I didn't need a banner to greet me upon arriving at Peter Island Resort & Spa. This view over Deadman's Bay was enough welcome. With 32 ocean-view rooms, 20 suites, three villas and private beaches in all directions, what could go wrong? | Jon Whittle
ByJon WhittleJan. 28, 2014
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A doughy photographer endures gourmet torture, sunburns, triathlons and torrid tubs at the BVI's biggest private island resort. — Jon Whittle
I was brought over on the private resort ferry available to all guests. Pictured is the resort's helipad for VIPs. Obviously, somebody forgot to include me on that list. To make myself feel more important, I landed my remote-control quadcopter right in the center of the giant "H." Nobody was around to see how awesome I looked. | Jon WhittleExecutive chef Lisa Sellers is trying to kill me. Although she has a collection of knives to do the trick, she has instead taken the more insidious path of cooking Caribbean prawn cakes, followed by grilled jerk baby-lamb chops with a pulled-pork barbecue pizza on the side. No, she didn't force-feed me, but each meal was gourmet torture. | Jon WhittleHere's an example of what I was forced to eat: locally caught, whole-roasted snapper with vegetables grown from the resort's garden. Was it delicious? Yes. Horribly, torturously delicious. And this was just lunch. | Jon WhittleMy room sat on the far end of Deadman's Bay. The white dot on the hill is the Crow's Nest Villa, with the best views in the BVI. For some reason, I was not booked into that heavenly space, though I believe I could've made great use of its 6,500 square feet, despite being alone. Hey, don't crush my dreams. | Jon WhittleChoosing beaches is tough for Islands photographers. But here I had virtually all of Peter Island's eight beaches to myself. So I tapped my inner millionaire, and dramatically agonized over where I should sunburn my body. Pictured: Big Reef Bay. | Jon WhittleWhite Bay Beach was named for the color of my back before I spent the morning photographing it without sunscreen. I later asked management to change its name to Blister Beach, but they wouldn't budge. Despite my sunburn, it's hard to despise a view like this. And yes, another beach all to myself. | Jon WhittleThe good folks at Peter Island were the fittest people I've ever had the pleasure of acting fit around. Here, trainer Chris Ghiorse and GM Wilbert Mason show off what the human physique should look like. Sadly, my doughy shape can no longer be attributed to baby fat. | Jon WhittleDoughy shape be damned, the Peter Island crew roped me into their triathlon, an on-demand offering for those visitors who feel sitting by the pool having a drink is just too relaxing. Fortunately, Chris convinced me to give it a go with no mention of how he lost a coin toss to be my triathlon partner. | Jon WhittleEveryone knows that running was a sport created by Satan. When Chris left me to help others, a beautiful Asian woman lapped me so many times she eventually brought water to rouse me awake from a bed of cacti overlooking Deadman's Bay. Pain never looked so pretty. | Jon WhittleThankfully, the triathlon had us kayak instead of swim. I didn't mind finishing this last leg virtually alone in the waters off Peter Island. What race? | Jon WhittleThe beauty of this BVI sunset coaxed me from icing my legs into an upright position just long enough to snap this shot. A perfect end to a horrendously rewarding day. But wait, wasn't there talk of a spa? | Jon WhittlePeter Island's spa is 10,000 square feet of relaxation and primping. Without a doubt, the spa was my favorite part of the trip —especially this hot tub. | Jon WhittleHere's the view from my villa on the beach, along with a not-so-subtle hint: There are a lot of choices for Caribbean getaways, and Peter Island is one I'd recommend wholeheartedly. One request: Take me with you. Actually, two requests: No more running, please. | Jon Whittle
