I returned to the pink beach island I loved as a teen — with my children
Two decades since her first visit to Bermuda, our writer heads back to see if it holds the same appeal for her young family
‘My favourite bit was the waving water woman,” said Hope, my four-year-old, on our way back to the airport. “And the girl fish that turns into a boy fish when it gets big.” Her brother, Isaac, two, just said “wind, wind, wind” and smiled like a maniac.
Mermaids, transgender marine life and meteorological mania weren’t the Bermuda holiday memories I’d been expecting. But this 21-square-mile archipelago of islands joined by mini bridges and causeways, bang in the middle of mid-Atlantic nowhere, brought surprises for all.
In my late teens I’d visited twice, when a close school friend and her family lived here. Bermuda introduced me to many things, chief among them: beer pong, raft-ups, rum swizzles, mopeds and golf courses. None of which screamed “ideal October half-term break for a family with small children”. But my other main takeaway from my visits were beaches and sea such as I’ve never seen in the 20 years since. And if there’s one thing that children, parents and Barbie’s pal Ken can agree on, it’s beach.
My parental wish list was a little longer, though. Accessibility, safety and kids’ menus also (sadly) featured. The British overseas territory may be remote — 650 miles from the nearest land in North Carolina — but it’s comically safe, gets year-round sun, is a seven-hour direct flight from London and is only four hours behind GMT. And, with most visitors being American, it loves a 5.30pm dinner comprised almost exclusively of high-end beige fried food. One of Bermuda’s favourite dishes is a fish sandwich — fresh wahoo, battered and piled high on bread sweetened with raisins. Hope, Isaac and their dad’s dream dinner. We were sold.
Bermuda was plusher than I remembered. The sand isn’t quite Barbie pink, but it gets close. The lawns are tidy and there’s no rubbish or hawkers. Pastel-coloured houses dotted everywhere have whitewashed roofs with neat grooves to collect rainwater. The speed limit is 21 mph; billboards are banned, with very few exceptions. It’s all very smart. As are the people. This tax haven of 60,000 people is the reinsurance capital of the world. Golf and gilets abound.
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But there’s also an edge, with its dangerous waters (disappearing ships and planes, not horrific riptides), jagged coastline, jungly nature reserves and salty breezes. In the late 1500s, when Spanish sailors in search of the new world passed Bermuda, the screeches of cahow seabirds in the night sky and the bellow of hogs left on the island terrified them. They named it la isla de los demonios, the island of devils.
It was the British who colonised it by accident at the start of the 17th century, when Sea Venture, on its way to Jamestown, Virginia, ran aground on the reefs. Still now, as night falls, there’s a din. “Why doesn’t someone turn those car alarms off?” my partner, Tom, asked as we were checking in on our first night. “Erm, they’re crickets, sir,” came the polite reply. Drama comes from the weather. A couple of times a year a storm or hurricane blows in. The sea goes wild. Everyone hunkers down inside and locals turn serious. I hadn’t factored in that Bermuda is said to have inspired The Tempest. But that was all to come.
For the first half of the week we stayed on the western tip of the island at Cambridge Beaches, a charming hotel made up of properly Barbie-pink cottages with calm waters, family-pleasing menus, barbecue nights and terrapins that the children befriended. It has three beaches to choose from. By the end we knew them intimately, from their easygoing tides and what manner of boats and other children we were likely to find to how good their sand was for moulding into sandcastles (or projectiles, if you’re two). Everyone approved. So far Bermuda had great Kenergy.
It’s a good spot for little sorties too. Bermudans are very proud of the Royal Naval Dockyard, a military fort dating from the 1790s with a magnificent commissioner’s house and warehouses — it has been converted into a museum with shops and two playgrounds (our children, despite our best efforts, found both). It’s pretty and does a good line in climbable cannons and bastions with a view. Plus, two solitary sheep inexplicably live within its walls, scuttling along the cliff perilously close (in this parent’s opinion) to the edge.
Down beneath them, at the bottom of the hill, the museum keeps a lagoon of more Bermuda-appropriate beasts: dolphins, 14 of them, jumping about, darting around old limestone dock pools and clicking away to each other incessantly. A tunnel into the Atlantic means they get regular swims out in the open too. “He used to be in US navy intelligence,” one of the trainers said, pointing to one of the dolphins. Ooh, what did he do, I asked. No comment.
Another morning we left the beach to climb aboard a cushy motorboat with Jamie Harvey, who runs the Cambridge Beaches marina. Replete with sofas and snacks, it looked more like an ocean-going living room than a nautical speed machine, and Harvey happily gave Hope a turn at driving it, without assistance. Meanwhile, Isaac pumped the volume up on Ocean 89 FM so loud that even the dolphins at the dockyard could hear Gwen Stefani’s Hollaback Girl. Which, funnily enough, was the track we blasted out of boats the summer I was last here, two decades ago.
Once Harvey regained control of the steering wheel we headed out to HMS Vixen, a warship that was scuttled by the Brits in the late 19th century to block a channel from potential enemy access. Now Vixen lies with her keel sticking out, surrounded by bream that leapt up to eat the bread the children happily chucked overboard. Harvey, meanwhile, explained that there are about 300 shipwrecks off Bermuda. He pointed to Wreck Hill, where privateers used to light fires to encourage ships to come to shore, knowing they’d be wrecked on the reef and their booty would be a free-for-all. Today the island waters’ main scavengers are the brightly coloured parrot fish, which scour and scrape the rocks for algae with their birdlike beaks, ingesting enough rock in the process to excrete a fair proportion of sand. The locals happily tell you that this unique fish poo is what gives the island’s beaches their X factor.
