Thereâs a certain magic to arriving at Little Dix Bay for the first time, by night. After the long haul via Antigua to Tortola, the hotelâs catamaran whisked me over the moonlit waves for the final 25-minute hop to Virgin Gorda, the rum punch and sea breeze on the top deck blowing away any residual cobwebs.Â
I arrived in a broad bay surrounded by forested hills, to be greeted on the pier by my butler, and was delivered â somewhat punch-drunk â by buggy to my room. The swishing of the surf told me I was not far from the waterâs edge, but in the discreet exterior lighting of the resort, I could not make much out beyond the swaying palms. For the view, and a sense of orientation, I would have to wait till dawn.Â