; a visit to the hauntingly beautiful but (after the major volcanic eruption of 1996) devastated island of Montserrat; and a trip to Antigua's allegedly idyllic neighbour, Barbuda.

But all of these were put on the back burner as we determined to spend the first few days going nowhere. More and more holiday destinations like ours seem to be plumping for all-in catering arrangements, so if you wanted to, you could eat and drink virtually all day long, starting with a massive English or Caribbean-style breakfast, and moving on to a beach-side barbecue for lunch, afternoon tea and finishing with a slap-up dinner, usually with live music (a mixed blessing).

Down at the waterfront Sea Grape Bar and Grill, which serves à la carte meals most nights (re-branded each evening as Il Vigneto Sul Mare) as an alternative to the main open-air Tamarind Tree restaurant, you could drink yourself silly on any number of rum-based cocktails, such as the Tornado (rum, crème de cacao and pineapple juice), Baby Blue (rum, Curaçao, coconut cream and pineapple juice) and the Hawksbill Special (banana, rum and Galliano).

In between drinks and meals, you can haul your rapidly increasing bulk off to Hawksbill's boutique (a converted sugar mill), where the shelves are lined with souvenirs and the inevitable sunscreens, bottled water, repellers of creepy-crawlies (not that we were troubled much by them) and, of course, bottles of rum of varying strengths. Some of the rum on sale in Antigua is so strong that word has it you wouldn't be allowed to board your aircraft home if a bottle was spotted about your person. At the foot of the steps up to the boutique is a blue plastic basin with water in it. Beside it, a message reads: "Please wash all feets when coming into shop. Do not put your shoe in bath. Thank you very much - management and staff."

The boutique, perched high above the sea, is also popular with passing kestrels, which find it a useful vantage-point from which to survey the area for prey while giving their tired wings a break. The bird life is fabulously prolific here. Brown pelicans and frigatebirds with vast wingspans soar on the Leeward thermals, and laughing gulls cackle. The inevitable squadrons of squabbling and posturing mynahs are everywhere, sometimes seeking sympathy from lunchtime diners by perching on a single leg, leaving the other hidden from view as if they had lost it in some skirmish.

Antillean crested hummingbirds swarm like bees around clusters of pink blossoms on an elderly sweetmeal tree; bananaquits, with their bright yellow chests, flutter here and there, emitting their wheezy warblings, and, like lesser Antillean bullfinches, steal sachets of sugar from your breakfast table which they drill holes in before hoovering out the contents. Hence the bananaquit's sobriquet: sugar thief.

When it came to excursion time, we made the wrong decision, opting for the erroneously labelled "truly unique tranquillity and amazing pink-sand coast" of Antigua's companion island, Barbuda, 90 minutes away by ferry. We had been given the impression that this was the ultimate unspoilt and idyllic island, but what we found was a huge disappointment (especially as it had cost us 120 each, plus 20 in taxi fares). We should have persevered with the Rough Guide, which gave hints as to the true nature of the island. While stressing that it is, indeed, edged with wonderful beaches, it goes on to say: "The interior is less fetching, mostly low-level scrub of cacti and bush. For most of the year it is extremely arid and unwelcoming." You're telling me.

The point here is that the island's reputation sinks or swims with a visit to its alleged sublime and idyllic pink-sand beaches. We weren't given the opportunity, being offered a beach dotted with donkey dung, prickly plants and general flotsam and jetsam, with no shelter from the searing sun, and only traces of the legendary pink sand.

Our driver let it slip that there was a shortage of petrol on the island (where every commodity has to be shipped from Antigua), which perhaps meant they were unable to take us to the beaches we had been promised. Nor was there any sign of "a sail to another of Barbuda's beautiful unspoiled beaches". Instead we found ourselves trundling everywhere in a clapped-out truck along roads with challenging surfaces.

The only saving grace was a visit by boat to the fascinating world of the frigatebird. The island has one of the world's most important colonies, their forked tails and huge wingspans making them a distinctive sight as they soar above the mangrove swamps. They cannot dive for fish, and must rely on surface prey or on scaring other birds into dropping their catches.

Back in Antigua, we had one final treat in store: a Scottish wedding. Like many couples, Chris Milne, complete with kilt, and Vicki Robertson had planned to wed in Sri Lanka, but after the tsunami they shied away from that destination. "The main reason for not marrying back home in Aberdeen was money," said Vicki. "We just couldn't afford £20,000, so we sneaked off here and asked two strangers to act as best man and chief bridesmaid. But we're throwing a big party for everyone when we get home."

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