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Early one morning, adjusting to a bit of jet lag, Isaac became obsessed with the Bermuda weather channel, a TV station that resembles Ceefax. It was there that we learnt of Tammy, a hurricane heading our way after landing on Barbuda. “Sustained wind. Speeds of 65 miles per hour” read the blocky red font. Twenty years ago, when a relative of Tammy’s hit and the power went out, I went to a hurricane party where we barbecued the melting contents of freezers and drank more rum. Now I could think only: “What can we do with the children?”
Luckily it didn’t land in force, and passed a good 200 miles offshore. But it did bring “wind, wind, wind”. Fortunately, and surprisingly, Bermuda has a lot of activities for hyperactive children — and parents — when the weather turns. Even if you’re not beset by a Tammy you should head to the Bermuda Aquarium, Museum and Zoo, home to Hope’s favourite bits of the trip (£8; bamz.org). It was here that she ogled the waving mermaid — a marine biologist who puts on her wetsuit daily to swim among reef sharks and tropical fish and clean the glass of the largest tank in the aquarium. With her was Spike, a barracuda that has been here for 14 years, and various pootling rays. “That’s Lea, who will become Luke soon,” explained Ian Walker, the aquarium’s director, pointing not to the mermaid but to a grey fish. “Giant groupers change sex when they get big.” Who knew?
There was an 80-year-old turtle undergoing rehabilitation for a suspected stroke, countless flamingos, seals, tortoises, lemurs, an alligator, meerkats we could walk among and Atticus, a boa constrictor discovered by Bermuda customs in a golf bag. School groups visit regularly, and unlike many zoos it’s the kind of place that’s up for letting them touch the beasts. Isaac was thrilled to stroke a sea cucumber, Hope dared to touch a snake, I made zero contact with reptiles. Everyone was a winner.
Thanks to Tammy, we also found other forts, underwater exploration museums, galleries and lovely restaurants where everyone welcomed noisy children. Even the gilet-clad reinsurancers having their business lunch at the excellent Huckleberry restaurant in Hamilton were polite about having crayons hurled under their table. There’s culture here too. On the eastern coast is the town of St George’s, a beautifully preserved Unesco world heritage site that feels a bit like Cornwall, with quaint cobbled lanes, cafés and craft shops to explore.
And you can always escape the rain underground. An impressive cave network lies under the island. At Crystal Caves, an easy descent of 100 steps under the earth, we found your GCSE geography teacher’s dream: a trove of stalactites and stalagmites that pierce a natural swimming pool. Now ever on the hunt for another mermaid, Hope was intrigued to learn that one once swam in its waters. Although this time, instead of a scuba-using cleaner, it was a movie starlet filming the fantasy romance Neptune’s Daughter in 1914, when film stars had to forgo heated pools and health and safety and jump into cave water themselves. Our guides also gleefully recounted the story of the caves’ discovery, a daring abseil into the dark by two Bermudan schoolboys after they followed a lost cricket ball down a hole in the earth. Nearby, down a little trail in what Bermudans call Tom Moore’s Jungle, is Blue Hole, a brilliant blue lagoon that present-day (moderate) thrill-seekers can cliff-jump into and swim in for hours.
For the second part of the trip we moved to the other end of Bermuda and the Rosewood, a lovely hotel with beautiful rooms that provides kid-sized slippers and dressing gowns, buckets and spades and a miraculously refilling jar of cookies. After we waved goodbye to Tammy, we made good use of the golf cart we’d been given (and which the children couldn’t knock over) and nipped back and forth between pool, restaurants and beach. And it was on the sand that I found my favourite bit of the trip: Tucker’s Point Beach Club. It’s a wide stretch of beach, very pink even by Bermudan standards, hemmed in by impressive rocks with foamy waves that bring a little spice. Ken would approve.
Francesca Angelini was a guest of the Bermuda Tourism Authority (gotobermuda.com), Cambridge Beaches, which has room-only doubles from £242 (cambridgebeaches.com), and the Rosewood, which has room-only doubles from £492 (rosewoodhotels.com). Seven nights’ room only from £1,803pp, including flights (jetsetholidays.com)
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Three more family-friendly island stays
By Jo Tweedy
Antigua
Friendly islanders, endless pastel-coloured architecture and dozens of sheltered coves made for splashing around in — kids are unlikely to argue when you suggest Antigua. The south coast resort of Curtain Bluff, which opened in 1962, remains an island institution and this summer enjoyed a spruce-up, including a new wellness area and enhancements to suites. Youngsters are automatically enrolled in the Cee Bee Kids Camp, where pursuits include mocktail making, a trip to the resort’s herb garden and the chance to compete in a mini Olympics.
Details Seven nights’ all-inclusive from £6,965pp, including flights and transfers (elegantresorts.co.uk)
Bahamas
Nassau’s proximity to the Floridian coast, about 180 miles west, means that some of the Sunshine State fun has reached here, and the combination of desert-island vibes and themed attractions works a treat for families. Margaritaville Beach Resort Nassau, which was owned by the late American singer-songwriter Jimmy Buffett, stands on a perfect stretch of beach, with the delights of the Bahamian capital within easy reach and oodles on site for kids, including the Fins Up Water Park and Parakeets Kids’ Club.
Details Seven nights’ room only from £1,479pp, including flights (baholidays.com)
Barbados
Beach cricket, calypso dancing and snorkelling with sea turtles are all on the menu in Barbados, as well as a little history via its Unesco-listed capital, Bridgetown. The all-inclusive, all-suite Turtle Beach resort, close to the lively St Lawrence Gap neighbourhood on the island’s south coast, invites young visitors to become honorary Bajans during their stay — staff at this pretty whitewashed four-star, in six acres of tropical gardens, teach members of its Flying Fish Kids’ Club everything from the lingo to how to cook traditional dishes.
Details Seven nights’ all-inclusive from £2,399pp, including flights (bestattravel.co.uk)
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