Slow-Travel Guide to Les Saintes, Guadeloupe:
Take Your Time in the Caribbean
Friday, August 22, 2025|
I’ve always believed the best travel memories are made when you stop trying to see everything. When I am visiting Guadeloupe, I often go to Les Saintes. A tiny cluster of islands just off the southern coast of Guadeloupe, it offered me one of the simplest, most memorable days, which never disappointed me.
The Crossing
I left my home early, planning to catch the 8:00 AM ferry from Trois-Rivières and also trying to get a parking space. There’s something special about those quiet crossings, saying this is a popular day trip, so boats are always packed. Nevertheless, when the sea is still calm and the air feels fresh with promise, this makes for a perfect day trip for everyone. The journey is less than an hour, but as the islands appeared on the horizon, green hills rising out of turquoise water, I already felt my shoulders drop.
Stepping onto the harbour at Terre-de-Haut, I was met by the bustle of everyday life: fishermen unloading their catch, scooters buzzing past, shutters creaking open on cafés. No fanfare. Just island life unfolding as it always does.
Morning in Town
Once off the boat, I passed a woman selling little round pastries from a basket: torments d’amour. They’re a speciality of Les Saintes, small cakes filled with coconut or fruit. There’s a story behind the name: fishermen’s wives would bake them while waiting for their husbands at sea. The “torment of love” was the ache of absence, sweetened when the men returned home safe. I bought a pack of 4 (coconut, my favourite), still warm. I wandered until I found a bar. A beer, and my tourments d’amour, that was all I needed. Around me, locals, day trippers, drifted through the morning market, greeting one another, trading, laughing. I didn’t need to do much. Just being there, soaking it in, felt like enough.
There’s something deeply comforting about starting a day slowly, with no list, no rush. Just walking the narrow lanes, noticing the splash of bougainvillaea against pastel walls, or the sound of a boat creaking at its mooring, the bikes, the scooters, the chats.
Image: Les Saintes Gwada beer
Image: Les Saintes Views
Climbing to the Fort
I set off towards Fort Napoléon after my refreshment. The path winds upwards, not steep, but steady enough that you pause to catch your breath. At the top, the view always stopped me cold. The fort itself has its history and a small garden. Fort Napoléon isn’t just a historical site; it’s also home to botanical gardens with panoramic views over the islands. Petite randonnée trails wind through lush landscapes and quiet coves. These walks are unhurried; take your time to notice flowers, birds, and the subtle scent of the sea. But what stays with you is the sweep of the archipelago below, scattered islands floating on a sea that looked painted.
I stood there longer than I meant to, camera in hand, knowing it wouldn’t capture the way the breeze felt on my face or the quiet that seemed to hang in the air. That’s when you realise: it’s not about recording it. It’s about standing there, letting it sink in.
A Swim Beaches Beyond the Postcard and a Simple Lunch
By late morning, the beaches were impossible to resist. Les Saintes has more than the well-known Plage de Pompierre: Grande Anse and Petite Anse reward early risers with calm waters. I chose Plage de Pompierre, its curve of sand shaded by palms. The water was warm, impossibly clear, and I floated there until my fingertips wrinkled. Families picnicked nearby, children shrieked with laughter, but somehow it all felt gentle, never overwhelming. As a mature traveller, all that is needed.
Lunch was accras, fresh grilled fish at a restaurant located just before the beach, the kind of place where the menu is whatever came off the boat that morning. A squeeze of lime, a glass of something cold, the salt still drying on my skin, it was perfect.
The Gift of Wandering
In the afternoon, I let myself drift back through the town's narrow streets. No plan. Les Saintes is small but culturally rich. Just the kind of wandering where you stumble on hand-painted ceramics in one shop, handwoven baskets in another. Streets are painted in bright Caribbean hues, and small chapels peek around every corner. A fisherman mending his nets, tourists calling and talking, a sudden burst of colour at every corner. I love those moments most, the ones you couldn’t plan, even if you tried.
Image: Les Saintes Plage
Image: Les Saintes Colours
The Day Slips Away
By late afternoon, like many others, I found myself by the harbour again, you don’t want to miss the boat back, the light softening, the water glowing gold. I chose to sit on the steps outside a show not too far from the water, last beer before boarding, and watched the sun sink behind the masts. It felt unhurried, almost timeless, as if the day was ending exactly as it was meant to.
The ferry back was quieter, the sea darker now, but I carried the colours of Les Saintes with me: the turquoise of morning, the green hills, the soft pink of sunset. I kept something else too: a reminder that even in a single day, if you slow down enough, a place can stay with you forever.
Final Thoughts
Les Saintes is the kind of place that lingers in memory long after you leave. It’s a reminder that travel doesn’t have to be a checklist, that a single day can be enough to slow down, breathe, and feel fully present. In Les Saintes, time bends a little, the world softens, and even a fleeting visit leaves you carrying a quiet piece of the islands with you.
If slow days like this speak to you, you’ll enjoy my other travel stories too, quiet corners, small discoveries, and journeys that remind us why we wander. Stay with me for more.
