The only dual carriageway on the island stretched for a couple of hundred yards and had just enough room for one and a half cars. By the roadside, amid a forest of 1960s hand-written ads for Player's, Guinness and Alka Seltzer, was a sign warning new arrivals to slow down, "Undertakers love overtakers." Such wisdom seems to sum up Grenada. Why hurry? The faster you go, the less you see.

Apart from this measly stretch of highway and a handful of traffic lights (so rare they're marked on the local map), Grenada's roads twist and corkscrew across the island with such enthusiasm that you rarely get out of third gear. Slow time; like the reggae beat blasting from every boom box outside every workshop and garage; like the sublimely indifferent pair of chickens waddling across the car park at Kentucky Fried Chicken, oblivious to the fates of thousands of their breadcrumbed cousins inside.

In slow-time Grenada, it was slow Sunday. Kids were flying kites; dogs were out on constitutionals. Outside the Baha'i Centre, local women, dressed from head to toe in white, giggled and spilled on to the street holding hands. We pulled off the road, barrelled down a dirt track and parked the Jeep. In front of us were two miles of powder sand, dipping its toes into a gently swelling turquoise sea. We let out a collective sigh. We'd finally made it to Grenada after a decade of promises. In 1990, we'd sailed into the prettiest harbour in the Caribbean on a fleeting one-day visit and discovered an island more deserving of a holiday in its own right than any other on our itinerary. It had just taken us a while getting back.

Our mid-range accommodation was low key, with 15 modest but perfectly adequate rooms (seaview balconies, king-sized beds, air conditioning, a microwave, fridge, kettle and toaster - what more do you need?) hidden away at the end of a promontory just 10 minutes' drive from the airport. True, Blue Bay Resort had a posse of cats, a manically tail-wagging mongrel, a swimming pool with a slide, a large trampoline, a couple of kayaks that could be launched from its skinny beach, the Ecodive centre and an elegant but relaxed waterfront restaurant.

On Monday, I woke at 7.30am to the hypnotic sound of lapping water beneath our balcony. I opened one eye and, through a crack in the curtain, watched three fishermen pitching gently in a rowing boat out in the bay. Tucked away in our secret inlet, I felt like I was at the end of things: secluded, cut adrift. The sea was gently rising and falling over the aerial roots of mangrove trees, a cat was creeping along the branch of a sea grape, and my son was impatiently pacing the balcony, looking for action. We took the kayaks down on to the sliver of beach and silently slipped out into the bay, to surf a fizz of white caps breaking off the outer reef.

Over the next week, we divided our days between the pool, a string of nearby to-die-for beaches and exploring the island. Our first full-day sortie took us from our base on the south-west tip of the island right up into the north-eastern corner. Having skirted the colourful wooden waterfront buildings along the Carenage in the capital St George's, we headed up into riotous when-dinosaurs-walked-the-earth vegetation of the Grand Etang tropical rainforest.

After 20 minutes of pointing skywards, we pulled off the main road and followed a signpost for Annandale Falls. Where the road ran out, a track led past lillies, jasmine and begonias to mustard-coloured rock walls draped in enormous elephant-ear ferns and vines. To the background cacophony of the pounding falls, my kids stripped in seconds flat and leapt from a stone platform into a large pool at the foot of the falls.

Eventually, we dragged them away and continued on the skinny potholed road that bisected the island and which, in every hamlet, was appropriated by the cricket-mad locals as it represented the only flat stretch around. We passed through a string of pretty clapboard villages until we reached the north coast where a dirt track led us to the Helvelyn restaurant, the closest Grenada gets to an Indian hill station.

The views along the coast were spectacular, and the three-course lunch menu in the tropical garden genuine Caribbean (coconut fish, calalou, fried aubergines, sweet potato with onion and chilly; finished off with soursop ice cream). Relaxed and re-fuelled, we scrambled down the hillside to a deserted beach where we worked off the extra pounds by body surfing the Atlantic rollers.

On our homeward journey south, we decided to hug the east coast instead of returning via the mountain route. We were rewarded with a massive open-air party at Bathway beach where we ditched the car alongside others that had been abandoned at a variety of angles on the road. Reggae boomed from 16 speakers stacked beside an impromptu stage as young kids turned cartwheels on the sand into the sea and others dived through floating truck tyres. Beneath the trees, corn cobs, fish and jerk chicken grilled; Carib beers chilled in ice-filled plastic buckets, and we - and seemingly the rest of Grenada - chilled with them.

During the rest of the week, we did plenty more exploring. On one particularly memorable day, we took in a peach of a beach (La Sagesse) and a larger waterfall - Mount Camel. At the latter, an attentive and hugely knowledgeable local guide, Kenrick Ruffin, transformed the vegetation into a pharmacy, chose five luscious mangos from the trees for lunch, and showed us a rock slide that we scooted down and into a lower pool where he'd learned to swim during his childhood.

On other days, we visited a rum distillery, a botanic garden, and even squeezed in a couple of dives with the excellent Scuba Express. It may sound like we packed a lot into a week but we never hurried ourselves. Grenada is an island that insists on a leisurely pace, with time enough to chat and be spontaneous. Wherever the day took us, we happily followed. Most importantly, we made sure we left enough of the island unexplored for several more visits. We're unlikely to wait another 10 years before returning.

· Paul Gogarty's The Water Road: An Odyssey By Narrowboat Through England's Waterways is published by Robson Books at £17.95.

Way to go

Getting there:
The Owners' Syndicate (020-7801 9801, ownerssyndicate.com) offers one week at True Blue Bay from £704pp (based on four sharing a two-bedroom cottage), children aged 2-12 £220 less; two weeks from £896 (with the same child discount). The price includes flights, and transfers. Booked independently, True Blue Bay (+443 8783, truebluebay.com) costs £121 per night per room December 15-April 30, plus 18% tax and service charge; May 1-December 14, around £96 per night per room plus tax etc.

Further information:
Grenada Board of Tourism, 1 Battersea Church Road, London SW11 3LY (020-7771 7016, grenadagrenadines.com).

Country code: 001 473.
Flight time London-Point Saline via Antigua: 11hrs.
Time difference: -4hrs.
£1 = 4.24 East Caribbean dollars.