This Tiny Beach Bar Has Its Own Little Caribbean Island, Beach Huts and Unforgettable Afternoons

You step off the ferry and straight into barefoot theater. The crossing from Barnacle Point on Antigua takes barely four minutes, just enough time to watch turquoise water trade glances with the gleaming runway of V. C. Bird International Airport behind you. Ahead lies Little Jumby, a sandy outpost tucked between Antigua’s north coast and famed Jumby Bay Island—and at its center, The Hut.

The first sensation is breeze: salty, unhurried, funneling through open-air pavilions where Executive Chef Felipe Rubio and Chef de Cuisine Elio Debae riff on a globally inspired brasserie menu. Think just-landed wahoo crudo, char-licked octopus, and a cocktail list that leans bright and citrusy—fuel for a day that’s equal parts lounge act and low-key adventure.

Claim your base on North Beach in one of the teak-framed Beach Huts. The standard version hosts up to six guests, delivers sun beds, sofas, ceiling fans, and a private bar, and—through the end of August—costs US$200 instead of the usual $400, rosé included. Bigger crew? A large Beach Hut doubles the space and caps at ten people for $400 (normally $800).

Couples migrate to South Beach cabanas—canvas-topped love seats for two (US$50 through August)—or reserve the same huts after dark for a private beach dinner that seats fourteen beneath a lantern-strung almond tree.

Day guests drift between plates and play. A sign points to a nature trail that loops the island’s low scrub and introduces Little Jumby’s curriculum of turtle nests and salt-sprayed orchids; the team flags its “strong commitment to environmental protection,” a promise that feels real when frigate birds skim the shallows unbothered.

If the vibe feels too serene, time your visit for South Beach Sundays—BBQ smoke, live bands, DJs, and bottomless rosé—or Friday-night “Hut Live” sets where Asher Otto’s vocals roll across the bay like summer thunder.

Not ready to leave? The Hut was engineered for lingering. Hot showers hide behind white-washed cedar, so you can rinse off, slip into aviation-friendly attire, and reach the airport in the span of a boarding-group call. More likely, you’ll stall on the dock, English Harbour rum in hand, bargaining with reality.

This isn’t just lunch; it’s 24 carats of island time, polished and placed within reach of a ferry schedule that never asks you to rush.

Antigua and Barbuda is the Caribbean capital of bars like this: offshore, off the clock, off the planet. The ones that take you to a different world entirely — or just a little island offshore.