Spanish Town

Exploring the Baths in Virgin Gorda feels delightfully like stepping into a pirate's fever dream-assuming said pirate had a keen appreciation for geology and Instagram-worthy photo ops. Here, colossal granite boulders pile atop each other with reckless abandon, forming curious grottoes and serene, crystal-clear pools that seem custom-built for mermaids and adventurers alike. Legend whispers that pirate treasure might still lie hidden among these dramatic rock formations, but even if you're not rewarded with Blackbeard's lost doubloons, you'll be paid generously in jaw-dropping vistas and envy-inducing anecdotes. To avoid crowds thicker than rum punch at happy hour, aim to arrive early-ideally before 9 a.m.-or gamble with a late-afternoon visit as the cruise-ship hordes retreat to their floating palaces. Planning a day or two ahead is enough, but remember to pack reef-safe sunscreen, sturdy water sandals, and at least $30-$50 per person to cover ferry rides, entrance fees, and that well-deserved Painkiller cocktail afterward. Sure, you'll scramble through rock tunnels, wade into waist-deep waters holding your phone above your head like an offering to the selfie gods, and possibly bruise your ego as you squeeze through "The Cathedral," but the Baths are beautifully weird enough to justify every scraped knee, salty mishap, and exhausted sigh. Even if pirate gold eludes you, the treasure here is the outrageous good fortune of experiencing Mother Nature's whimsy at its most delightfully irreverent.

Spring Bay snorkeling isn't merely an afternoon dip-it's your chance to plunge face-first into a live-action Caribbean aquarium that Jacques Cousteau himself might salute, ideally sans red knit cap. Set your alarm early-morning visibility is dazzlingly clear, and you'll dodge the midday sunburned cruise-shippers thrashing around like drunken flamingos. Arriving just after sunrise means claiming prime real estate under shady sea grape trees, essential cover for both your pale backside and the overpriced waterproof camera you impulsively purchased online two days ago. Pack sunscreen (reef-friendly, please-corals are fussy divas), water, snacks, and a dry bag to safeguard your valuables, lest you return to shore and discover your phone became Poseidon's latest selfie prop. Budget-wise, $50 covers gear rental and an obligatory post-snorkel rum punch from that cheerful shack whose bartender swears Hemingway once staggered past, though he also claims pirate ancestry and probably has better stories than facts. Ultimately, navigating shoals of neon parrotfish and sea turtles gliding by with the aloof grace of royalty justifies dragging yourself out of bed at an ungodly hour. Besides, how else will you casually drop into future conversations that one time you heroically stared down a reef shark (the small, harmless kind-but nobody needs to know that)?

If the phrase "secret cave kayaking adventure" triggers your inner Indiana Jones (or perhaps your inner midlife-crisis pirate), then Nail Bay has your paddle waiting. Nestled along a coastline once frequented by swashbucklers who knew a good hiding spot when they saw one, these hidden sea caves are nature's speakeasies-cool, quiet, and dripping with rugged charm. Glide through crystalline turquoise waters, slipping effortlessly beneath vaulted ceilings and ancient stalactites that look exactly like props from a Spielberg set. Plan ahead a week or two, secure a trusty kayak guide (preferably one who looks convincingly like they've wrestled a shark or two), and launch around sunrise when the sea is glassy and free from overly-enthusiastic paddle-board influencers. Budget about $75 to $100 per person, pack a dry bag with sunscreen, snacks, and a waterproof camera, and prepare to emerge sun-kissed and smugly superior to those who spent their morning lounging poolside. Worth doing? Absolutely. Even if the closest you've previously come to high adventure was using expired milk in your coffee-this is a story you'll proudly embellish at dinner parties for years.

Stepping onto Anegada's shores feels a bit like gatecrashing Neptune's personal beach party-if Neptune served copious lobster feasts and rum cocktails under impossibly starry skies. Unlike its hilly Virgin Island cousins, Anegada is flat as a pancake, its precious coral bones barely surfacing above turquoise waters, notorious enough historically to have shipwrecked countless sailors aiming for the Caribbean dream. Plan at least a month ahead, because despite its remote reputation, the handful of charmingly eccentric guesthouses and beach cottages fill up faster than a happy hour at Hemingway's favorite dive. Arrive by late afternoon, just as the golden sun begins dipping low, flaunting its evening show in hues so dramatic they'd make Turner blush. Budget around $200-$300 per person (this is lobster land, after all, and the spiny crustaceans here practically swagger onto your plate), and toss sunscreen, cash, bug spray, and a paperback novel that pairs well with sand and a touch of existential reflection into your overnight bag. Sure, the beaches are pristine, and yes, the lobster dinner is arguably the best you'll ever have, but really, you're here because Anegada is exactly the sort of place you can't resist casually slipping into cocktail conversations forever after-the obscure, beachy paradise that feels suspiciously like you dreamed it up after too many pina coladas.