Provo--Get in While the Getting's Good

Lazy luxury is the name of the game at Grace Bay Club.

This hotel, located on Provo's famed Grace Bay Beach, is blessed with a burn-it-into-your-memory-beautiful stretch of coastline. It’s not just the sparkling, extra-terrestrial blue of the water, but other simple pleasures that I remember best: only the gentlest waves, a sandy ocean floor, a noticeable lack of marine life (much appreciated, for us stingray-shy types), and the arrival of locals around sunset, who took dips nearby with their children and dogs in tow.

Dotted with padded lounge chairs and thick canvas umbrellas, this section stays all but empty for most of the day. And the few people who were on it were snoozing away—a good sign, in my book, except that the poor schleps missed out on some darn-good free sorbet.

For these kind of price tags (think $500 up to $3,000 per night), you deserve exclusivity, which just happens to be the MO at this Small Luxury Hotel of the World. By day, its pale yellow stucco walls and gracious verandas resemble a Mediterranean villa; by night an outdoor lounge area of couches, daybeds, and dangling lanterns heats up with hints of the Middle East.

This is a good place to come if you value privacy. At lunch there might have been one or two other couples at the bar, most talking to uber-friendly Captain Bob, the bartender known for taking Chanel-clad hotel guests on island pub tours in the back of his pickup. The hotel room felt similarly empty, if only because it was so large. We could’ve gotten lost in our suite, which had two bathrooms, not to mention a large kitchen and living area. For those of us to refuse to cook on vacation, the hotel's high-end restaurant, Anacaona, offers a pretty setting right on the water.

The only downside to speak of was the construction surrounding the hotel—luxury condos in the multimillion-dollar range. But good things will come out of the noise and eyesores. As part of the effort, Grace Bay closed during September 2005 while it completed a $45 million expansion, including 38 new suites designed for families, a spa, and a new pool and restaurant.

In the meantime, I got to enjoy an elevated tree-house built next door, a treat for cocktails or an afternoon nap. You’d never suspect it actually served a purpose beyond this unique lounge in the sky, but it was actually designed as a place for real-estate salespeople to showcase the second-floor views to potential condo-owners.

I have my fingers crossed that the new development won’t spoil this beautiful spot. But I’ll definitely be heading back this year to see.

There are two requirements at Bugaloo’s, a breezy beach hut on the south side of Provo:

1) that you like conch;
2) that you like beer.

Because that’s all you’ll find on the menu.

Luckily, we fit the bill. We rocked up to Bugaloo’s in the late afternoon after a day on the beach, our hair stiff with salt and clothes limp and wrinkled.

Bugaloo’s wants to be the island’s best little beach dive, except that it’s too charming. As a friend told me, “Two years ago, going to Bugaloo’s meant having to pee in the parking lot.”

Today, after a renovation that spruced it up with spices of color like blue-green shutters, the little white open-air cottage gives you a great view onto the beach, where Bugaloo’s employees wade into the water to pull beautiful, elegant conchs out of the nets they’ve set up. Next door is an outhouse, with hotel-worthy bathrooms of granite and marble tile.

But back to the reason you come to Bugaloo’s: the conch. It was hard to eat the poor animal after seeing its large, shiny, elegant shell—a piece so beautiful it would suit a swanky bathroom as well as a beach. But conch is nothing short of delicious. And yes, the poor critter shows up on virtually every menu on Provo, but not like the conch you’ll eat here. Heck, Bugaloo’s only serves one dish… no wonder it’s so good.

When we visited, the options were:

Conch salad (raw, for the sushi enthusiast);
Stir-friend conch;
Sauteed conch (cooked with vegetables in a coconut-milk sauce);
Conch fritters; and
My personal favorite—cracked conch, which is flattened and deep-fried in the local Turk’s Head beer.

But even better than the conch was the crowd, an authentic mix of locals and tourists, and Bugaloo himself, who made an effort to sit down at each table, introduce himself, and answer questions about the food.

When you come to the Turks and Caicos, you don’t expect to have a spectacular dinner at a restaurant set among little souvenir shops along the highway. But that’s exactly what we did at the Caicos Café.

This French-Caribbean eatery, twinkling with candlelight, has long been a favorite of tourists and locals. Women in white linen and men with year-round tans gave quick kisses to Daphne, the owner and host, as she relayed to them (in French) the specials of the day. Seafood is a no-brainer here—my “Shrimp Caicos,” three gigantic grilled shrimp set over a risotto bursting with creamy seafood flavor, was good enough to eat for breakfast—but juicy steaks and game are available as well. My compatriots went with mahimahi and sea bass that were no less wonderful.

A note of caution, however: though the mouthwatering entrees are priced reasonably for Grace Bay ($20 to $30—well under what you’d pay at a resort), starters can be outrageously expensive. Seafood gumbo and tuna carpaccio first courses ran you $20 each.

That said, the prices were more than worth it, and this ended up being my favorite restaurant on the island. Despite its inland location (no ocean breezes here), Caicos Café delivers big-time on atmosphere. As you walk up, it’s as though you’re being welcomed onto a friend’s massive deck. Everything is open-air, as it is on much of the island, and candles on each table set undeniably romantic air. If you can get over the strip-mall location, you’re in for a treat.

Yes, yes, Grace Bay is the grand dame of beaches on Provo. It’s been rated best beach in the world and won every other award in the book. But that doesn’t mean Provo’s other beaches aren’t equally as stunning in their own way.

Leeward: Just northeast of Grace Bay lies the quiet, classy residential district of Leeward, where villas set along canals boast lush, colorful tropical gardens. You enter the neighborhood through a large (open) gate and proceed past several roundabouts to get to the beach. Most people buzz through here on their way to Leeward Marina, which is located on the northeast tip of the island. There you’ll find one of the best places on Provo to rent jet-skis and hire private boats.

My two cents on Leeward Marina: The private boat is a must if you have $250/hour and want that once-in-a-lifetime Robinson Crusoe experience of swimming along deserted shores with no one else in sight; jet-skis are not worth the trouble. The rental agencies only let you drive as far as they can see you, which means merely having to go around in a circle near the marina.

Leeward Public Beach: This was an absolute gem. We arrived at 10am on a Friday, expecting a more crowded version of Grace Bay. To the contrary, we were the only people there until the late afternoon, floating in crystal-clear waters, lounging on beautiful (if narrow) golden sands with a wall behind us that had grown out of years of erosion. In fact, I’d choose Leeward over Grace Bay any day of the week. The eroded wall creates little mini-coves of sand, positioning you in such a way that you can’t see people sitting even a few yards down. On Saturday this beach did get a bit more crowded, but was still pretty sparse, with just a few fishermen and local families horsing around.