Beneath Bermuda’s glossy veneer lies an island of contrasts, where luxury, local life, history and innovation intertwine.
Exploring Bermuda through foraging tours and rum cocktail-fuelled nights at the oldest pub on the island, India Dowley finds that this Atlantic archipelago offers far more than its age-old clichés.
“You can go to heaven if you want to. I’d rather stay in Bermuda.” Mark Twain’s words echoed in my mind as I touched down on the sun-baked tarmac of Bermuda, the Atlantic archipelago so often confused as being in the Caribbean (it’s not, it’s about 1,000 miles to the north). Twain introduced Americans to the island’s charms through his Atlantic writings of 1877, encouraging travellers to visit for an extended winter stay in a balmy climate, one free from snow and more invigorating than other southerly tropics.
My taxi driver, Mel, greets me with a chortle: “Welcome to Bermuda. I hope you like rum!” A kaleidoscopic array of colours flashes past the car window, cyan waters sparkling like jewels against a backdrop of Battenburg-coloured houses. The air tingles with the scent of blooming oleanders and the distant sound of steel drums, a siren song luring travellers in.
Where to Stay
Divided into nine distinct parishes, each with a unique character, Bermuda is a nation of contrasts – a place where luxury and tradition, history and innovation, natural beauty and resilience intertwine. My voyage began at the palatial The St. Regis Bermuda Resort, a dazzling white oasis on the island’s northern shore. This oceanfront haven is popular among Americans, with lavish suites just steps from the sherbet sands of St. Catherine’s Beach. I readily embraced life in the epitome of island luxury – sipping handcrafted cocktails by the resort’s two shimmering pools, lounging in private cabanas, and lingering over exquisite meals at the resort’s top restaurant, which transforms from steak house to sushi restaurant on any given day.
For traditionalists seeking a slice of old-school Bermuda, Cambridge Beaches – established nearly a century ago as the island’s first cottage-style accommodations – is unbeatable. Stepping onto the 23-acre property is like entering a Wes Anderson film, the decor awash with hues of bubblegum pink and verdant green, upholstery adorned with jungle and floral motifs, and rattan lights casting a warm glow. This whimsical aesthetic extends to the staff uniforms and golf buggies, both also the colour of candyfloss. The property has four private beaches, two private coves and an infinity pool overlooking Mangrove Bay, while a wall displaying the names of the resort’s numerous repeat guests, some of whom have visited as many as 90 times, is a testament to its exceptional style and service.
Where (and what) to eat and drink
A foraging tour led by the enigmatic Doreen Williams-James, a vegan chef with an encyclopedic knowledge of the island’s wild edibles, kicked off my foray into Bermudian culture. As we trekked through the lush nature reserves of Paget Parish, Doreen revealed the secrets of the island’s flora, deftly plucking fruits and fragrant herbs and passing them around for sampling. “This one’s for your liver, this for hair growth, and this, well, let’s just say it’ll put a spring in your step,” she said with a mischievous wink, her melodic laughter echoing through the dense foliage as I choked on a horseradish-like seed.
As we nibbled on the tart Surinam cherries and savoury sea purslane, Doreen painted a picture of an island shaped by resourcefulness. The first settlers, the Spanish, planted tea and tobacco and left pigs so they knew they could return. For Doreen, the high cost of living, she explained, had led her to turn to the land for sustenance. This spirit of self-sufficiency is evident in the island’s thriving aquaculture industry, where innovative techniques have been used to cultivate delicacies like the prized Ouroboros oyster, named for its unique circular shape.
White Horse Tavern
With an appetite whetted by fennel hummus and an all-natural fudge brownie, courtesy of Doreen, I wholeheartedly launched myself into Bermuda’s culinary scene, a hotchpotch of flavours reflecting the island’s multicultural heritage. At the White Horse, a pub with a history dating back to the mid-1700s that remains a St. George landmark, I tucked into a modern interpretation of rich and creamy fish chowder, its velvety broth spiked with sherry peppers and black rum – and nuggets made from the wahoo fish on the side, because I couldn’t resist.
