Vote for Antigua by Lucretia Stewart

It's always a good time to be in Antigua, in my view, but this was an even better time. It was late March, the end of a dreary winter back in Britain, and there was a general election taking place. This election was different from previous ones because it looked as though prime minister Lester Bird, whose family had ruled Antigua as their own personal fiefdom for more than 50 years, was about to be ousted from power.

VC Bird, Lester's father and apparently our Queen's favourite politician, had created the island's first trade union in 1939. He had assumed the leadership when a ministerial form of government was introduced in 1956 and, apart from five years in opposition between 1971 and 1976, had dominated Antiguan politics, either as chief minister, premier or prime minister. When VC retired in 1994, Lester took over. Antigua and the Birds had always seemed synonymous. But now, incredibly, things might be about to change.

I love Antigua, but even I can't pretend it is the most beautiful of the Caribbean islands. Its rainforest is a poor excuse for a rainforest, with much of the island covered by a low, scrubby plant known locally as widdy-widdy bush. It is a flat place, prone to drought (only 18 per cent of the land is arable and a mere 11 per cent is forests or woodland) and it often has a forlorn, neglected air. But in the forgiving, golden light of dusk, as I swung the hire car down the battered road to English Harbour, it looked magical.

On the radio, Lester Bird was in full flow. 'I am the essence and the personification of what this country is all about,' he said, urging Antiguans to vote for him, promising that the Antigua Labour Party (ALP), of which he was the leader, would enter The Guinness Book of Records as the first party to win seven consecutive general elections in a democratic country.

Whenever I had visited Antigua before I had stayed in the capital, St John's, or over on the north coast where the bulk of the hotel development is. This time I was staying in the south-east, starting off at The Inn at English Harbour.

English Harbour was a naval yard for warships in the 18th century, when it was described as 'one of the most infernal places on the face of the globe'. If it was once 'the grave of Englishmen' where 'the moral state... was deplorably wicked, the Sabbath unknown', and where, 'when warships anchored, immorality of the worst description was perpetrated'; it now has the unenviable reputation as 'the heart and soul of the drug world in Antigua' as well as the venue for Antigua Sailing Week and the Wet Tee-Shirt Contest.

Horatio Nelson was stationed here as a young captain in 1784, a posting that led to the dockyard being named after him. Today it is the only existing example of a Georgian naval dockyard in the world. It is also a kind of theme park where, according to The Antiguan, a locally produced magazine, you can enjoy 'A Uniquely Antiguan Experience'. The advertisement was illustrated with pictures of smiling locals in period costume, all looking rather ridiculous. The Inn at English Harbour has a boat that ferries guests across from the hotel to the dockyard, so I went over for lunch and to see what had changed since my last visit.

Not a great deal, it appeared, although in the dockyard museum, a picture of Prince Charles as a boy had replaced the photographs of Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon on their honeymoon. Nelson is supposed to have lived in the museum building during his three-year stint on the island; when he left in 1787 he was apparently so ill (English Harbour was famously unhealthy) that he took a case of rum with him to pickle his body if he died.

Like all theme parks, Nelson's Dockyard is really rather tacky. But even the smell of fried food and the souvenir shops with their bottles of hot sauce, gaudy pareos and indifferent watercolours and acrylics of sunsets swirling with birds and parrots can't quite spoil its extraordinary atmosphere. I ate a tuna sandwich at the Admiral's Inn, whose wonderful setting, with its massive stone dockyard columns at the end of the garden, make it almost possible to ignore the casual-bordering-on-rude service and second-rate food. It is possible to eat well in Antigua, but you have to know where to go - Julian's Alfresco over at Runaway Bay is terrific.

High above are the imposing fortifications of Shirley Heights, named after a General Shirley who arrived as Governor in 1781, which overlook the dockyard and harbour. From 4pm on Sunday afternoons, the Lookout bar on the Heights hosts steel pan and reggae bands and a barbecue - it is one of the few places and occasions where tourists and locals mix. From my room in The Inn at English Harbour, I could hear the music, so loud that it sounded as if it were right outside my door.

Getting around Antigua during the elections was difficult because of the motorcades (or 'megacades' as they were called on the radio) of campaigning politicians and their supporters, which crawled all over the island like huge, slow-moving centipedes. Some US tourists from Curtain Bluff, a microcosm of East Hampton and possibly the most exclusive hotel on the island, had gone up to Shirley Heights on Sunday evening in search of local colour and got caught up in a megacade, but I doubt that anyone at the Inn even knew that there was an election taking place. The guests - starry-eyed, sun-flushed honeymoon couples or wealthy, elderly types with deep tans and skins like leather - were cocooned in luxury and what was happening in the real Antigua, was of little or no concern to them. This is often the case in the Caribbean, particularly on Antigua. If you are staying in one of the smart resort hotels, you frequently have the sense that you are existing in an alternative reality. Tourism in Antigua, which dominates the economy and accounts directly or indirectly for more than half of GDP, seems specially designed to heighten that sense of unreality. It's certainly relaxing, but it's also a little strange.

So I was glad to be spending the next few days, which included election day, at Dian Bay, one of the few (if not the only) upmarket resort hotels owned and managed by Antiguans. It originally belonged to Barbadian Peter Oodle, who owns Mango Bay in Barbados (Dian Bay was originally called Mango Bay, too), but a local group bought it at auction early last year. It is leased by Heather Mannix Labadie and her business partner Nicolette Doherty, a lawyer of English/West African origin, and opened last November as a 'fully dedicated spa resort'.

'The concept is an indoor/outdoor spa experience,' says Doherty. 'The indoor area provides body treatments such as mud wraps, thalassotherapy and aromatherapy massages, and facials, and includes a beauty salon. The outdoor spa "oasis" has a sauna and hot tub, cooling rain showers and massage facilities in a tropical rainforest setting. The key is to keep it simple and to exploit the outdoor experience as much as possible.'

