Beautiful beaches are like the famous Tolstoy quote about happy families: They're all alike. A far harder thing to find on a tropical island is a beach that makes you think.
When we came to Guadeloupe, we thought we wanted the opposite of that: A place where we would think about nothing at all. We planned to lie in the sun and relax. If we looked for anything more, it would be for the best off-the-beaten-path, not-in-the-guidebooks spot that could feel like ours and ours alone.
We figured that Guadeloupe would be soft, sandy, and lined with palm trees, with a vendor selling rum punch nearby. But we came across a lot of other things we weren't expecting. Like a perfect sandwich, a mountain that smells like eggs, and, um, a few ancient human bones. We found something meaningful, instead of just some frothy, rum-flavored fun.
Guadeloupe is composed of four islands in the Lesser Antilles, arching southeast of Puerto Rico toward South America. The two biggest are connected by a land bridge and form the shape of a butterfly: Grand-Terre, the flat island with white, sandy beaches, is the right wing; Basse-Terre, the mountainous, volcanic, rain forest island, is the left.
The island, originally called Karukera ("Island of Beautiful Waters") by the Caribs, was renamed by Christopher Columbus. It came under French rule in the 1600s, when colonists brought slaves to establish sugar plantations. As a present-day overseas département of France (and thus, on the euro), it has its own Afro-Caribbean culture with a hint of Europe — such as the pain au chocolat you'll find in its bakeries. More important, it has grappled with its history, having opened one of the largest museums dedicated to the history of slavery in the Caribbean.
American tourists were few and far between during our stay. It might be due to access: There are multiple daily direct flights to and from Paris, but getting there from the United States takes a flight with multiple stops. You'll need to know a bit of French to get around. And you'll probably want to rent a car. (Most of the available rentals have a stick shift.)
My husband and I flew into Pointe-a-Pitre, near the bridges in the butterfly's center, as the sun was setting. We set off for the first stop on our list of the island's most beautiful spots: the tiny harbor town of Deshaies, at the top of the left wing.
We drove there in the dark, so the view the next morning at the beach of Fort Royal, just outside of town, was a surprise. Picture turquoise water lapping at the sand, bookended by cliffs that dropped directly into the ocean. Another wind-whipped beach on the other side of the resort was empty of people, and we could see the island of Montserrat in the distance. The beach was pristine, textbook-perfect. Imagine starting your trip with this, knowing that there are somehow even better beaches.
That first day, and every day after, we'd roll down the windows and blast Bel'Radio, a local station that plays zouk, a Caribbean music genre that sounds like it's drenched in sunlight, and drive to another — first, Plage de la Grande Anse, a bustling beach shaded with palm trees serviced by several beachside shack restaurants and food trucks, then Plage de la Perle, which was quieter and more secluded.
Everything moves slowly on the island, except cars. Basse-Terre's main roads hug the coastline and the sides of steep hills — no guardrails! — and we would regularly pull aside to let others pass, going around hairpin curves faster than the posted 70 kph (45 mph). Deshaies was one of the most remote parts of the island, connected by road only about 50 years ago. It is the kind of charming place where you might spot a flier asking for help finding a lost pet and, upon closer inspection, see that the fugitive animal is a peacock named Sidonie.
At nearly every Guadeloupe beach, you'll find stands selling bokit, a sandwich that is the island specialty. If some entrepreneurial food truck owners took them on as a concept in the United States, they'd have an instant hit. Take a piece of fried dough about the shape and size of a pita and stuff it full of meat or fish, vegetables, a peppery sauce. and maybe an egg. Morue crudites — or spicy salted cod with vegetables — was our favorite lunch. For dinner, restaurants offered more elaborate dinners of langouste (spiny lobster) and lambi (conch), and fish topped with sauce chien – literally dog sauce, a mixture of onions, garlic, lime, and hot peppers that some say gets its name from its spicy bite.
And everywhere we went had locally made rum. We cooled the fire of our sauce chien with the island's traditional drink, ti punch — short for petit punch — a cocktail made by pouring seemingly any amount of white rhum agricole into a cup and muddling some cane sugar and lime in with it. It's a DIY endeavor: Order one ti punch and, at some restaurants, trusting servers just drop off a tray with all of the ingredients, including a whole bottle of rum.
The highest point on Basse-Terre is a volcano called La Grande Soufriere, and another day, we drove the perilous cliffside roads – listening to that sunny zouk music — to see what the island looked like from its peak. The best way to get to La Grande Soufriere is to put "Les Bains Jaunes" – the Yellow Baths — into your GPS. Those are a natural hot spring that welcome you to a well-maintained trail, with railings and stone steps in a few particularly tricky parts. It will take you above the tree line, past canyons covered in yellow moss, then above the clouds to the peak of the volcano, which has the sulfurous smell of rotten eggs.
Back at the trail base, hikers had stripped to their swimsuits and were contentedly soaking in the bathwater-temperature Bains Jaunes. It had all the makings of a perfect spot — the smell of rain forest, the sound of birds, the comfort of a warm dip exactly at the time we needed it. That is, until we read a nearby sign, in French: Attention aux amibes, it said, warning of the chance of brain-eating amoebas in the water, and advising guests not to put their heads underwater. The mostly French swimmers were up to their chins and seemed unfazed. We didn't go in any more than ankle-deep.
There were postcard-perfect, sandy white beaches on Grand-Terre, the other half of the island. So we drove southeast across the butterfly's wings to a city called Sainte-Anne, leaving behind the solitude of Basse-Terre for an Airbnb on the edge of town, within walking distance of beaches brimming with French tourists and numerous restaurants. It was even easier to bop around from beach to beach there, where destinations are a little closer together.
