My visit to Barbados came in 2012, in the course of a beautiful Caribbean island hopping trip. Just to choose the right coast to stay was a challenge on Barbados: The south coast would offer picturesque beaches, the east coast was wild with big rollers – I wanted a great turquoise bathtub and consequently chose Gibbons beach on the west coast. On a sunny Saturday I went to the island center, past orderly rows of sugarcane plantations which provided the key ingredient to one of my favorite drinks: Mount Gay rum.

Amid the plantations, on stately lawns, I took my weekend brunch, “Royal Eggs Benedict”. It felt royal like being invited to a Queen garden party. Not just here, but entire Barbados, with its botanical garden, class society in gated communities, its plantation owners with British passports and British tourists of all shapes, crowned by gentle green hills where cattle and horses were grazing like they would do in Devon and Somerset, felt like Little England. At night I went to Oistins Fish Fry and I was glad that it finally became extremely informal: Lobster and grilled tuna on plastic plates, lots of beer in cold cans, great music. Now it was not the Queen, but Bob Marley who almost came around the corner.