I’ve always wanted to emerge from the sea like Ursula Andress playing Honey Ryder in the 1962 James Bond film Dr No. And now, even if my bikini is from John Lewis and I’m old enough to be the young Ursula’s mother, I can finally pretend to be a Bond girl.
I’ve just had a swim at GoldenEye, the resort on Jamaica’s north coast that was home to Bond’s creator, Ian Fleming. Waiting for me on a lounger on the alabaster sands, rum punch in hand, is my very own James – in this case my husband. I settle beside him.
‘Do you think this is heat rash or a mosquito bite?’ James asks, shoving his arm in my face.
OK, so I can’t imagine Bond and Ryder having such a conversation, but just being at GoldenEye is still pretty much as glamorous as it gets. For James and me it’s also rather romantic – the longest time we’ve been away together since our oldest (now at university) was born 19 years ago.
We chose Jamaica for guaranteed heat (my number one requirement) as well as flights and fabulous accommodation that were (just about) affordable in the summer low season. Trip booked, dog sitter sorted, I relaxed for about half an hour until James broke the news. ‘Jamaica’s been officially declared one of the most dangerous places in the world. Should we cancel?’ The US Travel Department, it turned out, had just reissued a Level 3 advisory for the island, the same as Trinidad & Tobago, Colombia and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, with the warning: ‘Reconsider travel due to crime’.
My heart sank, but further research was more reassuring. Yes, crime rates are very high in some areas of Jamaica, but they tend to be inner-city ghettos you’re highly unlikely to enter as a tourist.
Ian Fleming and his wife Ann at Goldeneye, early 60s
Still, I was slightly nervous landing at the capital Kingston’s airport at night, from where Lloyd, whom I’d booked online, drove us in a Ford Mondeo through downtown streets deserted apart from a pair of apparently stoned figures weaving across the road, oblivious to the traffic.
In all honesty, I’ve witnessed far dodgier sights in cities in the US, not to mention London. It was a matter of being sensible and not doing anything – or going anywhere – you’d consider out of bounds at home.
In two hours, after zipping across the island on its empty new superhighway, Bob Marley on the sound system and Lloyd telling us all about his grandchildren, I’d fully embraced the island’s ‘irie’ (‘all is well’) spirit.
Lloyd took a quiet road lined with lean-to shops and disused cars through the small town of Oracabessa, and stopped to buzz the intercom at an unmarked gate like one belonging to a private house – no indication of what lay beyond…
Spread over more than 50 acres, GoldenEye has two beaches, a cove for snorkelling and a lagoon where I swam daily with turtles; even a treehouse restaurant and, in our case, a bedroom on stilts, yards from the water, in dense foliage. Walking over the bridge, lit with fairy lights, that links the reception to the main resort, you see why GoldenEye is a favourite with the stars. Madonna, Kate Moss and Bono are among those to have stayed.
You can, if it’s unoccupied, tour the Fleming Villa, posing at the tiny desk in the author’s bedroom where he wrote all 13 Bond novels, and gawking at the lyrics to ‘Every Breath You Take’, which Sting wrote while a guest. In the grounds we found trees planted by Pierce Brosnan, Johnny Depp and Naomi Campbell.
Ursula Andress as Honey Ryder in Dr No
At GoldenEye, the glamour has deep roots. Fleming owned it from 1946 until his death in 1964; in 1976 Marley was all set to buy it, sight unseen, before visiting, pronouncing it ‘too posh’ and getting cold feet, whereupon it was sold to Island Records founder Chris Blackwell, whose Jamaican mother had had a long-standing affair with Fleming. Now 87, Blackwell lives on site when in Jamaica (we saw him frequently with his children and grandchildren) and has pulled off a remarkable feat in making GoldenEye feel luxurious but also – unlike many other five-star Caribbean properties – like a hotel with a strongly Jamaican vibe.
Bizot Bar, the main watering hole, with its pillars plastered in faded album covers, plays reggae tunes such as you’d hear blasted from Kingston boomboxes. The menus list delicious takes on local classics: creamy ackee fruit, callaloo (similar to spinach), saltfish and jerk chicken, while the staff greet every request cheerily.
GoldenEye is the best hotel I’ve ever stayed in, so it’s a wrench when, after three nights, we move on to Jamaica Inn, 20 minutes’ drive away in Ocho Rios. Glimpsing its emerald grass, croquet lawn, uniformed staff and antique furniture, for a moment I think this five-star might be too fusty a contrast to GoldenEye’s hip factor. But as soon as I set eyes on our premier veranda suite, its outdoor sitting room with white sofa and marquetry desk, by a pristine beach, I forget (how fickle!) my previous love.
GoldenEye’s spa
As the public rooms reveal, 66-year-old Jamaica Inn is even more steeped in history than GoldenEye. In the 1950s and 1960s, the celebrity likes of Errol Flynn, Noël Coward, Sean Connery and Vivien Leigh all holidayed here, while Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller came for their honeymoon, as black-and-white photographs in the lounge reveal. It’s also, we realise, the place Meghan Markle chose for her first wedding, to Trevor Engelson – there’s a photo of her cuddling her father before they were estranged.
Everything at Jamaica Inn is impeccable. I spent most of my time snorkelling around the headland where, in the 50s, Sir Winston Churchill stayed in Suite 21 (bookable, with a private pool). At breakfast on the terrace, there is heavy silver cutlery on starched pink tablecloths. We watch a stingray swooping through the Listerine waters below.
Like GoldenEye, Jamaica Inn embraces its past without being stuffy. It is family run, and staff have been here for decades. Teddy’s Beach Grill, where we enjoy jerk chicken pizzas from a wood-fired oven, is named after the late bartender, who started aged 16 and was employed for more than 65 years. There’s even an in-house puppy, Shadow, the fifth generation of black labradors (all named the same), who favours a shady spot under the beach’s majestic almond tree, and who guests are encouraged to walk on a lead in the surf, or take on a (doggy-)paddleboard. Virtually all guests we met were returning: one couple were on their 17th visit.
I hope we will be joining that group. I was heavily pregnant when we married, so we never had a honeymoon. But during a couples massage in a hut above the pounding water, with a sea breeze replacing air conditioning, I realise we’re enjoying one right now. It feels all the sweeter for the 19 years of child-raising we’ve gone through.
We may not be Marilyn and Arthur, and I’ll never be a Bond girl now, but here with a James of my own, I couldn’t be happier.
Julia Llewellyn Smith travelled independently. Doubles at goldeneye.com start from £330 a night; jamaicainn.com from £400
