The first thing you see when you leave Dominica’s old Douglas Charles Airport is the vast, conker-coloured earthworks of the island’s new international airport – flanked by signs in both Chinese and English.
You drive right through this sprawling development, past pausing lorries and busy workers, and you can’t help but marvel – not just at the scale of the project and the long fields of smooth red earth, but at how China seems to be spreading its influence through investment, not invasion.
The road hugs the Atlantic coast before turning inland into a slalom of coat-hanger bends: trees, hairpin, trees, hairpin, trees. You’re soon surrounded by lush vegetation that towers over the buildings and even the streetlights – which bristle with tiny wind turbines and solar panels in varying states of disrepair.
It’s immediately clear why Dominica, one of the Caribbean’s most ecologically advanced islands, is known as the Nature Island – or simply Green Island.
We pass the occasional house with the rusted carcass of a 4x4 out front, long scavenged for parts and now home to vines and creeping moss. Minibuses hurtle past, screech to a stop, release schoolkids with backpacks, and roar off again. Our own pace is leisurely, and somewhere on this winding journey, I start thinking about how I came to be here.
I’d spent much of the previous year being filmed for a BBC documentary about Loaded – the multi-award-winning magazine I launched in 1994. The film explored how it captured the excess and energy of the 1990s – its rise, its fall, its notoriety. Being interrogated for hours on end like I was under caution was draining, and I knew that when it was over, I had no interest in watching myself or my former colleagues reflect on the past. I needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere new. Somewhere relaxing.
A travel writer friend recommended Secret Bay in Dominica. At first, I assumed she meant the Dominican Republic – as many do – but Dominica is an entirely different island, 1,000km to the southeast in the Windward Islands.
It has a population of just 70,000, and although I arrived via St Kitts, you can currently get here in about 1 hour 40 from Barbados. Once the new airport is complete, direct flights from Europe will be possible.
As we arrive at Secret Bay, the tall wooden entranceway reminds me of a Japanese torii boutique, art gallery and dining area gate – a quiet signal that we’re entering somewhere special. That impression never fades.
We pull up to the Welcome House – a vast, open-fronted structure made from greenheart timber imported from Guyana – and my jaw drops. I’m invited to sit in one of four roped swing chairs, handed a smoothie, and given a tour of the boutique, art gallery, and dining area by a local who looks like she took a wrong turn into hospitality on her way to a Vogue shoot.
After 75 minutes of forest driving, I wasn’t expecting the restaurant’s towering brutalist concrete walls, home to an impressive selection of street-style paintings. But the mix of dark timber, grey concrete, vibrant art and a valley of a hundred greens is stunning.
As we wander through the gardens to the beach and infinity pool, I realise I’ve been gawping the entire time – and finally close my mouth.
A golf buggy whisks me to the Honeymoon Villa – and I immediately regret not bringing my girlfriend. The villa is perched high, with a plunge pool and secluded garden, and a shaded relaxation area beneath.
Up the exterior stairs, a sun deck leads to an elegant living room and kitchen, which in turn flow through to the bedroom and bathroom. The rear of the villa is hidden behind a thick curtain of greenery.
Inside, the bedroom has a freestanding bath and a shower with a window that opens over the beach below. The blinds black out the world entirely.
The living room is spacious and stylish. The TV area doesn’t dominate; instead, there’s a beautiful hardwood desk with binoculars and writing pads. A Sonos system plays whatever you ask for.
Like all villas at Secret Bay, it has a fully equipped kitchen and a Villa Host who prepares your breakfast each morning – so there’s no need to trudge to a buffet.
The kitchen is stocked with quality groceries: fruit, eggs, bread, milk, butter, fresh smoothies, yoghurt, cold water – even a tea box the size of a backgammon set. There’s probably a backgammon set too. You can eat at your own pace – in bed, on the balcony, or by the hot tub. And if you fancy a drink, there’s a chilled wine cabinet.
The Honeymoon Villa has its own origin story. It was the first to be built, gifted to owner Greg Nassief and his wife by her father, renowned architect Fruto Vivas, as a wedding present.
Greg then had the vision to develop a series of similarly designed villas – blending local materials with high-end design – and create a resort with space, silence and seclusion. There are no crowds, no queues, no interruptions. You can go hours without seeing another soul.
Secret Bay sits in a sharp cove between two steep headlands, just 120 metres apart. Below is a small beach; behind that, a dense canopy of trees conceals the pool and bar.
I’m staying on the western headland, gazing across a rich green valley where dark wood villas are partially visible through the foliage. One has its own private vernacular railway to shuttle guests up from reception. But what you really notice is the stillness. The solitude.
From my balcony, I can hear the waves below – and nothing else. Eventually, birdsong joins the mix. Bananaquits – little yellow birds with curved beaks – argue politely over my leftover toast crumbs. That’s all. Just surf and birds. And when was the last time that was all you could hear?
Later, sitting alone by the main pool, I find myself mentally tallying the best places I’ve ever stayed – from Kyoto to Puglia, the Maldives to Manhattan. After some careful travel arithmetic, I realise something unexpected: Secret Bay may
well be the best of them all.
Rooms start at around £900 per night during the UK winter season. For more information: secretbay.dm/reservation-inquiry
