St. George's

St. George's wraps around her horseshoe harbor like a hand around something precious — which it is: the Carenage has sheltered schooners, spice sloops and now sailboats under the same amphitheater of red roofs and hill forts. Above town, nutmeg dries in wooden lofts that perfume whole valleys; below, the water is so clear the anchors seem to float.

The sensible traveller walks the Carenage's full curve at morning, climbs to Fort George for the harbor's best geometry lesson, and enters the spice market with pocket change and no plan — nutmeg, mace, cinnamon and cocoa balls will choose you. The afternoon belongs to Grand Anse's two miles of white sand, and the connoisseur's detour is inland: a nutmeg station tour where the island's fortune still rustles in burlap.

The Guide's honesty: the town is vertical — the shortcuts are staircases and the heat is real: walk mornings, shade at noon —; cocoa here rivals the nutmeg: the island's chocolate bars travel home better than rum; and the underwater sculpture park north of town made reefs from statues — snorkel it before the postcard rack tells you to.