When I tell people we are returning to Jamaica they often mention the 10 hours of discomfort they endured when flying to the Caribbean. I close my eyes and picture the single row of lay-flat seats down each side of the Virgin Upper Class cabin and almost wish the flight was longer.

Two years ago we visited Sandals Grande Riviera now we are sampling the delights of the Sandals Ochi Beach Club. Of course it’s the same place with a new name, retaining the charm we loved but improved in ways we didn’t expect.

We had once again reserved a villa in the butler resort and requested the services of Akeem and Robert who had become our friends on the previous visit. The receptionist solemnly regretted that they were not available and hoped it would not spoil our holiday. We only had a few moments to adjust to this disappointment when Akeem’s smiling face appeared at the door.

As the sun began to set we climbed aboard the jitney and were whisked up the hill to our villa in paradise. Everything was almost as we expected. Palm trees framing the entrance, imposing four-poster bed, bar stocked with our chosen beverages (Bombay Sapphire, Grey Goose, and Red Stripe, what a splendid trio of colours) ice bucket adorned with tropical flowers and fizz.

It wasn’t until the next morning that we became aware of our ‘garden’ and its pool. Twice the size we had expected and with the sea visible through the lush vegetation. You could almost make it a holiday by staying put and eating the treats provided by Robert and Akeem but these gentlemen had booked our restaurants for the week, having remembered our favourites from the previous visit and added the newly opened French eatery. The service varied from friendly and efficient to hilarious and efficient and each meal was an adventure.

We did make some mistakes in our choices though. My brother had missed breakfast so persuaded us to eat a ‘light’ lunch at restaurant Tapas on the Riviera. My understanding of tapas is a variety of tiny servings brought to the table in a succession of saucer sized bowls but the first dish was a full sized dinner plate, laden with meatballs.

Initially we concluded that, as three of us had ordered the same dish, this was in fact to be shared between us. When the second one arrived we could delude ourselves no longer. Out of politeness we made valiant efforts to eat the food that kept appearing on the table but had to cry stop well before half the dishes had been served. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Each time we returned to the villa we were enchanted by the towel art and petal strewn entrance hall. On one memorable evening we arrived to disco music, strobe lights and a humanoid towel structure sitting in bed clutching the TV remote. Surreal.

The resort offers an abundance of choice in all things but as the week progressed we settled into our favourite routines, including revisiting the fabulous French restaurant and using the same peaceful and shaded infinity pool. Robert tracked us down one day, concerned that we hadn’t called on his services for the whole morning. He came bearing a self-made dish of tempura coconut shrimps so delicious it matched anything else we ate at the resort.

Beach life

One morning the men went deep sea fishing but caught nothing but the sun. The only fish landed was a nasty looking barracuda, caught by the only woman aboard. Hubby tried to claim success by posing for a photo with a rather unrealistic statue of a swordfish.

That same morning, I visited the Royal Plantation with my sister-in-law where we enjoyed a tour of the property and an outrageous number of fruit smoothies. The beach and grounds were immaculate but I wouldn’t swap the space and the private pool on our side of the road.

We spent several memorable evenings at the recently opened Rabbit Hole, a nightclub themed on a prohibition era American speakeasy. The entrance looked more like a hobbit hole than a rabbit warren and it was barred by an imposing doorman who would only allow passage if you possessed the password, which was changed daily.

Once safely past the ‘bouncer’ we drank exotic cocktails and awaited the cabaret. Mamma swept on stage and for more than an hour she sang a magical repertoire of songs from show tunes to Adele.

Our final evening was spent on Kelly’s Dockside which for food, ambiance and service could not be matched. For dessert my brother asked for ice cream, which wasn’t on the menu. “Of course” was the answer but he was deeply embarrassed when he saw the waiter having to sprint along the jetty to bring his frozen sweet from a distant restaurant on the mainland.

Then it was back to Montego Bay by private transfer, well worth the extra for the comfort, speed convenience. We just didn’t realise how cocooned we had been until we stepped from the taxi and into the hustle of the airport.

It wasn’t helped by the blaring fire alarm that everyone was trying to ignore. Our priority check-in and fast-track security allowed us to transit painlessly through to the MoBay lounge.

Our arrival at the lounge coincided with the silencing of the alarm and we settled down to the final peaceful moments of a memorable week’s holiday. Of course we could still look forward to a good night’s sleep on the journey home, courtesy of Virgin Upper Class.