The real epiphany struck me during dinner Friday night. It was a small group and we ate in stages. No one waited for anyone else to be served. No one waited for a hostess to lift her fork. My English grandmother's formality was far away. When we all stood up, I had a new understanding of where I was.

The unpretentiousness of Fowl Cay defines it. It's okay to put your feet on the furniture and your elbows on the table, to leave behind your mascara and pearls, to live here simply and as unadorned as the island itself. It's not for travelers wanting to add more badges to their lapels. Fowl Cay guests have earned enough badges. The houses are not architectural monuments rising tall with granite and marble. They rest organically on the rock and sand, never aspiring to outshine nature. The local staff are not showboats, no superclub bartenders calling the ladies "darling" and the men by their first names. Fowl Cay is not a flashy disco scene. It's a magnet for those who would rather be on the water instead of on line, those who want to hold a board meeting on a sand dune and trade their Bally shoes for bare feet for a week or more. It's a modest, unostentatious place with simply the best of everything. A place where the big sky, clean air and most of all the water are it. No home is so crass as to compete with another for interior design points. The most appropriate and appealing qualities of its homes are exquisite subtle service and extraordinary comfort in an understated design. Sure, the sheets may be Frette but they'll never be found under silk bedspreads or over tiers of dust skirts with matching drapes. The classiest color in town just may be white.

Linda Smith at Fowl Cay, July 2007

WHO IS THE FOWL CAY CLIENT?

He is rich.
Perhaps he's famous.
He wants privacy.
He is not a Sandals client.
He doesn't need more badges.
He's already earned his badges and no longer needs to wear them on his lapel.
He has dressed up often enough. This week, he wants to dress down.
This week, he prefers a power boat to a power lunch.
This week, he'd rather hold a fishing line than go on line.
He doesn't mind having a board meeting on a sand dune.
He craves "discreet."
He may be an environmentalist. Richard Branson just bought the island next to Necker and will turn it into an eco tourism model. It's happening. It's intelligent. It's responsible. And now it's trendy.

Copyright Villas by Linda Smith 2008