Going solo ... but not for long
Hunter Davies dreaded his first holiday after losing his wife, but found solace in the Caribbean
Iarrived at the Botanical Gardens in Kingstown, St Vincent, just as a coach-load of tourists was disgorging. I found myself going through the entrance gate with them, and being herded by a guide holding high a board with his number on.
I realised I had not paid, but heh, this guide is clearly keen for me to be in his party, so I meekly followed him through the gardens.
Although my companions were all Dutch it was an informative guided tour, and I had got in for free – which would have appalled my wife. She would never have done such an awful thing, or allowed me to do so. But she was not with me. She had died just five weeks earlier. This was my first trip abroad as a widower.
I had dreaded going on my own, but I did find some minor advantages, the best of which is being able to say yes to diversions and distractions without having to worry about another person.
I had deliberately arranged to stay in four different places, so I would always be moving on, which is another thing my wife never liked. I started at Cobblers Cove in Barbados where my wife and I had first stayed in l986 for my 50th birthday, returning every January from then on.
But I was going much later in the year than normal, so none of my regular holiday chums would be there, which was a worry. The manager, Will, upgraded me to a fancy suite, Camelot, in honour of my 30 years, and I found myself next door to a nice American couple, Stuart and Barbara – very Ivy League, very cultured.
For Stuart’s 65th birthday celebrations, nine of his friends were flying in from Florida, first-class, staying for a week, all paid for by him. They invited me to a cocktail party, on the arrival of their friends and, of course, I said yes. My wife would have refused, not liking such things, and anyway, how could I push myself in to a private party as a total stranger?I did and had a great time.
I then moved on to Bequia in the Grenadines, my favourite island in all the Caribbean, and stayed at the Bequia Beach Hotel. There I agreed to give a public talk, all proceeds to charity, about my exciting life as a writer. ‘You what?’ My wife would have said: ‘Who wants to hear about your boring life?’
I was introduced by Bengt, the hotel owner, and also James Mitchell, a former prime minister of St Vincent and the Grenadines, who remarked to the audience that all three of us had lost our wives in the last year. Statistically, women live longer than men and, as a generalisation, wives are younger than their husbands, so it was an unusual coincidence. Oh, the bonding we three were able to do afterwards over dinner.
But mainly during my three weeks away I was with women. I better rephrase that or my children will be appalled. I mean that every night except once, when I ate alone, I had companions for dinner, almost all of them female. Really, it just happened, honestly. I seemed to meet so many woman and when they heard I was alone, they invited me to join them.
I finished my trip at St Vincent, (the main island of the Grenadines), my first visit there for 20 years. I stayed at Grenadine House, looking over the town, a relatively new conversion of an old colonial mansion dating back to the 18th Century.
It was very attractive, with good food and friendly staff. I made friends there with Lynn, a female American lawyer on her own, chilling out after 21 days yachting. I went with her one afternoon to the cathedral, which I had missed on my earlier visit. It meant I had someone to read out all the gravestones to, and make silly remarks.
While it is fairly easy, if you work at it, to pick up dining companions for the evening, wandering around on your own all day does get a bit boring. It is good to have someone to chat to. After 55 years of marriage, I did find myself talking to myself – in my head. Trips abroad do help. But next time I think I might need a companion...