Antigua is a piece of paradise on the Caribbean

It’s not long after 6am when we arrive at the Breakfast Fete. Our driver, Jason, tries to get us as close to the entrance as possible, but he’s not enjoying much luck in negotiating the couple hundred cars packed into the muddied field.
We’re tired. It’s raining. And we’re now jumping over puddles and tip-toeing through the dirt in a bid to keep the runners clean. It doesn’t matter, really. It’s already abundantly clear that we’ve underdressed for the Breakfast Fete. Whatever that is. We still haven’t an iota as to what lies on the other side of the fence. All we can see are numerous white tents. What’s going on inside them is anyone’s guess.