It's rather like the McDonald's of weddings. But at first you don't even realise.

Stepping off the plane at Hewanorra International Airport, on the southern tip of St Lucia, it all seems so normal.

Sure, there are plenty of couples, and sure, some of them are in heels and hastily applied tans, but once through immigration and customs, everyone disperses and you think no more about it.

Indeed, as you drive towards your hotel, taking in those first sights and sounds, everything appears predictable - traffic-free roads peppered by cars weathered in that romantic way only a Caribbean climate can engineer; field after field of banana plantations; metal huts and rickety homes built on stilts; and mile after mile of colourfully-clad locals and impeccably uniformed schoolchildren (remember, this is a former British colony).

All bathed in beautiful, warm sunlight.

However, it's only when you arrive at your hotel that you begin to wonder if things aren't a little...well, odd. Because everywhere you look, along every gleaming corridor, and fanning out across golden sands beyond - are couples.

Lovey-dovey couples; couples holding hands; looking dreamy; doe-eyed; like cats that got the cream; all purring and petting and pouting; tanned, toned and drunk on the heady scents of Chanel and Gucci and Yves St Laurent, applied with guilty abandon to mask the musky aroma of newly-wedded nookie.

Because make no mistake, St Lucia is the world capital for palm-tree nuptials. And once you get used to this fact, you quickly realise what a bonus that is, lending many of the island's better hotels (and let's face it, if you're going to marry Robinson Crusoe-style, you're not going to want to scrimp on your bed and board) an easy ambience that's more after-glow than sunburned raw.

Children just don't seem to exist - at least not at the two hotels I stayed at (see factfile).

Instead, come the evening, the beach, restaurants, bars and lobbies quietly fill with pressed shirts and gossamer gowns, as the couples who just hours earlier had splayed out - almost gynaecologically - on the hotel loungers, now transform themselves into models of demure decorum.

No shouting; no running; no wild games or drinking matches; no raucous behaviour; no lads out in groups or girls on hen outings - instead, just painfully charming games of Scrabble and Monopoly between couples happy to exist in their own, candle-lit universes.

And if all that sounds a bit Mills & Boon, don't worry, it isn't.

It simply guarantees that your getaway, which for most who travel here is the culmination of a long-saved for dream holiday, remains just that - romantic, timeless and unspoiled by the usual excesses of the Brit/Yank abroad.

Nevertheless, if you're really lucky, you might - albeit inadvertently - become a wedding witness'.

Sunning on my back at Sandals Grande Resort, I found myself awoken by the scuffling of sandals and a rather jolly version of Mendelssohn's Wedding March being jauntily played behind me (believe it or not, the wedding party had actually moved an organ on to the sand).

Anyway, realising I was but 15ft from the happy couple and wearing only my trunks, I tried as best I could to drag my towel and beach bag away before the official photographer started snapping their special moment.

I succeeded, but only just, and was later rewarded with a kiss from the bride (who wore white while I wore Speedo blue-and-green).

Beyond the hotels, real life intrudes, but it's the real life of a culture for which being friendly and laid-back is genetic. It's not a cliché, everything IS manyana' (however, be warned, people are quite level-headed enough to ask you to tip them - especially the men, who can be quite insistent).

For anyone visiting St Lucia (which, with the exception of Dominica, is the largest of the Windward Islands), the must-see tourist destination is the site of the Pitons, two spectacular half-mile-high peaks that shoot straight up from the coral reef on the island's south-west coast.

Towering like a leftover Hollywood set from Jurassic Park, these two lush green mountains, with white, cotton-wool clouds licking gently at their tips, epitomise that sense of Lost World'.

And if you're on first name terms with your bank manager, you'll take time out to stay at Jade Mountain Hotel, as none other than Amy Winehouse had only weeks before (incidentally, according to staff, she's "lovely" and "unspoilt").

Hugging the hillside, it offers rooms - naturally, it calls them 'Sanctuaries' - which boast infinity pools that overlook the Gros and Petit Pitons. Unreal, without windows, and completely exposed to the elements, it out-Bonds James Bond.

You can, if you want, also visit the nearby entrance to La Soufriere volcano and its bubbling sulphur hot springs, but frankly they stink (both figuratively and literally), and leave you wondering why you wasted an hour away from the beach.

On an equally down-to-earth level, scuba diving is rife, and practically everywhere you go, you'll spot the tell-tale signs - the splash of a flipper, the flash of a face mask, all momentarily snapped by the sun.

And once underwater, of course, you can understand why St Lucia is such a diver's paradise.

For people, however, who just want to dig' that Caribbean groove, and stay dry, a visit to the Friday night fish fry at Ansla Ray is a must.

A local fishing village, it hosts a traditional St Lucian fish barbecue-cum-vibrant street party that's simply irresistible. Just think: it's hot, the beer is ice cold, and consequently, even the drabbest of people look good when swinging their hips to the local beat.

No matter how bad your mood (and I WAS in a bad mood that night after an eight-hour flight) it's impossible not to be seduced.

So who should go to St Lucia?

Well, for starters, it's not cheap but, then again, that's its draw. It is exclusive but, like Sir Richard Branson, comfortably and accessibly so.

And yes, don't bother to go: a. With someone you live with but don't necessarily love b. Alone (as it really doesn't boast a singles scene).

Because, in short, this is an island for lovers.

And if you're lucky enough to be currently enjoying that heady state (you know, infatuated, smitten, besotted), I can think of nowhere better to visit.

Especially if she pays...