It's 6.30 in the morning, just after sunrise, and I'm on the lookout for a fishing boat, and specifically, a naked fisherman. I've been told that every morning he sets out with his friends and the combination of his dreadlocks and his bare body is an irresistible lure for fish. Unlike many Caribbean islands, there's a healthy tradition of setting out in small boats, bagging the local catch and selling it in the market. And fish seems to be plentiful here, including Mahi-mahi, Tuna and Snapper.
I'm in St Lucia on a gourmet adventure where, of course, I'll enjoy the sun and sand but also learn about the local produce and how to cook it.
The island, at around 30 miles long and 10 miles across, is particularly fertile thanks to volcanic soil and the hot humid climate.
My first visit is to a chili pepper farm, hot sauce being synonymous with the Caribbean. They're growing a variety known as Jamaica red, similar to the fiery scotch bonnet peppers we get in the UK but slightly milder.
I get a bagful to take back to my cooking class at Hotel Cap Maison, my home for the week.
The farmer also grows melons but he's noticed that I'm suffering in the heat so he sends one of his workers up a coconut tree to bring me down a bunch. With a deft flick of his machete, he slices the top off the nut, sticks in a straw, and I'm soon enjoying the refreshing coconut water.
In St Lucia, coconuts are so important that, after a birth, the umbilical cord is kept and, when the child is old enough, he puts it in the soil, plants a coconut sapling on top, and watches the tree grow.
The first nuts are sold in the market and the money is used to set up the child's first bank account.
In the capital's market in Castries I'm met by Craig Jones, the executive chef from Cap Maison. He's a Welsh Rastafarian, his dreadlocks concealed in his chef's hat and he points out the different tropical fruits. Most stall holders are selling produce from their own plots so are defiantly proud. We buy pumpkin, fennel and fillets of Mahi-mahi (which are kosher) to cook later and make a stop at the spice section.
Bundles of cinnamon are sold alongside allspice, turmeric and a bark known as Bois Bandé, apparently a sort of natural Viagra. They bottle it in rum with a mixture of other spices and, when I attend the Friday night Jump Up in Gros Islet, a Caribbean street party, I see it on sale at every stall. Most young men swear by it.
Back at the hotel, Craig shows me how to prepare a simple dish.
The fish fillets are coated in jerk seasoning, a mixture of vinegar, chili and spices, then pan fried. He makes a salad out of shaved raw vegetables and coats them in his own dressing.
Of course no visit to the Caribbean is complete without a rum tasting and Cap Maison is making its own.
There's no sugar cane on the island, so they distil molasses and then keep it in Oak barrels for six to nine years. Half goes into Bourbon casks and other goes into Port barrels - the resulting blend is a smooth, drinking rum, designed to be taken neat, with perhaps a small ice cube. Luxury holidays in the Caribbean often make you feel isolated and coasted with no local contact. What's great about this one, is that you engage in local life, with farmers, bargaining in the market or grooving to reggae beats at the Friday Jump Up.
Unfortunately, I've still not come into contact with the naked fisherman but I'm up early on my last day and finally I spot a small boat. Without binoculars I can't really make out what the crew are wearing so it's left to my imagination.
I settle for lunch in the Naked Fisherman, the beach-front restaurant named in his honour and, as I feast on the fish he caught this morning, I'm pleased his tactics seem to work.
