Guadeloupe: My French Caribbean Paradise

We sailed into Pointe-à-Pitre at sunrise and the first thing that hit me was the smell — fresh baguettes and diesel mixed with frangipani. The cruise terminal is modern but the second we stepped outside we were in proper France: gendarmes in kepis, women on scooters with actual baguettes in their baskets, and every second shop a patisserie. I almost cried when I bit into a still-warm pain au chocolat before 8 a.m.

From the air, Guadeloupe looks like a butterfly floating on the Caribbean — two wings connected by a narrow salt river. The locals call it "Karukéra," the Carib name meaning "Island of Beautiful Waters," which Columbus heard when he landed here on November 4, 1493. Grande-Terre to the east is all rolling hills and old sugar plantations, while Basse-Terre to the west rises dramatically with banana groves climbing the slopes of La Soufrière, an active volcano that looms 4,104 feet above the sea and occasionally reminds you she's still very much awake. The two islands are connected by the Rivière Salée — the Salt River — where a drawbridge lifts for sailboats threading between the wings. Pointe-à-Pitre itself sits at that narrow waist, named for a 17th-century fisherman whose wharf became the beating heart of the island. The French claimed Guadeloupe in 1635, introduced slavery in 1644, and valued it so highly they traded it to France in exchange for rights to Canada in 1763. Today it's a full French overseas department using the Euro and speaking both French and Creole — France in the tropics, with all the bureaucracy and all the butter.

We grabbed a taxi straight to Sainte-Anne beach and I'm not exaggerating when I say it's one of the prettiest beaches I've ever seen — swaying palms, powder-white sand, and water shading from turquoise to sapphire. The beach was lively with French families and a few cruisers, kids building sandcastles, old guys playing dominoes under coconut trees. We rented loungers under a sea-grape tree and snorkeled right off the shore: massive brain coral heads, schools of sergeant majors darting around like yellow bullets, a 3-foot porcupinefish that puffed up when I got too close, and a small hawksbill turtle (maybe 2.5 ft shell) the color of mahogany gliding through the seagrass.

Lunch was at a beachside bokit stand — fried dough pockets stuffed with codfish accras, spicy sauce, and lettuce that somehow stays crisp in 90° heat. Then the best ti' punch of my life: agricole rum, lime, and just enough cane syrup to make you forgive every bad decision you've ever made. Afternoon we drove to Pointe des Châteaux — the wild eastern tip where the Atlantic smashes against red cliffs and the wind tries to blow your soul clean. The cross at the top has insane 360° views; I stood there watching waves explode 50 ft into the air and felt ridiculously small.

Back in Pointe-à-Pitre we wandered Marché Saint-Antoine for spices in rainbow piles and bought a jar of colombo powder that still makes my kitchen smell like vacation.

The pros: genuinely French food and beaches without European prices or pretension, and locals are warm once you attempt a bonjour.

The cons: most signs are only in French, and some beaches get busy with locals on weekends.

Practical tips: Learn three phrases — bonjour, merci, and s'il vous plaît — and doors magically open. Bring euro cash; many small places don't take cards. Reef-safe sunscreen is mandatory here — they're serious about protecting the coral.