We left the city on an adventure through windy green hills dotted with banana trees, palm trees full of ripe coconuts, small multi-colored houses, and picturesque fruit and vegetable stands. As the warm air breezed through the car, and the fertile scenery changed, sparkling blue reflections of the ocean peaked through the lush surroundings and reminded us of our ultimate destination: the best beach on the island. Nicholas took us to Hassfort Hill, which had the breathtaking views of the island he unwaveringly promised. From Hassfort Hill, miles of blue ocean, serene beaches, and the green mountains of the rainforest speckled with brightly colored houses were all in view. We instantly became snap-happy tourists, and posed for our share of mandatory family photos before leaving for our next destination: Nelson’s Dock.
The dock was lined with luxury yachts and fishermen carrying their morning catches to sell at the local market. Colorful bars and small beach restaurants surrounded the small dock and I could almost smell the brilliant laid-back lifestyle of this tranquil area. Nicholas told us that they have the sweetest pineapples in the world here, but I didn’t need to be convinced. I was already in love with St. John’s.
When at last we neared Turner’s Beach, emerging from a drive through the island’s windy hills, a faint drizzle had started. Then rain began to pour down onto the car, and our hopes for a relaxing day spent sunbathing quickly fizzled. Nicholas informed us that the weather was often unpredictable, and it would surely be sunny once we reached the beach. I was skeptical, but trusty Nicholas hadn’t yet been wrong, so we patiently hoped and waited for the sun to return. We reached the entrance of the beach, and by what seemed to be a miracle, the rain wavered and the sun started to peak its warm rays through the dreary clouds.
The beach was breathtaking. Our waitress at Hemingway’s had steered us to the right place. The serene coastline was surrounded by lush rainforests and an airy beach restaurant perfect for lunching. There was almost no one on the beach, just some locals selling coconut water and glossy pink conch shells, and a few other lucky tourists who had found this hidden gem. My father, a coconut water aficionado, who grew up in India where coconut water was a daily treat with medicinal properties, immediately approached the coconut vender.