The upmarket Tucker’s Point Beach Club at Rosewood is the summertime social hub for anyone who’s anyone on the island. Here, I spent a happy afternoon making my way through pretty plates of spiny lobster tail with zesty citrus beurre-blanc, sashimi tacos drizzled in wasabi aioli, and just-caught tuna tartare, washing it all down with plenty of rosé. The atmosphere felt distinctly European, reminiscent of Ibiza, albeit with the gentle lapping of waves and the soft clink of glasses replacing pulsating beats.
No trip to Bermuda would be complete without a visit to The Swizzle Inn, the island’s oldest pub and the birthplace of its namesake rum cocktail. Walls here are plastered with the dollar bills of previous patrons, and as I sipped on the heady half-gin, half-fruit mix, the proprietor regaled me with tales of the pub’s history. But it was in the less touristy spots that I found real soul.
At Woody’s, a roadside, waterfront dive-bar-cum-beach shack, I sank my teeth into the island’s most iconic dish – the fish sandwich. A doorstop-sized specimen of golden-fried snapper, tangy coleslaw, and sweet, pillowy raisin bread, this seemingly simple creation ignited a heated debate about the best place to get a fish sandwich on the island, and the controversial addition of cheese.
The convivial atmosphere at Woody’s was palpable, with patrons eagerly sharing drinks and stories. It’s customary here to offer others in the bar a drink, and be warned: if someone rings the bell, everyone is treated to a shot of rum – a nod to the island’s spirit of generosity. The great cheese debate, I suspect, will never be resolved, but illustrates that food and drink, like so many aspects of Bermudian life, are intricately woven into the fabric of the community.
What to Do and See
Horseshoe Bay, Bermuda
With a full stomach and feeling somewhat lightheaded, I set about exploring the island’s natural beauty. A catamaran cruise with Captain Brian Simmons sailed us past jungle-like islands, down mangrove-lined creeks, boats bobbing outside sprawling mansions, until we reached the haunting beauty of Bermuda’s notorious shipwrecks, their rusted hulls now teeming with marine life. I spotted a Portuguese man o’ war, an ethereal creature as beautiful as it is menacing, drifting along the water, its translucent tentacles trailing 30 feet behind like deadly gossamer threads. Back on dry land, I sank my toes into the soft, rosy grains of Horseshoe Bay, one of the island’s iconic pink-sand beaches, marvelling at the way they seemed to radiate in the peachy light of the setting sun.
As the week went on, I delved into the island’s complex history, one shaped by centuries of slavery and colonial rule. Joining Kristin White, a two-time winner of the Best of Bermuda Community Activist Award, for a walking tour, I heard stories of those who have shaped the island’s history. Kristin, a writer, entrepreneur, and community activist for 20 years, is known for educating people about Bermuda’s past and her desire for the island-nation to become independent. The tale of Sally Bassett, an enslaved woman burned at the stake for alleged poisoning, is a harrowing testimony of the brutal realities of the transatlantic slave trade. Her story, like those of countless other subjugated Bermudians, has left an indelible mark on the island’s collective memory.
View from Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse
But as much as the weight of this history is present, it is matched in equal weight by joy and connection. With her infectious laugh and boundless energy, our guide Leanna generously took us under her wing, introducing us to the island’s local hangouts and the people who make Bermuda special. We climbed to the top of Gibb’s Hill Lighthouse, where the panoramic views have played host to Leanna’s seminal life moments, as she sat in this tranquil spot to pause and reflect. Here, she shared stories of her life on the island – the triumphs, the challenges and the bonds of community.
In the end, what struck me most about Bermuda was not its luxury resorts or sun-drenched beaches but the generosity of its people. From the way they band together in the face of hurricanes to the warmth with which they welcome strangers into their hearts and homes, Bermudians embody the very best of the human spirit.
Twain’s quip about choosing Bermuda over heaven may have been tongue-in-cheek, but it holds a kernel of truth. Bermuda, in all its contradictions and charms, is a reminder that just sometimes, the most paradisiacal experiences can be found not in the afterlife, but in the here and now.
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