The joys of Jumby Bay: a luxurious resort off the coast of Antigua offers the option to do as much--or as little--as you desire.

• Author: Rothenberg, Sheila
• Position: Americans Abroad

IT WAS RAINING when our party of four arrived at the dock in Antigua, West Indies, to catch the private launch to Jumby Bay Resort. Let us amend that. We were in the midst of a drenching tropical storm and forced to take inadequate refuge in a small shelter mostly open to the elements as we watched despondently the resort's launch receding from sight, heading to the complex we could dimly see through the pelting rain. Adding to our distress, a posted notice on the side of the shelter informed us that the next pickup was scheduled for two hours later.

Huddled under the small roof, the taxi that had delivered us to this desolate spot long gone, we bemoaned our situation, made even worse by the fact that two large pieces of our luggage had not made the transfer of planes with us in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Just as things were at their darkest--literally--a dot on the horizon grew larger, and we began to cheer up immeasurably as we realized help was on the way. The launch was returning for us.

As we were helped aboard, we learned that, since we had been delayed at the Antigua airport while we were filling out lost luggage reports--even though we had been assured that the bags would be coming on one of the next several flights to the island--and the boat already had a full complement of guests heading for the resort, the captain had decided to make two runs. We were overjoyed that we had not been forgotten, and settled into the leather chairs that filled the window-enclosed cabin, hefted complimentary rum coolers, and enjoyed the seven-minute, sea-skimming ride to Long Island, home of Jumby Bay.

The private launch is but one of the amenities Jumby Bay provides to ensure the comfort and pleasure of its guests. The attention had begun at the airport, when a resort representative whose job it is to arrange for transportation to the dock and the private launch met us as we cleared Immigration. In our case, the resort agent stayed behind to ride herd on efforts to locate our errant bags after she put us on a chartered taxi and sent us on our way to rendezvous with the launch.

When we docked at Jumby Bay, we were greeted by the Guest Services Manager, Rita James, toting a huge golf umbrella to keep the rain off us and wearing a welcoming smile. She guided us to the nearby Verandah Terrace dining room, where lunch was still being served, even though it was mid afternoon. En route, she apologized profusely for the rain, but explained that it was the first in four months and was very much needed for the parched grounds. Accepting that explanation and mollified by the prospect of getting fed, it wasn't difficult to settle back and be good sports about the soaking we had undergone.

After lunch, Rita escorted us to our accommodations via the resort's main mode of transportation--electric golf cart. Despite the continuing rain and the fact that three of us could not change into dry, more-suitable clothes, we felt better from the moment we stepped into the courtyard of our two-bedroom private villa. Glancing around, we began to get the feeling that Jumby Bay would indeed be the vacation paradise we had planned for.

Generally speaking, vacations are an opportunity for us to get away alone as a couple. This time, as our children have morphed into adults and young marrieds, we thought it would be fun to seek out a different viewpoint on a getaway experience, and invited our daughter, Susan, and son-in-law, Tom, to share a villa with us. As they enjoy the outdoors--hiking, camping, diving, etc.--while we tend toward more laid-back pursuits, we thought it would lend a new perspective to an island vacation. We hoped to strike a happy balance and share the fun of being together in an exotic setting without feeling that we were joined at the hip.

At first glance, because they were so beautifully intertwined, it was difficult to define where the villa left off and the landscape began. We took three steps down from the tree-shaded courtyard into a living room that was not only filled with plantings, but whose vividly colored, flower-patterned sofas and easy chairs echoed the colors of the outdoors. Beyond all this, wall-to-wall windows revealed a terrace laden with lounges and tables, and a small beach with the sea gently lapping on the sand just below the wall. Throw in a huge slanted, beamed ceiling, and the effect was stunning.

As if forming the left and right vertical bars of a giant capital H, two spacious bedrooms flanked the crossbar of the living room. Each was dominated by a king-size bed draped with mosquito netting (there more for decoration than need). The night tables, dresser, and old-fashioned writing stand were made of bamboo, lending a tropical air, and slatted double doors opened on the terrace, ideal for relaxing and enjoying the sound of the surf and the sight of a brilliant tropical sunset in evenings to come.

Each air-conditioned bedroom suite contained a luxurious garden bathroom, with a blue-tile and cut-stone shower surrounded by flowering shrubs and palm trees that were nurtured by the runoff of water from the shower or rain that filtered through the screened-in portion of the roof. A double sink ran along one wall, with a generous supply of designer toiletries, such as French-milled soap, shampoo, conditioner, after-sun gel, a hair dryer, and thick, soft bath sheets.

Opposite from the mirrored wall behind the sink was a huge walk-in closet that housed a pair of soft-as-down white cotton robes and a safe. Taking into consideration that the living room was filled with electronic equipment--cable TV and VCR, CD player, and radio--and that doors were seldom even locked, the safe seemed superfluous. However, for New Yorkers, better safe than sorry is a rule of life, so we welcomed it, if only as a place to park our passports and return tickets.

Also provided are golf umbrellas, flashlight, walking sticks, and twice-daily maid service. (It was a delight to come back to the villa after dinner each night to a turned-down bed and a card on the pillow with a little homily on it, such as "Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep !"--Edward Young, or "Light be the earth upon you, lightly rest"--Euripides.)

Outside the fully appointed dining room/ kitchen, its refrigerator well-stocked with beer, soft drinks, mixes, and even champagne (for those who wish to entertain or have a private dinner), sat a pair of bicycles that would become the favorite mode of transportation for Susan and Tom, whisking them all over the island.

We were just about to try our hand with the electric golf cart that was plugged into an outlet in the alcove in front of the villa and venture down to the resort shop for some necessities to tide us over, when a knock sounded at the door. Our missing luggage had arrived at last. Three very bedraggled people were made instantly joyful. As if nature's way of saying, "Ta-da!," the sun chose that same moment to make a welcome...