We spent a morning on the city beach, where there are boats for rent and the Floup tropical fruit ice pops we came to love. There was another day at the Plage de la Caravelle, the chichi, peninsula-shaped beach of Club Med, with shallow turquoise water and views of La Soufriere in the distance. We spent a few magical hours at the Plage de Bois Jolan, a beach that had no bokit vendors, no ti punch, and somehow — miraculously — no other people.
We thought no spot could possibly surpass it. And it's true that none of the beaches that came after were ever as perfect, as relaxing, as completely pristine as that one. But as nice as it was to lie on that beach and listen to the waves, it wasn't a feeling we could take with us. It was as shallow as that turquoise water.
We went to Plage des Raisins Clairs — the beach of light grapes — because we'd heard that it had good food trucks. The beach was striking: On the other side of the road were the black-and-white-tiled mausoleums of a beautiful old Catholic cemetery. So when we approached a large sign that said "Cimetiere colonial de la plage des raisins clairs," that's what we assumed it was referring to. A sign described an old cemetery from the 1800s that was unearthed by beach erosion in the 1980s. With my basic-level French, I puzzled out the phrase, "Ne pas collecter ni extraire des ossements." Or, "Do not collect or extract the bones."
Bones? We looked at each other, and then down. A few feet away, there was a bone lying in the sand.
"Someone probably put it there as a prank," my husband offered, feebly. "It's probably a goat bone."
It was not. We walked farther out onto the beach, where people were sunbathing and drinking ti punch, and saw a barricaded sand dune that contained an active archaeological site. Up close, you could see ribs sticking out. Farther down, some tiny bones that may have been fingers. A partially uncovered pelvis. The undeniable ball-shaped cap to a femur.
"Dormez tranquille!" — Sleep well! — an older French man joked to me, seeing my reaction, a mix of morbid fascination and alarm. In the United States, such a sight would be shielded from children, the bones exhumed and then transferred to a proper resting site. In Guadeloupe, tourists went swimming and read magazines where the island's history was poking out of the sand.
It started to rain. It was our last day. We got in the car and cued up Bel'Radio, as if it could magically bring the sun back. It didn't.
So we did what we did every day — we started to drive to another beach. We drove all the way to the edge of the butterfly's lower right wing, a spit of land that we hadn't seen mentioned in any of the travel stories we'd read about Guadeloupe. All we knew was that it was called Pointe des Chateaux ("Tip of Castles"), that we'd be surrounded by water on three sides when we reached it, and that it would be the last place we'd see on this trip, so it would have to be meaningful.
And it was — a place where we watched clouds roll in over the nearby island of La Desirade and felt the wind whip through towering rocks, where 20-foot waves crashed over the rugged shore and sent salt spray toward us as we climbed stone steps toward a small peak with a cross on top. It was a scene that looked like a Turner painting, the kind of work made when the world had not yet fully been explored, depicting an ocean that inspires fear and awe in equal measure. We had seen a lot of beaches that week, but never one that made us feel anything like this.
Hotel Caraibes Royal
ZAC Petit Bas Vent, Deshaies
011-33-590-28-58-35 or caraibes-royal.com/en
A moderately priced hotel with a pool and jacuzzi a few minutes' drive from the town of Deshaies and a few minutes' walk from the beach. The nearby (and fancier) Langley Resort has a restaurant and a beach. All beaches in Guadeloupe are open to the public, even if they're the property of a resort. Rooms from about $110.
Rue de La Vague Bleue, Deshaies
011-33-590-68-30-30 and on Facebook
A seafood restaurant that features upscale Creole cooking and a few French dishes, such as duck breast and foie gras. Get a planteur punch and settle in for sunset views of the Deshaies harbor. Entrees start at about $22.
Route de la Plage, Sainte-Anne
011-33-590-85-44-29 or le-lucullus.restaurantguadeloupe-sainte-anne.com
A seafood restaurant in the heart of Sainte-Anne, with good grilled meat and fish, and conch fricassee. Entrees start at about $10.
Hiking La Grande Soufriere
Saint-Claude, via the N3
011-33-590-41-55-55 or guadeloupe-parcnational.fr/en
Use the GPS for Les Bains Jaunes (the Yellow Baths) to find the hiking trail to the top of La Grand Soufriere. The trail is easy and well-maintained at the bottom, but requires some rock scrambling at the top. From Les Bains Jaunes to the top and back again will take you three to four hours. Admission is free.
Darboussier, Rue Raspail, Pointe-a-Pitre
011-33-590-25-16-00 or fr.memorial-acte.fr/home-page.html
A relatively new (opened in 2015) museum that addresses slavery from antiquity to the present day. The museum is housed in an impressive modern building adjacent to the sea, and has a place for contemplation and reflection. Tickets cost about $15.
Musee du Rhum
Lotissement Reimonenq, Belle Vue, Sainte Rose
011-33-590-28-70-04 or rhum-reimonenq-musee.com
A small, kitschy, and delightfully weird museum of the history of rum that also exhibits taxidermied animals and model ships. There's a free rum tasting at the end. Good for a rainy day. Admission costs about $7.50.
Pointe des Chateaux
Saint Francois, via the D118.
Drive to the easternmost point of Grande-Terre, with a dramatic landscape and huge, crashing waves. Walk along the small beach to reach the stairs to walk to a hill with a cross on top: You'll be rewarded with panoramic views. Free.