Paradise of the Caribbean at North Beach

When my partner Sam and I touched down at Codrington the first enormous raindrops fell and we dashed into the airport terminal, more of a mint green shed, while our luggage was unloaded.

We climbed into a minibus for the short drive across town to the quayside, where Reuben James, owner of our island bolthole North Beach, was waiting in his Boston Whaler boat.

Frigate birds fished for their supper from their enormous colony as we swept into the narrow waters, the mangroves creating a curving, twisting route out to the open sea.

And then suddenly the rain shifted to the west, the sun returned and we were there. White sand stretching as far as the eye could see, a cluster of wooden beach houses peeking out from the palms.

Reuben, who had barely spoken as he raced the rain, went ahead with our bags as we tugged off our shoes and paddled from the jetty, along the beach to our new home. But Reuben, we would soon learn, is a far from silent man. His laugh is as untamed as his land, which he has spent almost 30 years turning into his vision of paradise.

As we walked the beach it seemed our footsteps were the first to mark it and they were instantly washed away as nature reclaimed its own.

Everything is as it is meant to be, as nature intended.

We sat on the balcony and watched as the sun gave its last hurrah, the clouds gone as quickly as they arrived.

A mile or so offshore, where the Atlantic and Caribbean collide, huge waves crashed on to the reef, their 5,000-mile journey coming to a dramatic and noisy end, rampant white horses dissolving into giant plumes of spray over the coral, but inside the reef it is calm. Barbuda, 30 miles to the north of Antigua in the middle of the Leeward Islands, is a rarity in the Caribbean.

Only those born on the island can own land, so there is little development and all of it low level. Only two, mind-bogglingly expensive resorts are dotted around its coastline after the closure of Princess Diana’s favourite, the K Club.

The property laws gave Reuben, an engineer and former senator, the opportunity to buy the beach where he and his family used to picnic and fish during his childhood.

Over the years, plainly in no rush, he has added to his own house five beachfront cottages, perched on stilts.

Luxury and splendour are not what he has gone for. Instead the whitewashed wooden cottages are simple, airy, furnished comfortably enough and decorated with shells and driftwood from the beach.

Once inside, it immediately feels like it’s yours, until you realise you’re sharing it with the geckos who scamper over the tin roofs and the crabs that hide in the shade beneath.