The straight-faced customs man at Grantley Adams International Airport looked me in the eye.

“Have you ever been to Barbados before?” he asked with that British sense of self-confidence that still seems to linger on this “Little England” of the Lesser Antilles.

I shook my head, unable to judge whether he would think this was a good or bad thing.

“Welcome, man!” he broke into a big island smile as he stamped my passport. “You are going to love it here.”

It was a welcome that was perfectly befitting Barbados. After all, it’s not hard to fall in love with an island that feels exactly like the Robert Louis Stevenson novels of yore. And nowhere does that sense of a lost colonial isle come more clearly to Shawna, Wesley and me, than upon our arrival at one of the oldest and most charming properties on the isle?the venerable Colony Club.

The Colony Club, a member of the Luxury Romantic Collection of Great Hotels of the World, is an oasis of nature on one of the most populated islands in the Caribbean. With 96 rooms and suites spread across seven acres of gardens full of cooing quail, dancing butterflies and all sorts of tropical birds, we felt as though we wandered into a Caribbean Shangri-La. The rooms themselves are simple and classic. Close your eyes and feel the hush of the ceiling fans and you can imagine the tinkle of gin and tonics on ice in this once far corner of the British Empire.

The serene, coy pool at the open-air reception and the mature coconut palm trees that tower over the two-story buildings give the property the peaceful feeling of a large greenhouse. Adding to the flow were four river-pools that wind among the gardens. The quiet alcoves and melodic waterfalls that appeared around each bend in the pools quickly became a favorite place for us to cool off. Some suites, we discovered with a bit of envy, were only a step away from the turquoise rivers.

The same sense of nature that permeates the Colony Club was infectious. Shawna and Wesley were excited to learn that green monkeys haunted the treetops. Dawn and dusk monkey-safaris, though unsuccessful until the last day, quickly became de rigueur.

Sometimes, however, finding wildlife was more serendipitous. On our second morning at the beach, a woman sunbathing near us let out a sudden cry. “I thought I felt something squiggly!” she laughed, as one by one fist-sized baby sea turtles clawed their way out of a sand nest. The turtles, protected by law, and helped along by workers summoned from a local environmental society, made their primal trek from the beach to the waves, much to the delight of Wesley who proudly tallied up more than a hundred of the rare creatures.

Later that night at dinner, though crab wasn’t on the menu, one guest who sat beside a nearby sofa hadn’t been told. Two ball-bearing eyes and a pair of claws poked out. Eventually a waiter shooed the wayward crustacean out with a ping-pong paddle. “Go on home,” he said, gently prodding the crab across the floor and out into the night. “We don’t need you tonight, but maybe tomorrow.”

Dining was a constant source of delight to us. The chef seemed a natural alchemist, and the menu included an unending list of tasty sauces?always a fun challenge to try and match a wine from the well-stocked cellar. My favorite dish was the baked chicken stuffed with plantains.

Wesley had his own fun at dinner with the waiter, Trevor. The two had become instant buddies and rare was the meal when I didn’t catch Trevor flashing Wes a thumbs up followed with an enthusiastic whisper, “Yeah, man.”

It was that friendliness and the quiet grace of the Colony Club that charmed us most. On our last evening as the moon shone down on Heron Bay, Shawna and Wesley talked excitedly about finally spotting a troop of green monkeys playing with their young in the trees while a lone guitarist strummed an island anthem in the dining room. The lyrics said it all. “You’ll find rest, you’ll find peace, in Barbados. Come back to my island and me.”