Travel

My assignment: Go behind the scenes of a celebrity vacation. Test the waters, so to speak, of Anguilla, a 35-square-mile island in the eastern Caribbean that ranks high on the list of über-chic superstar hideaways.

I didn't object. Who would complain about a winter trip to the British West Indies? Besides, Anguilla (rhymes with vanilla) has been generating a lot of buzz: Town & Country magazine has called it the "new luxury capital of the Caribbean"; VH1 named it "celebrity winter vacation destination of the year"; and Travel & Leisure readers laud it annually for having one of the top resorts in the Caribbean.

So I flew to Miami and, from there, three hours southeast to the island of St. Martin, then climbed aboard a rolling interisland ferry for a 25-minute ride to this newly recognized Eden.

After all the hype -- and the effort to get here -- it was sort of a shock to see how, well, downright homely Anguilla is. Flat, dry and covered with thickets of scrub brush and brackish ponds. It's no Bali Hai. In fact, it's woefully lacking the rudimentary qualities needed for World's Favorite Island status: no cascading waterfalls, soaring volcanic mountains or luxuriant tropical foliage. There aren't even many palm trees. And if you're looking for a nightclub or casino -- or some boutique shopping -- forget it.

But those things apparently matter little to Anguilla's A-list guests, who have found other qualities to commend it. And I have to agree that the island of 13,000 souls has undeniable virtues. Its beaches are narrow, but the sand is dazzling, stretching to the horizon, as white and fine as powdered sugar. The sea that washes them is a brilliant turquoise. And looming on shore are palatial villas, ultra-luxe retreats for multimillionaire guests in search of serenity and seclusion. Of course, such surroundings come at a price. In Anguilla, that can mean $1,000 a night for a standard hotel room and $75,000 a week at a pricey villa such as Exclusivity, a 15,000-square-foot bluff-top mansion that was a favorite of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston.

"It's very, very private," Terry Peck, Exclusivity reservations manager, said of the villa. "There's a staff of 15, all of whom are trained to be invisible." Discretion is the maxim in Anguilla. "It's part of the appeal," said Amelia Vanterpool-Kubisch, director of tourism. The country's celebrity guests appreciate the anonymity, she said. "They tell their friends, and more come. They spend a lot of money."

Unlike Anguilla's high-profile guests, I was traveling on a low-profile budget, sort of a grass-shack-on-a-backwater-beach budget. My options for staying at one of the island's outrageously priced resorts -- the kind celebrities prefer -- seemed limited. (All Tribune Co. writers travel anonymously and don't accept free or discounted travel.) I groused about this to a friend of some means who didn't hesitate long before volunteering to come along. And to bring credit cards. She needed some sun, she said, and if a star or two wandered onto a beach nearby, she would be even happier.

So we checked into Cap Juluca, where, we heard, Liam Neeson had just checked out.

The hotel, an Arabian Nights fantasy of whitewashed Moorish towers and domes, is frequently chosen as one of the best in the Caribbean by Travel & Leisure and Condé Nast Traveler magazines. We soon found out why. Instead of checking in at a registrations desk, we were led into a richly decorated library full of overstuffed couches and low tables. The receptionist asked an attendant to bring us icy glasses of rum punch and told us to relax while she did the paperwork. Very gracious. Very private.

Then we were taken through lush grounds to our villa, one of 18 spread along Maunday's Bay Beach, a golden mile-long crescent of sand and water. Some of the villas have traditional hotel-style rooms with nontraditional bonuses: private towers that open to the sky -- for sunbathing or whatever -- or marble bathrooms with two-person tubs and glass walls that open onto private gardens -- for sunbathing or whatever. My friend Wendi wished she had brought along her husband, Harold, instead of me. Too late now, I said.

The largest villas have five bedrooms, private pools and butler service and cost $8,075 a night in high season, which stretches from January through March. All of the villas have access to the beach, where personal attendants set up umbrellas and serve sorbets and other delights to ward off the ennui that can accompany a tiring day in the sun. While Wendi sat on the beach eating mango sorbet and watching in vain for stars, I explored the island. Anguilla -- derived from the French word for "eel," a reference to the country's narrow shape -- is only 16 miles long and 31/2 miles wide. Other than the 33 sun-swept beaches, there's not a lot to see.

A beachcomber's paradise

Away from the coast, small concrete-block homes dot the scrubby terrain, and goats graze lazily on brush. The island is a low-key beachcomber's paradise, with two stoplights, friendly residents and a laid-back attitude.

Crime, though not nonexistent, is still uncommon enough that many doors have no locks. When we checked into Cap Juluca, I called the front desk to report that the bellman had forgotten to leave a key. "There aren't any," I was told. I sputtered, my city fears flaring. "We haven't had keys for 15 years," the desk clerk said soothingly. "And we've had no problems."

I learned more about the island as I traveled its uncrowded highways. Unlike many colonial regions, Anguilla was so happy under foreign rule that it was willing to fight to stay that way. The English colonized it in 1650 but eventually found the soil too poor to support plantations. Britain recommended an island union of St. Kitts, Anguilla and Nevis, but the Anguillans rebelled, causing English troops to intervene. Their island became a dependent territory in 1980.

Residents are gracious hosts who seem to enjoy welcoming guests. "It's not like some other places in the region," said Victor Banks, minister of finance. "Anguillans own the shops, the banks, the businesses, and 95 percent own their own homes. They have power. And they like to share their island with others."

Several tourists told me the British link also helped boost tourism. "We travel a lot," said Andrea Giordano, of Southampton, "and lately we've been doing the British West Indies [Turks and Caicos, Caymans, British Virgin Islands, Montserrat and Anguilla]. With the British, there's a level of service that can't be matched by the French or anyone else."

Tourists apparently have noticed. Anguilla's mix of hospitable service, uncrowded beaches and high-end resorts has turned this unlikely Eden into a Caribbean success story. Construction of villas and hotel rooms is booming; the island's first golf course will be completed this month; and unemployment is so low the country must import laborers.

Last year, the island's main runway was expanded to allow private jets to land; during the Christmas-New Year's holiday, it was so jammed with planes that employees ran out of places to park them.

My island tour took me past some of the villas those elite guests occupy. I peeked inside, pretending I was a show-business mogul with $6,000 or so to burn nightly.

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Anguilla

On Anguilla

If you go... (Nov 17, 2006)

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