New Providence

The island changes its character with every few miles of road. The old core lies on the north shore, where Bay Street runs beside the harbour and the buildings wear their history openly: arcaded frontages, wrought-iron balconies, shutters painted in the colours of old sherbet. Head west and the mood loosens. Western Road carries you past resort gates and walled residential enclaves, and the land opens toward Cable Beach, where the wind has more room to work. To the east, the streets grow plainer and more lived in, with corner shops, churches with loud Sunday choirs, and houses that have been added to by three generations of the same family. Inland and to the south, the pine ridges and scrub thicken, and the roads quieten until the only traffic is a delivery van and the odd cyclist. Each part keeps its own pace, and the island rewards anyone willing to move between them on foot or by taxi.

A good day here starts early, before the cruise traffic thickens along the waterfront. Climb the Queen's Staircase, a flight of steps cut into the limestone by enslaved labourers, and look down through the green fronds at the rooftops of the town. Continue to Fort Charlotte, whose stone walls still hold the lines of its old guns, and then drop back down to the harbour. In the afternoon, the rhythm of the day changes. Junkanoo drummers may be rehearsing in a yard off Bay Street, the brass and cowbells carrying across the lanes, and the straw market is loud with vendors calling out to passers-by. Lunch is conch fritters and a cold drink eaten standing up at a counter. Later, the bridge carries you across the water to the smaller island on the harbour's far side, where the streets are quieter and the sea breaks against the rocks with a steady sound.

What lingers, though, is the coast. The north shore beaches lie in long curves of pale coral sand, shallow enough to wade for a hundred yards before the floor drops away, and the sea grass beds shift colour as the clouds pass over. Fishermen mend nets on the sand and nobody seems in a hurry to move them. Stay until the light turns the old town honey-coloured, and the harbour lights come on one by one along the water. You will find yourself wanting another day here, perhaps a slower one, with less planned and more time spent in the places you happened to wander into.