At the time of my visit, I was the only guest. The hotel is pretty enough, although by no means in the same league of unbridled luxury as some of the other resorts on Antigua; what makes it unique is its location. It is on the remote north-east coast of the island (as is Eric Clapton's treatment centre for drug and alcohol abuse) facing Devil's Bridge, a natural arch carved by the sea from soft and hard limestone - and so-called, according to the memoirs of Antiguan plantation worker Sammy Smith, because slaves from neighbouring estates used to go there and commit suicide by throwing themselves into the sea. Between Devil's Bridge, which can be seen exploding in an unceasing frenzy of spray, and the peninsula on which Dian Bay is located lies a huge, milky lagoon, as calm and as clear as you could wish.

Dian Bay is about three-quarters-of-an-hour's drive from St John's and is reached by a single-track road that goes through the village of Willikes. After Willikes, you turn right along a road that's terrible even by Antiguan standards, off which there are a few pretty villas. Beyond the hotel there are perhaps three more houses and nothing else. The strange thing about Dian Bay is that it achieves, apparently effortlessly, what most other resorts strive for: total isolation. There are no shops, no restaurants and not much in the way of activities, just the amazing lagoon.

There is a boat to ferry you to the beach on the far side of the lagoon, although it is also possible, apparently, to wade there through the limpid, turquoise waters. The barman, O'Connor, makes a terrific rum punch. The staff, who include a chef from Guadeloupe specialising in Caribbean creole cuisine, are friendly without being obsequious. At dinner the general manager talked about the importance of understanding the difference between 'service' and 'servitude', and these people appeared to understand it very well.

On election day the skies were heavy and grey and there was torrential rain. I left Dian Bay and drove into St John's to pick up a part for my laptop. Sodden tourists off the cruise ships were wandering disconsolately through streets streaming with water. Everywhere there were queues of drenched voters; some people had to queue for up to two hours to vote. Pizza in Paradise, where I went for lunch, was not serving alcohol - not even beer - for fear there might be trouble.

That night I fell asleep around midnight before the final results were declared, but at dawn the following morning, Observer Radio announced 'shock and surprise to the candidates'. Both Lester Bird and his brother, Vere Jr, a spectacularly corrupt individual, had lost their seats. The ALP had retained just four MPs, including the untrustworthy-looking Asot Michael. (Michael had been implicated in a Medical Benefits scandal that played a big part in bringing down the government: many people, including Michael, had abused the scheme to pay for operations - in Michael's case, liposuction - and criminal charges had been brought against Minister of Health Bernard Percival).

Baldwin Spencer, leader of the UPP (United Progressive Party) and prime minister elect, described events as the Day of Judgement for the ALP. The weather was suddenly glorious, a perfect Caribbean day. One elderly woman caller to Observer Radio said, 'De rain came and washed all de corruption away'; another that, 'Two Birds had been killed with one stone.' There were lots of jokes in that vein.

At Dian Bay, Kirthley Maginley, a UPP supporter, was euphoric. He walked around with a big grin on his face, repeating the UPP slogan, 'Government in the sunshine.' O'Connor, the barman, who had supported the ALP, was quietly resigned; but I got the impression that even ALP supporters were quite enthusiastic at the prospect of change.

At Carlisle Bay, where I spent the last few nights of my stay, there was also enthusiasm for the new government. I found this interesting because so much of the Bird regime had been about patronage and backhanders. It used to be the case that 98 per cent of the tourist industry was foreign-owned (I don't know what the figure is now, but it's probably not much different). This was made possible by the corruption, which flourished under the Birds. Resorts such as Carlisle Bay had tended, in a sense, to owe their very existence to the Bird government. Gordon Campbell Gray, the owner, told me that he frequently used to be summoned to have dinner with Lester Bird at the Casino in St John's. They must have made a strange pair. Bird is well over six foot tall and, in local parlance 'girthy'. Campbell Gray is a dainty Irishman. I couldn't see Baldwin Spencer demanding the pleasure of Campbell Gray's company on a regular basis.

Carlisle Bay opened in December 2003, a sister hotel to One Aldwych in London, and has proved popular with movie stars, rock musicians, the rich, the famous, the glitzy and the glamorous. (Nearby Curtain Bluff is more of an old-moneyed, paternalistic Caribbean resort, although it too enjoys the visits of celebrities: the cellist Yo-Yo Ma was there when I visited).

The suites (they are all suites) are fabulous, although I wonder what the Caribbean staff make of touches such as the Zen-like, white, rectangular plate on which three fruits are arranged carefully in a straight line (the fruit is changed every day - I had a Golden Delicious apple and black plums, neither of which are native to the Caribbean). Likewise the light therapy in the spa, which consists of coloured lights changing at the speed of a neon sign against a background of pitted stone.

The setting, at the end of Old Road, is also wonderful: the road is part of Fig Tree Drive where Antigua's rainforest begins. The beach is superb, as is the swimming pool. The restaurants, including East which serves Asian food, are excellent. There is a cinema where carefully chosen classics are shown every evening: the night I arrived A Streetcar Named Desire was playing. There is a library with two computers (with broadband Internet access) and a lot of good books. The staff are unbelievably helpful. The manager, Andrew Hedley, comes from Cap Jeluca on Anguila via Peter Island Resort in the British Virgin Islands. The only fly in the ointment is literally that: due to the mangrove swamp directly behind the property, the resort has a problem with mosquitoes, although they spray every evening at 6pm.

But then at Carlisle Bay, it sometimes seems as if the mosquitoes are the only truly Antiguan thing about the place.