http://travel2.nytimes.com/2005/02/27/travel/27high.html?8td=&pagewanted=print&position= The New York Times February 27, 2005 HIGH LOW High: Anguilla on $1000 a Day By JULIET MACUR N hour after arriving on Anguilla in early January, I was soaking in the hot tub at an exclusive resort, sunglasses on, eyes closed, sun warming my pasty Northeastern face. Ah, Anguilla, a quiet island that has recently become "the next St. Barts," a hedonistic hideaway and magnet for members of the boldface set. At the northeast corner of this narrow isle, Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt spent New Year's in a villa on Captain's Bay. On its southwestern coast, Jay-Z and Beyonci had cuddled on the sands of Shoal Bay West. Down the beach from my resort, Uma Thurman had kicked back at a local bar. Just as I began to imagine that I, too, was a star on an escape-the-paparazzi trip, reality interrupted. A foreign object crashed into my hot tub and sent water slapping against my face. A small boy and his father were throwing a ball wildly. The father's next toss bounced off the boy's head and against a woman's forehead. The father laughed. The woman smiled. I growled and thought, "This doesn't happen to Jennifer Aniston." I left in a huff because I had no time for distractions. This was serious business: I had to figure out how to get by on $1,000 a day. Though Anguilla is a relatively undeveloped island where goats might outnumber residents, $1,000 a day at a chic resort amounts to roughing it. At the Cap Juluca resort, the cheapest room in high season cost $936 a night, including the 20 percent tax. Malliouhana Hotel offered a garden view room on the first floor for $744. If my best friend, Rose, and I were to eat, drink and even think of going to the spa on my $1,000-a-day budget, the only high-end resort I could afford was the CuisinArt Resort and Spa, which sits near the island's southwestern end on Rendezvous Bay's beach, one and a half miles of flour-soft sand, blindingly white. The turquoise ocean water was as clear as Evian, and you could see fish near the sea floor. The cheapest rate, $550 plus $110 tax - but including Continental breakfast - would allow us to pretend we belonged at this beautiful place. The resort's grounds were simple and elegant. Eggplant-colored bougainvillea climbed the whitewashed stucco buildings that looked as if they had been plucked from a Greek cliff. In a nearby garden were trees heavy with guavas, fig bananas and star apples. As we looked from the lobby onto a series of rectangular pools cascading to the beach, a receptionist said we had been upgraded from the main house to a suite in one of the 10 three-story villas clustered along the shore. "We hope you don't mind," she said, unaware that I was a journalist. No, we didn't, and certainly not after seeing the room. The upgrade, to a junior suite that would have cost $120 more a night, allowed us to hear waves from our patio. Our "suite" was a cheery, not fancy, single room, but at 920 square feet was nearly as big as my Manhattan apartment. A navy couch broke up the space into sleeping and lounging areas. Two double beds with wicker headboards faced the porch and a walkway to the beach. Paintings of Greek fishing villages and bright bedspreads splashed color against the white walls and tile floors. A brochure called the bathroom "your own private sanctum," large enough for an oval tub for a honeymooning couple's bubble bath. But nothing was that private, considering one wall was made of warped glass. While on the outside walkway one day, I gasped when I saw a fuzzy version of Rose heading for the shower. At the resort's free reception on our first night (with food and drink), the manager, Rabin Ortiz, told us, "Do not make plans for your weekend." We quickly learned why. There are no plans to make because, on Anguilla, there is basically nothing to do. And that's the point. At CuisinArt, stay away from the main pool (where ball-tossing children congregate). Instead, sit on the beach and take delivery of homemade lemon sorbet from waiters whose goal is to fill you with fruity rum drinks. After sundown, submit to spa treatments like the Anguillan coconut pineapple scrub, which smells good enough to eat, and the hydroponic cucumber and aloe wrap, using ingredients grown on the premises. Night life is minimal. (At 10:30 on Saturday night, only one couple was at our resort's bar, where a trio sang "Endless Love.") Sea kayaks, sailboats, catamarans and tennis courts were available and mostly unused. For casino or dance club action, it's a half-hour ferry ride to St. Martin. Still, after too many games of boccie and gin rummy - or perhaps not enough gin and rum - we searched for some fun. Down the beach was Dune Preserve, a delightfully mellow bar inside a wooden shack owned by the local reggae legend Bankie Banx. A CuisinArt