The sprawling villa in the hills opened up in front of me. The gentle murmuring of the crystal clear infinity pool was in my ears, as I soaked up the open-planned rooms, the grand kitchen flowing into the living area and the open patio windows which led to the pool area, flanked by palm trees.
Perhaps the most magnificent thing about this villa however was the view. I sauntered over to the glass sheet which separated the balcony from the great drop. Before me were rolling hills dressed in forests and dotted with grand villas. The jagged coastline stood in the distance, a crescent bay curving round a large islet. Waves crashed over a shallow reef parallel to the islet.
I could get used to this view, I decided.
I was more than glad to be in St Bart’s, a beautiful Caribbean island half way across the world from my life back home. My stints to the Caribbean always seemed to come at the perfect moments. How fortunate I was to have these opportunities to run away from my life.
But in typical ‘me’ fashion, things didn’t exactly go to plan.
Our plane had touched down in Antigua after a lengthy 8 hour flight from the United Kingdom. We had barely any time to waste, including getting lost in memories of the 1 night I spent on this island a couple of years ago, power-walking through the terminal in order to catch our second flight of the day.
The smaller plane took us from Antigua to St Martin, another Caribbean island which I had set foot on but had seen very little of. That fact wasn’t going to change today, however. Next on our itinerary was the ferry which would take us on our last stretch of the journey.
But there was a problem.
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