I've found the best way to explore the Caribbean's hidden islands

Times

13-07-2025

'Qin! You're still here,' said Tristan Menant-Leclercq with visible surprise as I stood up in the shallows in front of him and emptied the sea water from my snorkel. I laughed sheepishly; I was as surprised as he was.
A couple of hours earlier I had been apprehensive about getting into the water without the safety net of a pool noodle or life jacket. I'm a decent swimmer; a Padi-certified scuba diver even. But still, the ocean has always made me feel uneasy; getting tossed around like flotsam wasn't an experience I wanted to relive having been in several hairy situations in the past. Seeing I was nervous, Menant-Leclercq had suggested we go out in a small group of three. 'Close to the shore so you can get out any time,' the naturalist guide promised. And so I got in, my heart pounding.
The underwater magic of Half Moon Caye soon extinguished any flicker of doubt. This speck of an island is in a marine reserve about 60 miles east of the Belize mainland and just eight miles from the Great Blue Hole, one of the world's largest sinkholes. Calm Caribbean waters, gin-clear visibility and an underwater landscape dotted with pristine coral bommies and sweeping seagrass meadows make it a snorkeler's dream.
I spied schools of grunt fish patrolling their domain, bright orange fireworms wrestling in the sand, and walnut-sized butterfly fish shyly darting between coral branches. After a while, I noticed foot-long barracudas stalking me from behind. Apparently they had mistaken me for a 5ft 2in beast of a predator that's going to messily devour its prey, leaving morsels that they could dash in and snatch away. I was mesmerised. So when the rest of the group went back to the beach and Menant-Leclercq offered to keep an eye on me from the shore, I decided to stay on.
Half Moon Caye was no less special above the waves. To one end of the island, towering coconut palms guarded a gnarly forest of ziricote trees. Here, hermit crabs — some hauling shells as big as oranges — made croaky rattling noises as they scuttled around the exposed roots. In the dense mop of foliage above, a handful of red-footed boobies and flocks of magnificent frigatebirds made their nests.
I came to this remote corner of the Caribbean with the French cruise company Ponant. While they cater mainly to Francophones, an entirely bilingual team allows their cruises to be conducted in both English and French. What caught my eye was the fact that unlike the usual Caribbean itineraries, they focused on the lesser-visited parts of Belize and Honduras, promising enriching cultural experiences and incredible wildlife in one trip. And they're serious about the lesser-visited part — some of the stops had never received cruise ships before we arrived.
All this was possible because the vessels in Ponant's fleet are relatively tiny — even in the small ships cruise category. At 430ft, our 184-passenger expedition ship, Le Bellot, was considerably smaller than even some luxury yachts. This gave it the nimble manoeuvrability to squeeze into harbours that kept larger ships at bay.
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Not that it ever worried about docking. Instead, the ship always anchored offshore, with a fleet of powerful Zodiac boats — driven by a team of onboard naturalist guides, most of whom were multi-lingual and had spent their careers working for conservation groups or NGOs — ferrying small groups of guests to excursions. This simultaneously added a frisson of excitement to the outing and lessened its environmental impact.
There's just one downside to this otherwise convenient arrangement: the weather. Officially, the rainy season in the Caribbean ended in November. But during my trip in early December, straggling storm clouds were still in the region, liberally dispensing thunder and lightning. Most passed overnight leaving overcast or drizzly days, but the winds they brought propelled dramatic waves that made Zodiac expeditions a challenging and sometimes dangerous undertaking.
It was a lesson we learnt quickly during our first excursion — a wildlife walk through Jeannette Kawas National Park in Honduras. Named after the murdered activist who helped to protect it from palm oil plantations and illegal logging, this dense jungle was home to families of howler monkeys and capuchins. Both proved to be elusive. The heavy rains that swept through in the preceding weeks had left the ground so swollen that dozens of trees had toppled over in the swampy mush, driving the mammals to other parts of the forest.
