Bridgetown

Bridgetown raised the rum trade and never let the fact go to her head: the world's oldest commercial rum distillery sits up the coast, the oldest rum shops double as parliament annexes, and the harbor that taught ships to careen — tipped on their sides for hull-scraping — still wears the name Careenage. UNESCO lists the town and its Garrison; Bajans just call it town, and go on Fridays.

The sensible traveller walks the Careenage's twin bridges and National Heroes Square, ducks into the synagogue lane — one of the hemisphere's oldest —, and swims at Carlisle Bay, where shipwrecks and sea turtles share the anchorage with the capital's lunch break. The Garrison's George Washington house explains the island's odd American footnote; a flying-fish cutter explains everything else.

The Guide's honesty: the island runs on blue buses and shared vans that reach everything for small coins — use them and arrive local —; the rum shop is an institution of conversation, not consumption: order, sip, listen; and Crop Over in August is glorious and books the island solid: choose your season with intent.