bartender said that Uma had been there the night before. We followed the shoreline to get there. But then, as if the local gods ordered punishment for all $1,000-a-day cheapskates, two stray dogs charged us in the darkness. We couldn't see them, but they barked and snapped like rabid Rottweilers, sending us running back to CuisinArt. So much for Uma. Cowards that we were, we rented a car the next day for $55 (including $20 for an Anguillan license) and that night drove 60 seconds to Dune Preserve, only to realize we were too full for a drink. Because, on Anguilla, what you do is eat - often. Our gluttony had begun at Santorini, which, like CuisinArt's other heavenly restaurant, Cafe Mediterraneo, uses food grown in the resort's high-tech hydroponic garden or its old-school organic one. There, Rose and I went to a class led by CuisinArt's executive chef, Daniel Orr, formerly a chef at Guastavino's in New York City. Neither of us is a great cook. (My fridge at home contains two bottles of seltzer, nail polish and AA batteries.) But we are great eaters. We stuffed ourselves with a tangy serving of stingray, a dizzyingly delicious chocolate souffli and yellow lentil bisque so good we were tempted to lick our bowls. Afterward, I was shocked at the $75 charge, well over the advertised $55 I had budgeted (it had just gone up). I next heard my whiny voice telling the concierge: "You don't understand. I cannot afford this extra $20." The concierge rolled her eyes, but, hey, I needed $110 for the seaweed scrub later. That evening, we took a cab ($13 each way) to dinner at Blanchard's, a top-notch restaurant in a quaint cottage. Most of the 23 tables were arranged on the main floor, but we sat on a lower patio overlooking fountains and gardens and the sea beyond. The only disappointments were the rubbery lobster included in the $56 Caribbean Sampler and the waiters' rushing us through the meal. Total for my dinner: $110.40. Perhaps the management could sense that we were not the stars of our imaginations. I asked the man at the bar if any real stars came in. He reeled off names of those who had been there "just yesterday": Denzel Washington. Johnny Damon. Liam Neeson and his wife, Natasha Richardson. Courteney Cox Arquette. And, of course, Jennifer Aniston. The next day, though it was dry season, it poured. So on that rainy Sunday we rented a car and checked out Anguilla, which didn't take long. It is only about 16 miles long and 3 miles wide. We found it pleasingly devoid of cheesy T-shirt shops and fast-food joints but plentiful with road-roaming goats and the smiling people who own them. We lunched at Gorgeous Scilly Cay, a primitive restaurant on a tiny island off the northeastern coast. With no electricity, it's open only from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. To get there, you stand on a dock and hail a boatman. Normally, patrons sun themselves there on lounge chairs between courses, and get foot rubs from the restaurant's masseur, said the owner, Sandra Wallace. But not on this rainy day. On the boat over with us, she wore a garbage bag to stay dry; the masseur stayed home. Still, a calypso band played upbeat music in the main house, which had about a dozen tables and was open on all sides. Outside, there were several palm-covered huts, each with a few plastic tables and chairs, where I ordered the crayfish and chicken plate for $45, as sweet as their rum punch was dangerous. My lunch, with tip, came to $74. We found no famous people there, either - we were managing to repel them - though we did hear that Sharon Stone had recently rented out the whole island. And Jennifer Aniston (her again) had been there the week before. That evening, I had my second treatment at the Venus Spa - a place without much character or Zen - at CuisinArt. (In the thumbnail-size locker room, I awkwardly rubbed elbows with someone's naked grandmother.) The Caribbean warm stone massage ($115, plus $22 tip) was a step up from the seaweed wrap of the day before - better called the seaweed chill. That one began with me shivering in the treatment room. The masseuse said, "If I told them once, I told them 20 times, this room is freezing." Then she spread cold seaweed gook over my goose bumps. I groaned while she mummified me with towels. Under those coverings, wrapped inside foil, I felt like a hypothermia patient. But relief came with the warm stone massage. As the smooth rocks rolled over my muscles it felt oddly soothing, as if I were being seared by a giant stick of roll-on deodorant. I felt so much at ease that later I splurged on a smoothie for Rose, at $8.05 the only thing I could afford to buy her all weekend. When the sun came out on our last day, I passed the hot tub and saw that same annoying family with their dreaded ball, this time being tossed between two strollers. So I headed for the beach. I bobbed