No disrespect to Virginia, but if there’s one place in the world that’s for lovers, it might just be St. Lucia. This thought first crossed my mind at Sugar Beach, a seaside plantation-turned-resort that’s nestled beneath the Pitons, St. Lucia’s pair of iconic rocky peaks. I was lying on a massage bed, indescribably content, while my therapist kneaded homemade coconut oil into my muscles. A few arm’s lengths away, my girlfriend was getting the same treatment. We’d hiked the larger Piton that morning, and now, for the second time in a day, we were virtually alone together, doing something we wouldn’t soon forget. Dana and I had been dating a few months at this point. But we had already started to worry about how difficult our respective work schedules made it to cross paths in frenetic New York City. On St. Lucia, an island with only one main road, we could travel together without distraction. Left to ourselves by our masseurs, we eased into the heated stone pool next to our thatch-hut treatment room.
That evening found us in the water again, this time wearing masks and wet suits. We finned through the cove on the hotel’s property, our flashlights trained on scrambling lobsters and gasping eels. Afterward, we dined on mahimahi and heirloom tomato soup at the hotel’s Bayside restaurant.
There was nothing between us and the sea but swaying palms. We grew closer in those four days than we had in the previous four months, because so many things that had been keeping us apart finally just evaporated.
Rooms from $640. This appeared in the November/December 2012 issue.