"Will there be any music today?" I asked the barkeep as I sloshed my bare toes through the sand leading up to the Anegada Reef Hotel. It had been less than an hour's cruise over from Virgin Gorda in the British Virgin Islands. I had taken the Bitter End Yacht Club's regular Wednesday excursion and, like the rest of my traveling companions, I was in it's-close-enough-to-noon need of a chilled beverage and some good tunage.

"You're a day too late, mon," came the drowsily paced reply. "Jimmy Buffet gave a free concert right here last night."

Sure he did. And I'm the actress named Kim from the lyrics of "He Went to Paris."

I dismissed the obvious mocking of my status as a tourist and made short order of my frozen drink, then joined the rest of the guests onboard a pair of open-air transports. I call them transports because, well, I'm not sure what else to call them. They're basically trucks with oversized beds that support about a half-dozen rows of poorly padded bench seats. Each aisle is open to the road, like a Jeep whose doors have been removed. Every row's backrest serves as handlebars to help you keep your bum from bouncing along the island's mix of newly paved and badly rutted dirt roads.

So few people make it to Anegada that simply arriving is like joining an exclusive, BVI insiders' club.The transports offer great views, but on Anegada, unless you're at the beach, there's not much but scrub brush to see. That's not to say the place isn't worth a visit. On the contrary, Anegada plays host to some of the most unique and memorable Virgin Islands experiences you can have. So few people make it here that simply arriving is like joining an exclusive, BVI insiders' club.

IN THE CLUB

Unlike Tortola, Virgin Gorda and Jost Van Dyke – all of which are popular with boaters because of their easy cruising proximity, onshore entertainment and marina services – Anegada is an island for the more adventurous. It's surrounded by submerged coral heads, dozens of which have led to spectacular shipwrecks, so strong navigation and weather-reading skills are a must.

Getting to those coral heads is a 13-nautical-mile jaunt from Virgin Gorda's Leverick Bay or a 17-nautical-mile course from Marina Cay (which you might know as a home of Pusser's), distances that scare off most bareboaters and inexperienced skippers. If you over-shoot Anegada while cruising in from the south, you will keep going north into the open Atlantic without a single landmark to give you pause. This, too, creates a daunting proposition for many cruisers poring over their charts.

I took the easy way around those obstacles by hitching a ride on the Bitter End's weekly ferry from North Sound, which is how I found myself bobbing like a wave-tossed piece of flotsam on that open-air transport. We wound our way westward across the island to Loblolly Bay, home to endless white sand, renowned snorkeling and diving on sprawling reefs, and the Big Bamboo, where you can get everything from ice cream to a freshly-steamed lobster in between ocean dips and casual naps on the comfy-cozy hammocks. I took up position on one swinging gently in the breeze between two thick loblolly trees that looked as though they had a combined age of at least 500 years, pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes, and let my soul melt into the sound of the nearby surf.

THE KNIFE ACT

The next thing I remember are the notes of an electric organ blending into the melody of what I think was a 1980s Lionel Richie song. I peeked from beneath my ball cap with one half-opened eyelid and realized that lunch was about to be served, apparently with a live show. I moseyed on over to find a seat at one of the picnic tables, a crowd happily swaying to the one-man band, and a hot order of fritters.

Somewhere between my last cholesterol catastrophe bite of deep-fried conch and my two scoops of chocolate chip mint ice cream (the diet is blown), the singer launched into "Cheeseburger in Paradise."

I heard a fellow tourist tell one of the waiters, "I really like Jimmy Buffett." The waiter replied, "Ya mon. He played Anegada last night." For a moment, I considered the possibility of an island-wide conspiracy to dupe all of us visitors, but I immediately had to turn my attention to the knife-juggling screamer. He had surreptitiously meandered onto the scene along with his partner (I hesitate to say "wife," as that may be a serious insult to what looked like their self-imposed hippie lifestyle) and was now shouting for everyone's attention as he began a self-styled performance.

His Taliban-esque beard and tinted John Lennon shades combined to create a scene out of "America's Got Talent," only without Piers Morgan to press the buzzer and restore order to the entertainment universe. I think the kids in the crowd may have enjoyed the under-the-leg knife-tossing action, and I did hear a few oohs and aahs – though mostly from the frat house-looking boys lining up empty Heineken bottles at the bar.

I returned to my hammock to let my 2,500-calorie lunch congeal in my thighs and enjoyed a perfectly relaxing afternoon free of cares, worries and WiFi access. That's the best way I can think of to describe Anegada, actually. It's about as remote as remote gets in the Virgin Islands. Visiting requires the ability to plot a course and stick to it, lest your next port of call end up being the Canary Islands off the northwestern coast of Africa. But when you arrive, you really feel like you've earned a few days of relaxation. Everybody who sails the islands has T-shirts from Foxy's, but how many people have a hat from the Big Bamboo?

FINDING JIMMY

I said as much to Bitter End resort manager Mary Jo Ryan upon my return to North Sound that evening. "By the way," I added, trying to sound a smidgen less naïve than all the non-potheads who believe square groupers are a breed of fish. "Some guys over on Anegada said Jimmy Buffett played a show on the island last night. Do you think that's true?"

She smirked at me and laughed. I wished desperately to get back the previous three seconds of my life.

About a week later, I was at home just west of New York City, debating whether to shovel the mound of new-fallen snow from my driveway or just let it ice over while I lived in the warmth of my fireplace hearth until spring. A friend called to ask about my recent trip to the British Virgin Islands, and I heard myself telling him that Anegada was the most relaxing part of the journey. "It's this little island away from the rest of the chain where nobody really ever goes," I said. "That's what I like about it. You can get away from it all."

He asked me to e-mail him some photos. I logged onto my computer, scanned my in box, and noticed a subject line that screamed: "You'll Never Believe This!"

I cautiously clicked it open, wondering if it was yet again some foreigner telling me that he had a million dollars he wanted to wire me from Kenya for a small processing fee. As it turns out, it was a short note from a newbie Virgin Islands visitor I'd met on the plane ride down, telling me how much he had enjoyed his first-ever vacation in boating paradise.

"Our skipper even took us to this out-of-the-way place called Anegada," he wrote. "I'd never even heard of the island. And would you believe Jimmy Buffett was there? I guess he goes there all the time to fish. He played for free, a whole 13-song set. It was the most amazing concert ever!"

I'm sure it was.