Thick gunmetal-grey clouds coated the sky, a smudge of a rainbow fighting to be visible. I had a last sweep of the ocean through my binoculars, hoping to spot dolphins among the whitecaps - I had been told they passed by Castara Bay most mornings. A pair of parrots squawked overhead and a flash of blue in my peripheral vision made me turn to see a motmot land on the end of my verandah. I looked back down the bay and spotted a young guy, presumably a tourist, strolling the golden beach, shoes in hand, happily oblivious to the falling rain. It seemed to sum up everything I was feeling about Tobago.
I can tell how much I like a place by how I feel about it in the pouring rain, and Tobago has charm to spare. It also has substance. When the resort chain Sandals tried to open its biggest ever complex here in 2019, such was the local consternation about its effect on an island barely half the size of the Isle of Man that it stood little chance. The islanders sent them packing. Tobago may have a handful of resorts over on its flat south-west side, but they tend to be small, low-key affairs. The overall message was clear: this place isn’t for the masses.
Despite being the ‘second’ island in the dual nation of Trinidad and Tobago, it soon becomes apparent that locals don’t see things in these terms.
“We were never part of Trinidad or Venezuela. It was the