around the water for a while, then moved my peaceful self to a lounge chair. There I sipped on my own smoothie until it was time to get back to the real world by way of the St. Martin airport. At a terminal newsstand, I finally saw Jennifer Aniston - on a magazine cover. How terrible - her Anguillan experience included suffering greater than my seaweed chill - she and Brad had broken up. "Hey lady!" the cashier yelled. "Did you see the sign? You can't read the magazines until you buy them!" What, she thought I looked rich? I had already spent my $2,000. So I dropped the $3.95 magazine onto the shelf and walked away. TWO-DAY TOTAL: $2,000.35 Visitor Information Getting There Several United States airlines run flights to Anguilla, but most operate in connection with other carriers. Most flights go through San Juan, and the cheapest fares (from about $646 round trip for late March) can require an additional connection in St. Martin. If you fly into St. Martin (from about $561 round trip), you can take a 20-minute ferry to Anguilla ($24 round trip plus $2.75 departure tax from St. Martin and $3 from Anguilla). Ferries run every half hour from 7:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. Where to Stay Cap Juluca, (888) 858-5822, www.capjuluca.com, is tucked away on the secluded beach at Maunday's Bay, making it a favorite hideaway for celebrities. Doubles start at $780 a night in the high season, from $445 in April, and $345 from May 1 through mid-November. (Add 20 percent in taxes to all rates.) Malliouhana Hotel and Spa, (264) 497-6111, www.malliouhana.com, is the perfect place to see an Anguillan sunset: it sits atop a cliff facing west over the crystal blue waters of Mead's Bay. Doubles start at $400 from April 1 to 30, and $290 from May 1 to Nov. 19; ocean-view one-bedroom suites are $825 and $660. CuisinArt Resort and Spa, (264) 498-2000, www.cuisinartresort.com, is perched on Rendezvous Bay. Rooms start at $550 a night from January through March, $395 in April, and $350 from May 1 to mid-December. Lloyd's Guest House, (264) 497-2351, www.lloyds.ai, has 14 rooms on Crocus Hill, in walking distance of Crocus Bay. The spacious rooms, some recently renovated, go for $65 to $85, with breakfast. Where to Eat Blanchard's, (264) 497-6100, www.blanchardsrestaurant.com, has a romantic setting overlooking Mead's Bay, and serves food with a Caribbean flair.
From mid-October through May, it opens for dinner at 6:30 p.m. and is closed Sunday. June through August, it is closed Sunday and Monday. Closed Sept. 1 to Oct. 20. Entrees from $34.
Gorgeous Scilly Cay, (264) 497-5123, is an open-air restaurant on its own
island, with free ferry service from Island Harbor. It is open on
Wednesday, Friday and Sunday 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Since there is no
electricity, all food (chicken or seafood) is grilled. Live music on
Wednesday and Sunday. Entrees start at $25.
Roy's Place, (264) 497-2470, www.roysplaceanguilla.com, is a charming
beachcomber's joint overlooking Crocus Bay, with a lively beach bar and an
Internet connection for guests (including wireless). There is a Friday
happy hour with dinner specials for $12. The Sunday specials are prime rib
($20) and lobster ($38). Lunch and dinner served daily, except dinner only
on Saturday.
English Rose, (264) 497-5353, a tavern in the central business district of
The Valley, serves generous portions of comfort food at reasonable prices:
burgers from $4, salads from $6. Closed Sunday.
Tasty's Restaurant, (264) 497-2737, offers chic-casual Caribbean dining in
South Hill: dishes like stewed creole-style lobster for $30, and
coconut-crusted filet of parrot fish in banana rum sauce for $20. Open for
breakfast, lunch and dinner daily, except Thursday.
Trattoria Tramonto, (264) 497-8819, has open-air dining and a beach bar on
one of the island's prettiest beaches, Shoal Bay West. The Italian menu
emphasizes game and seafood, including wild boar filet mignon ($35) and
spaghetti with crayfish, clams and shrimp ($30). Lunch and dinner except
Monday.
Uncle Ernie's, (264) 497-3907, is a quintessential beach shack on Shoal
Bay East; open 9 a.m. to 7 p.m.
What to Do
Taino Wellness Center, off Spanish Town Road, South Hill, (264) 497-6066,
www.magma.ca/~phwalker/, offers massages (from $40 for 30 minutes),
manicures and pedicures (from $15), facials (from $50), and body treatments.
Devonish Art Gallery, the Cove, West End, (264) 497-2949, shows works of
local artists, including those by Courtney Devonish, a woodcarver and
ceramicist. Open 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday to Saturday or by appointment
Sunday.
Horseback riding with El Rancho del Blues in Blowing Point, (264)
497-6164 or 497-6334, starts at $25 an hour.
JULIET MACUR is a sports reporter for The Times.
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R. A. Hettinga