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An aimless stab of the paper map with an assertive index finger, a final spritz of SPF and snorkels hurriedly thrown in a bag had been all the decision-making that had taken place before we packed into the small hire car. The car seats burnt our bare skin as we piled in, balancing bags full of snacks, towels and books on our laps. The radio blasted the reggae CD we’d been lent by the car hire and, with the familiar beat of the bass, we spurred out of the drive and onto our unknown adventure. The only rules were to go somewhere new and to lose track of time. As we navigated our way over pot-holed roads, large banana trees and unnamed, indigenous tropical plants fought for space, each vying for attention on either side of the tarmac. The emerald green Antiguan hills loomed in the distance, promising a 360-degree view and panoramas of the turquoise bays below. After winding through rural roads, each roadside house painted a more vibrant colour than the one before, we drove deep into the rainforest that makes up the centre of the island. As soon as the car ground to a halt and before the music had stopped, sandalled feet hurriedly hit the dusty road as we found the path to climb. The lack of official signs to mark the route were replaced by more adequate white splashes of paint on stones to guide us through a well trodden path. Foliage crowded the way – each a different shade of green, many with bright coloured flowers sprouting from their stems. With only the paint as a guide, we climbed over rocks, stopping for glimpses of the upcoming view or a particularly majestic cactus. Within half an hour we were at the top, spinning on the spot, unable to choose our favourite angle of the view. Turquoise water wrestled with mountains covered in jungle, all set against a piercing blue sky. We secretly attempted mental calculations as to how to make this island, where we’d only landed in a couple of days ago, our permanent home. Following the white splashes back to the car, we continued on, stomachs beginning to rumble above the reggae. More wooden houses flashed past our window, merging into one: aqua, canary yellow, lilac, lime green, fuchsia. It was Saturday, the day the roadside restaurants pop up, and Mercy offered steaming tubs of fragrant curry goat, macaroni pie, smoked fish and dumplings. We each filled containers to the brim and dug hungrily into the flavourful local dishes. As we ate, we listened to Clifford talk: a ninety-year-old Antiguan, full of energy and anecdotes of life between the island and England in the twentieth century. After warm hugs and promises to visit their favourite London hangouts, we left Clifford and the talented Mercy behind. As we aimed towards the secluded bay on the map, conferring over the two characters we’d shared lunch with, our hire car hit one pot hole too many and we abruptly ground to a halt. Perplexed on the side of the road, we hunted in the boot for the spare tyre, realising we didn’t have the tools we needed. After thirty minutes of poking at the car on hot tarmac, fearing that our adventures of the holiday might suffered the same fate as the tyre, the Antiguan generosity was back. Two women stopped their car, dug tools out of their boot and got to work replacing the tyre. Exchanging more warm hugs, and expelling a deep sigh of relief, we set off to our final stop of the day: scenic Long Bay, with soft white sand under our bare feet and unrivalled snorkelling on a shallow reef. The snorkelling was as good as promised, with a two-foot stingray zooming across the clear waters while presenting no sign of danger. Our companion was a horse waiting for its owner in the shade, too old to be impressed by the azure water or gold sand. As the sun dipped into the sea, our only soundtrack was the lapping of the waves and our contented sighs, knowledgeable that this day would never be repeated.