With new direct flights to the Turks and Caicos Islands in the Caribbean, it has never been easier to relax on ‘the best beach in the world’

Just an hour after the wheels of our plane hit the scorching runway, we’re swimming in the sparkling Atlantic Ocean just off what’s claimed to be the best beach in the world.

Sure, it seems impressive to me. Giant spotted eagle rays fly through the water, multi-colored parrotfish swim among the coral and a giant sun sits above in a cloudless sky.

This is Grace Bay in the Turks and Caicos Islands of the Caribbean, a ribbon of forty low-lying islands and ‘cays’ (smaller islands) surrounded by the third largest coral reef in the world.

Grace Bay has been at the top of the list of best beaches for years thanks to its pristine white, soft sand, dotted with giant peach and pale pink shells and lapped by an impossibly blue sea.

Until now, reaching Turks and Caicos has been a chore for British tourists, with a 12-hour BA flight stopping for an hour in the Bahamas or Antigua en route.

But Virgin Atlantic last month launched a direct route to the British Overseas Territory, meaning it can take you from Heathrow Terminal Three to Provincediales – or ‘Provo’ – the archipelago’s main island in under nine hours.

At immigration a band plays while a beautiful female agent checks our passports. She sees where we are staying on our forms and gives us recommendations for local restaurants and bars.

“Enjoy paradise,” she says, smiling and stamping, and we’re on our way. I’m here for four restorative nights with my friend Ami.

Our first base is the charming Wymara Resort which, luckily for us, borders the 20 kilometer long Grace Bay. It’s shortly after Thanksgiving and the guests are mainly American couples and families enjoying the latest holiday.

We make good use of the service flags on Wymara’s sun loungers and order delicious fish tacos and rum cocktails between dives in the ocean, which feel like silk on the skin. It is said that on a clear day you can see twelve shades of blue. After seven hours I give up.

But be warned about the prices. At Wymara’s restaurant Indigo, the cheapest main course costs £31, while the cheapest glass of wine costs £12.

Looking for a cheaper alternative, we walk barefoot along Grace Bay at sunset until we reach Somewhere, a wooden tiki bar with live music that we’re told is “cheap and has a good atmosphere.” The atmosphere is indeed good, but the prices remain high. You will be charged £29 for two Pina Coladas.

The next morning we are taken from the beach by a Wymara Hobie Cat to Bight Reef, just a few hundred meters away in Grace Bay, in the hope of finding green turtles. This, as well as paddle boarding and kayaking, is included in the guest’s stay.

The waves of the speeding boats form waves that bounce us along as seawater splashes on our already sun-drenched faces. We quickly struggle with our fins and snorkel, throwing ourselves backwards as the boat speeds away with a gust of wind.

Spiny, bulbous porcupine fish bounce off the reef; long, tube-like trumpet fish search for prey and flashes of sunlight illuminate patches of bright green brain coral. But no turtles.

Thanks to Provo’s small size (about 23 by 2.5 miles), you can reach any point by car within 40 minutes. Our journeys take us through desolate landscapes dotted with cacti, past bright pink and lime-colored colonial buildings and schools where neatly dressed children play hop-skip-jump.

Initially inhabited by the indigenous Taino people who encountered the islands in 600 AD, the Turks and Caicos Islands changed hands between the French, the Spanish (who established salt production) and then the British before becoming a crown colony in 1962.

Numerous political crises (including a government suspension and a period under direct British rule in 2009), a recession and a series of hurricanes have ensured that the archipelago’s history has not been a pretty one. But the storm clouds have blown away and the island nation is experiencing a revival. The headlines about ‘Trouble in Paradise’ have all but disappeared; tourism is booming and peace and charm now reign. More than a million tourists have visited the country so far this year – an increase of 18 percent from the same period in 2019 before the pandemic.

On the 25-minute drive to our second hotel, Amanyara, from the luxury Aman group, we pass a bright pink building surrounded by walls constructed from shells washed up on the beach just in front. We ask our taxi driver to stop so we can have a look. It’s a beachfront restaurant called Da Conch Shack, which plays reggae music and serves rum cocktails and cracked conch (battered and fried local sea snail) to customers dining on the waterfront tables, with their feet in the sand.

Conch (pronounced ‘conk’) – a giant marine mollusk with a spiral peach and cream-colored shell – is the national symbol of Turks and Caicos and appears on the flag.

Historically, the arid islands lacked livestock, but shell was readily available and easy to catch, providing residents with an important source of protein to this day. Later that afternoon we taste shellfish served with peppers and salsa on Amanyara beach. It is salty with a rubbery texture, but wonderfully refreshing in a heat of 30 degrees Celsius. If Wymara is expensive, Amanyara is unique territory for most of us. But the beach hands down Grace Bay (and that’s no small feat) and the rooms, if you can call them that, are some of the best I’ve seen.

Ours, a self-contained wooden ocean pavilion, is just steps away from our own private patch of sand and the pounding ocean, while inside there is a huge bath and glass walls overlooking mature deep green trees and an endless turquoise sea.

It’s easy to understand why the super-rich and super-famous regularly vacation here. Privacy is paramount (it’s in a 5,000-hectare nature reserve) and despite being 60 percent full, we’re never close to the other guests.

In a final search for the elusive green turtle, we are taken five minutes across the bay by speedboat to a marine reserve.

After an hour we give up hope and swim back to the boat when I spot one, about two meters away. It is a juvenile green turtle, no larger than a side plate, with an olive-colored shell and a small leathery head.

We follow him as he dives among the bright red and purple coral in search of seagrass. We stay with him for a minute or two until, with a few flicks of his speckled flippers, he’s gone.

Even in the smartest places in Turks and Caicos, the locals, who all speak English with an American twist, are friendly and charmingly relaxed.

“Six hours is plenty of time, just jump in the ocean,” says an Amanyara employee with dreadlocks and a broad smile when I ask if our transfer should be half an hour earlier for our 8 p.m. flight.

He was right. And its sweet, relaxed attitude allows us to sip rum cocktails as we soak up the last sun of the day as it dries out our salty hair and freckled faces for the last time.