There is a particular kind of longing that arrives with February in Canada. It settles into your bones quietly, somewhere between the third snowstorm and the shortened days, and it whispers: go south. Canadians have a name for the ones who listen. They call them snowbirds — those who, like migratory birds, follow the warmth when winter becomes too much to hold.
After years of waiting, a pandemic that stole the horizon from all of us, we finally decided to listen too. At the end of February, we headed south to Providenciales — a stunning island in the Turks and Caicos, known for its crystal-clear waters, white sandy beaches, and a natural beauty that feels almost impossible to believe until you are standing inside it.
Northwest Point Area
One of the highlights of our stay was the Northwest Point area, with its variety of natural wonders and breathtaking scenery. We decided to stay at Northwest Point Resort—a place located right on the beach, an experience that every nature lover must have at least once.
The resort has no restaurant, but that suited us perfectly. We had rented a flat with a kitchen, and cooking Italian food has always been our way of carrying home with us wherever we go. We planned our days around going out for lunch to explore the island and the local cuisine, then returning to the resort for dinner—with a couple of glorious exceptions.
Waking Up to Watch the Sunrise
One of our most cherished memories was waking up early on a Saturday morning to watch the sunrise over the ocean from the beach. We thought we would be the only ones awake at that hour, but when we arrived, two other couples were already there — one of them holding a cup of coffee. It was blissfully silent. The wind had not yet picked up.
Before the sun rises, the ocean is a deep, dark grey. Then, slowly, the sky above the horizon begins to shift — orange, pink, yellow — and the water catches it all, turning turquoise as the light finds it. It is a peaceful and tranquil way to start your day, and one you will carry with you long after you have returned home.
Beach Walks
Every day, we walked. We explored the extreme tip of the island at Northwest Point, where the very first thing you encounter is a boat half-submerged in sand, facing the shore — a quiet, weathered monument to everything the ocean holds and takes.
From there, walking the rocky path, you are met with a striking contrast: the vast, open ocean on one side, and a sheltered bay scattered with abandoned boats on the other. It is a place that invites stillness.
For something gentler, we turned to the east side of the beach, where the water displayed its clarity in brilliant shades of blue and turquoise, and rocky steps along the shore offered us a place to sit and simply witness the ocean. During these walks, nature offered herself freely—shells woven into our footsteps, a pelican diving for breakfast, turtles gliding silently through the turquoise below.
It took me days of patience to film a pelican fishing up close. They plunge with such precision, such commitment. Watching the turtles was something else entirely. The Turks and Caicos Islands are home to one of the largest populations of green turtles in the world—and to see them move through the water is to understand why people travel to be changed, not just photographed.
Romantic Sunset
We watched the sunset at Malcolm’s Road Beach — secluded, away from any crowd, the kind of place where the day dissolves into colour and you let it. The light was extraordinary. We had a front-row seat to something that no photograph quite holds, and we knew it even while it was happening.
Local Cuisine
One of our favourite spots was Bugaloos — right on the beach, fresh seafood, the Caribbean water visible from every table. We celebrated my late father-in-law’s birthday there, toasting him with a white wine that bore the same name as my late father, Giuseppe. Cinthia and Mary made us feel like family. That is the kind of hospitality you remember.
And then there was the tempest. We were celebrating International Women’s Day at The Grill in Grace Bay when the sky decided to join the occasion—dramatically. Thank goodness for the warm towels our lovely waitress Kim brought us. We finished our lunch, then ventured to the Marina to admire the yachts before ending the afternoon at Pink Bar, where we met Mardochee—a kind soul and a genuine pleasure to talk with.
Venus Jupiter Conjunction from Magnolia Terrace
One evening brought us an unexpected gift: the Venus Jupiter conjunction, visible from the Magnolia Terrace. These rare alignments — when two planets appear to meet in the night sky — have been marking time for humans long before any of us arrived on this particular island on this particular night. We watched it together over dinner, and said very little.
Relaxation at Lotus Spa
We went to Lotus Spa, twice. And I would have gone again. Located in the heart of Providenciales, it offered exactly what two weeks of sun and walking and emotion had earned — deep tissue massages, hot stone treatments, therapists Win and Frame who brought both skill and genuine care to every session. What we loved most was its size — small, family-run, intimate. Nothing anonymous. Nothing performative. Just restoration.
Who’s the Caribbean twin?
Mary from Bugaloos asked me which place in Italy most resembled the Caribbean. My answer was immediate: Sardinia. The pristine white sands, the turquoise waters, the rugged cliffs and hidden coves — the echo is unmistakable. But Sardinia adds something the Caribbean doesn’t have: ancient ruins along the coastline, historic towns, the particular richness of Italian cultural heritage layered beneath the beauty. And, of course, the food.
If you are planning a longer trip to Europe between May and September, Sardinia is your Caribbean twin. I’d stake my kitchen on it.
Memorable Departure
We left on a Sunday morning, and daylight savings time had other plans for us. Toronto had moved an hour ahead overnight; Turks had not. After some deliberation, we decided to trust Turks’ time. At 8:45 am we arrived at the beach, intending to spend a last, unhurried hour in the sea.
We had fifteen minutes.
By the time we understood the situation, it was already 9:50 am Toronto time. We laughed. We got ready. We left.
As we boarded the plane, I thought about what it means to go from winter to summer and back to winter again in the space of a fortnight. In Toronto, it was snowing when we landed. The beach, the turtles, the silence of the ocean before sunrise — all of it now carried as memory, folded into the ordinary life waiting at home.
That is what snowbirds know that the rest of us are still learning: warmth is not just something you find in the south. It is something you bring back with you.
