Palm Island: a digital detox holiday in the Caribbean These were introduced by John Caldwell, an American sailor and businessman who first had the idea of turning what was a mosquito infested former leper colony known as Prune Island into a luxury getaway. Caldwell had the nickname of Coconut Johnny because of his habit of planting coconut trees wherever he went. He leased the island from the government and set about planting his trademark palms, renamed the island and opened the Palm Island Beach Club hotel. The ten room hotel ran for 30 years until Caldwell's death in the mid-nineties when it passed to new management. Today there are 41 guest rooms - beachfront cottages with views of the Caribbean Sea, palm viewed cottages set behind the sea, plantation suites housed in two storey buildings and island lofts which are individual wooden cottages with private terraces and ocean views. There are also two villas which offer total privacy. The accommodation is scattered so Palm Island felt more like a small village rather than a hotel. We had been walking for over an hour; it was afternoon and the sun was starting its descent. We made for the main beach. I sat on a hammock with Laila while Bridget went for a swim. I cuddled my daughter and we both watched the sun set: a drop of burning honey sliding down a peach sky. I had made a list on arriving at Palm Island of things I wanted to achieve - but the list was soon discarded. The days began with breakfast before a morning on the beach to play with Laila in the shallows with Bridget and I taking turns to read. A flower shirted attendant would come over to offer us a cold drink to sip under our palm frond shade. Lunch would usually be at the Royal Palm restaurant which specialised in freshly caught fish and local vegetables served by staff with infectiously warm smiles, the sort not sprayed on after attending catering college. Anyone wanting to lunch in privacy could have a picnic by one of the hammocks dotted along the island. We chose a hammock by a wild beach which faced the Atlantic. Foaming waves raced towards the white sand which was bracketed by rocky headlands as we munched on slices of fresh fruit and chunks of cheese laid out on a picnic table. Union Island In the distance we could see other islands. There was Union Island, only a mile away - this was the nearest island and the one we had landed on in that tiny plane. We went on one of the twice weekly boat excursions to the island. After the serenity of Palm Island the place was like Las Vegas. The benches on the main shopping strip were painted red, yellow green and pineapples and watermelons were hanging in net baskets. Tourist trap stores sold beach balls, toy steel drums and, less predictably, home pregnancy kits. A dreadlocked fellow in a pirate hat stood under a papaya tree while two young girls sold mangos on the side of the street. A man was sitting in an outside café tapping at a laptop and I had a sudden pang, a memory of something missing, like an amputee wanting to scratch a leg no longer there. It was now half way through my week of digital detox. A flare of worry lit in my mind that something important had happened in the world and I did not know about it, but the panic soon passed. We returned to the island in time for lunch at the Sunset Grill. I had assumed our fellow guests on the island would be wealthy retired folks but in fact there were plenty of people in their thirties and forties- celebrating honeymoons and wedding anniversaries- and parents holidaying with their children. The beauty of a private island was the sense of safety and freedom it offered - parents could let their children roam freely without having to worry and the lack of television and internet meant families had more chance to spend time together. There were three nature trails on the island but the best way to explore it was by taking a botanic walk with Tash, the head groundsman of Palm Island. During his weekly two hour walk he showed us the different type of palm tree on the island - fern, royal, coconut and cane - and pointed out the hovering hummingbirds. We threaded a path up a hill, past tall throat pipe cactus and almond trees whose leaves had reddened like blood rust, until we had reached one of the highest points on the island. I could see how tiny Palm Island was, a green speck outlined by white sand in a vast blue. In the distance were other island s- the famed Tobago Cays, a cluster of uninhabited islands which are a live coral reef national park and known for being perfect for snorkelling. On our final day we hired a catamaran to explore them more closely. The catamaran was called Tornado but sailing in it was a breeze - it sliced peacefully through the sea until we reached the Cays and the island of Petit Bateau. Pirates of the Caribbean had been filmed around here but to me the island felt like something out of Robinson Crusoe - entirely uninhabited with lush vegetation and empty beaches. I don't swim but, with Bridget's help, I snorkelled for the first time near the palm fringed beach. It was thrilling and frightening to hold on to my wife as I plunged my head into the glowing turquoise waters. Darting around us was an astonishing flurry of vividly colourful butterfly fish, angel fish and barracudas. It was a sight of mind-blowing wonder and I wished I could have spent longer but the boat was waiting to return us to Palm Island for our final night. That evening we took a final stroll along the beach. It was the longest night of the year and the velvet sky was beaded by a necklace of stars. We sat on the lounger and gazed at the fat yellow moon as it glowed above the palms. The moon cast a shadow on the water, a silvery path from the beach to the sky. The following morning we packed our bags and made our way to the dock for the long journey home. The great claim made for technology is that it keeps us connected but my time on Palm Island had left me wondering if in fact technology doesn't in fact serve to disconnect us from family, friends and the beauty around us. It had been a magical week - like being cocooned in a magical world where the sun always shone and the noise of the outside world was, for a while at least, silenced. The lesson I would take back home with me was that it is only when we turn off our electronic gadgets that we hear other sounds - the laughter of a baby, the song of the sea, the rustle of leaves- sounds so easily drowned by our addiction to the digital drone. Seven nights in St Vincent with Virgin Holidays (0844 557 3859, virginholidays.co.uk) including scheduled flights with Virgin Atlantic from London Gatwick direct to Barbados with onward transfers, accommodation at the Palm Island on an all inclusive basis with transfers included starts from £1,775. Price is per person based on two adults travelling and sharing a Palm View room. Prices are based on departures in September 2013.