Antigua, June 1990

Continuing our quest for an island destination in the Caribbean that could hold a candle to Hawaii, we visited Antigua and the Pineapple Beach Club for a week.


Monday, June 18 – Saturday, June 23, 1990

Fresh off celebrating Mom and Dad’s 50th Anniversary at Captiva Island, Florida, Laurie took us to Miami International Airport. We flew American Airlines to San Juan, PR, then made a connection to Antigua. The Pineapple Beach Club was an all-inclusive resort that we hoped would be a bit more welcoming and maybe a bit more upscale than Jamaica, Jamaica.

We had tried over the past few years cultivating a travel agent in Arlington, VA, Rita Tyroler. She arranged this trip and the flights, and I’m pretty sure she recommended Antigua and the PBC. The Internet would soon put most travel agents out of business, and the distance from our new home in Columbia to Arlington didn’t help. I think this was the last trip Rita booked for us.

The Pineapple Beach Club resort itself was pleasant enough, situated on its own beach. The island of Antigua was certainly not lush, a little like Aruba but bigger, with at least a couple of taller hills. We spent the first days scoping out the resort, beach and immediate environs.

I enjoyed scrambling around the rocks of Pineapple Bay, watching pelicans and doing some snorkeling while Barb lounged on the beach. Snorkeling excursions were included in the all-inclusive package and I took one or two.

After a couple of days of sun and fun, we took a tour of the island, also included as a free activity and offered twice weekly. We stopped first at Shirley Heights for the panorama.

Our view from the top was not as compelling as the postcards. Why is that?

After the scenic vista, we ventured into Nelson’s Dockyard, the restored marina and historical working home of Britain’s Admiral Horatio Nelson. I’m sure our tour guide imparted words of historical significance, but mostly we noted the nice sailboats and t-shirt stalls.

On another day, we walked the mile or so from the resort to the Devil’s Bridge, a natural rock arch formed by waves and wind. Once again, not as impressive as the postcards, but it was something to do.

That brings us to the end of our Antiguan sojourn, or at least our photos and my recollections of it. We didn’t record any mention of the food or drinks at the resort, nor the room or pool. I think each was, at best, unremarkable. The vacation served its purpose of getting Barb tanned and giving us a new place to explore for a few days, but we’ve had no urgency to return to Antigua since. The search for a repeat Caribbean destination continued.

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