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On our way back to the ship, the waning sun suddenly gave way to lashing rain. As we held on to the lines of the Zodiac for dear life our guide, David Beaune, deftly navigated the 6ft swells. Then the radio crackled into life. There had been an accident on the beach we had just left. Moments later, we rolled past medics on a Zodiac heading the other way. We learnt afterwards that one of the naturalists had been knocked over by a Zodiac after a rogue wave lifted it onto the beach. The force of the impact broke a bone, but it could have been so much worse.
Le Bellot was cast into a sombre mood over the next couple of days. The sun scarcely appeared, so even though there was an enticing excursion or two at each of the stops, many guests opted to stay on board. I don't blame them, to be honest; there were plenty of enticing options on the ship. The plunge pool with counter current on deck three was basically a hot tub, while up on the seventh and highest deck, the sauna — with its panoramic window — offered views of the forlorn landscape in blissful warmth. Down on deck zero, the intimate Blue Eye lounge showed films and projections that enhanced the underwater view. Or for something quieter, there was the library in the panoramic lounge on deck six. And then of course, because 75 per cent of the guests were French, long lunches were de rigueur.
But I wanted to see it all so I joined every single excursion — and I was glad I did. The Bay Islands, a maritime department of Honduras and one-time British colony that's 20 miles from the mainland, were fascinating and unexpected.
We visited Guanaja, a jungle-covered island fringed by mangrove forests where grey herons swooped between thickets. At roughly 19 square miles, it's one of the bigger islands and yet hardly anyone lives there. Instead, most of the residents — more than 10,000 by some estimates — live on Bonacca, a satellite island that barely covers 100 acres, less than one per cent of the size of Guanaja. The reason, according to one local guide, was that there were too many biting insects on Guanaja. Having encountered a prodigious number of mosquitos at Jeannette Kawas National Park — enough to leave my entire back in red splotches despite my long-sleeved shirt — I could certainly believe it.
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We also stopped in Cayos Cochinos, an archipelago and protected marine reserve on the world's second largest barrier reef system, the Mesoamerican Barrier Reef. About 200 years ago these islands were settled by the Garifuna people, the descendants of enslaved Africans and Amerindians who had been driven from the Caribbean island of Saint Vincent by the British. Still living simply in wooden huts and subsisting on their catch, they now help with the conservation efforts here.
When we reached Belize, the sun finally re-emerged, lifting the mood on board. But it was also nearing the end of the trip. So at Placencia, almost everyone headed ashore.
A long and narrow peninsula in southern Belize, this coastal resort was visibly geared towards the fly-and-flop crowd, with colourful guesthouses spilling onto the sandy beach. The pedestrian-only main strip, Placencia Sidewalk, ran parallel to the beach, with shops, bars and restaurants on both sides. It hadn't changed much since my previous visit in 2018, so after a quick stroll to stretch my legs, I was ready to get back onboard and start packing for the journey home.
It turned out heading back early was a great decision. I was the only passenger on the Zodiac back to Le Bellot, which gave me a chance to ask my naturalist skipper, Ronny Marie, about his native Seychelles. As we chatted about the wildlife there, he suddenly killed the engine. I didn't need to ask why because I spotted them too: a pair of dolphins frolicking in the waves just beyond the harbour.
Transfixed, I watched as their fins broke through the water then glided gracefully back down. Each time, I held my breath, unsure whether they would come back up. The minutes ticked by. In the back of my mind, I grew worried that Marie would call time on this spellbinding moment. But he didn't need to.
Out of nowhere, a speedboat hurtled towards us. The loud whirr of its engine shattered the peace and drove the startled dolphins beneath the waves. And just like that, I was brutally ejected back to reality.
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Qin Xie was a guest of Ponant, which has nine nights' all-inclusive on a Natural Sanctuaries & Caribbean Encounters itinerary from £5,530pp, including transfers from Cancun, wi-fi and excursions, departing on December 13 (uk.ponant.com). Fly to Cancun