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On Monday, you're scraping the 1-inch leavings of Sunday's ice storm from your car. On Tuesday the ice-laden tree limbs continue to break, and thousands of people are still without power.

But the roads are not so bad, and on Wednesday you're able to make it to the airport, where a 6 a.m. Delta Air Lines flight is your ticket to paradise.

By 2 p.m. Nassau time, you're on the beach, a book in your hand and a fruit drink by your side. Someone pinch me, please.

The ocean really is turquoise, just as it looks in the travel brochures. The Bahamian locals say the waters of the Atlantic are too chilly for swimming in mid-December, the bored lifeguard reports, and the tourists seem to agree. They aren't using the heated pools all that much, either. But they're wearing swimsuits anyway, even while hiding beneath sunscreen and beach umbrellas. Because when you've just escaped a wintry clime, nothing feels better than to kick off your boots and your argyle sweater and those gray wool trousers and slip into almost nothing at all. And if even the string bikini feels like too much clithingafter a while, you can shed that for a soak in the giant bathtub in your luxury suite at the Cove Atlantis, or a heavenly massage at the Mandara Spa.

OK, enough of this "you” business. This happened to me, of course, except for the string bikini part, and it was the kind of press trip journalists dream about and maybe keep secret from their co-workers after they draw the lucky straw.

First, a geography lesson. The islands of the Bahamas are an archipelago of more than 700 islands and 2,500 cays in an area of more than 100,000 square miles. Many of the islands are not inhabited; some are too small even to be named. Nassau, the nation's capital, is 179 miles east of the Florida coast on New Providence Island. A bridge links Nassau with Paradise Island, home of the Atlantis mega-resort where I made record time from check-in to that lounge chair on the beach.

If you want to know more about the people, just ask them; they love to chat. From the cabdriver and the tourism official who met me at the airport I learned that the Bahamas became the free and sovereign in 1973, ending 325 years of British rule, but the queen still visits from time to time. There is no income tax, no sales tax, and no property tax if your home is valued at less than $250,000. The government is funded mostly by import duties, and everything is imported. Bahamians are religious. Most are Baptist, Anglican or Roman Catholic. Taverns and liquor stores, they admit with a chuckle, are about as numerous as church buildings. Eighty percent of the residents are black, but other settlers through the centuries have included European sailors who jumped ship and Loyalists who fled America during the Revolution.

We spent two days at the Atlantis, which offers all one would expect and more from a luxury island resort. For the children, giant water slides and Dolphin Cay offer hours of entertainment. Teens can network in a disco where no adults are allowed, while their parents check out high-end shops and the nearby casino.

But the beaches are really the heart and soul of Atlantis, and most guests spend their days in casual wear and swimwear. Evening meals are a time to get dressed up, and Atlantis offers plenty of great dining options including Nobu, the newest location of the legendary Japanese restaurant run by Chef Nobu Matsuhisa, where I feasted on sea bass with black bean sauce and cucumber salad.

On our second night, we drove into Nassau for French dining at Chez Willie, where we all ordered dessert souffles that none of us could finish.

There was no flight attendant on Cat Island Air's Limited EMB 110 turboprop, but there was a passenger safety card that warned us not to smoke during takeoff or landing.

"This is so worth that plane ride,” my fellow journalist Samantha said as we were greeted at the front door of the Fernandez Bay Village resort by a barefoot day manager. Donna, who grew up in New York City, tried a few other places in the United States before escaping with her husband on a sailboat after their children were grown.

Fernandez Bay Village, with its stone cottages just steps from the beach, is on the west-facing southern end of Cat Island. The plane trip takes less than an hour from Nassau and is really not so frightening, just a bit noisier than a jet.

Dinner the first night was lobster tails and coconut rice, with rum cake for dessert, served on the open-air patio of the lodge as we watched the sun set and the moon rise. Then we gathered at the self-serve bar, which is on the honor system, and chatted with other guests including a Harley-riding American businessman and a British lawyer with a delightful wit.

We reluctantly went to bed but were delighted to discover that inside our cottages, we could hear the magical sound of the ocean waves, something we hadn't noticed as we hurriedly unpacked that afternoon.

Even paradise has its flaws on this fallen earth, and on Cat Island they're called sand fleas. If you're a beach bum from way back, you know the score. But others like me need a bit of educating. They are tiny pests usually found near piles of seaweed and are most likely to bite at dawn or dusk. The resorts are honest about their presence and usually provide free insect repellant. After the first day, I learned that once you feel that first bite in late afternoon, it's best to just leave the beach and go do something else for a while. The little varmints certainly didn't ruin my trip; in fact the red welts did not appear until after I returned home, as with chiggers. I was taking Benadryl anyway in case any of the seafood bothered my allergies, so that probably helped minimize the itching.

About 2,000 people live on Cat Island, which is 48 miles long and ranges from 1 to 4 miles wide. The villages are known as settlements, and the small resorts market themselves to honeymooners and others looking for a secluded vacation. But too much seclusion would be a mistake, because you wouldn't get to know people like our shuttle driver, the Rev. Ingraham, who raised his children in the United States but returned to Cat Island because his wife was born there and missed the place. Now she is the minister in the family, and he entertains tourists from behind the wheel. He can give you a narrated driving tour of the entire island.

If you don't stay there, at least have dinner at Sammy T.'s Beach Resort on the north end of the island. Like many natives in search of an education or a start in life, Sammy left Cat Island as a young man. But he found a way to return and build a beautifully landscaped resort that is tastefully decorated with the artwork of the islands. His gift shop stocked with Bahamian-made merchandise is a must.

There's only one doctor and a few nurses on Cat Island. The Internet is more reliable than the telephone, and the south end of the island was cut off from the north by flooding after the most recent tropical storm. People who don't care for small airplanes but get a hankering for the bright lights of Nassau are stuck with a six- to eight-hour trip on the mail boat that comes twice a week. If they die in the morning, they are usually buried by nightfall, as there is no mortician. There's no supermarket, and only recently did they get their long-promised branch bank. But I'll stop there, lest you're the type for whom such a scenario is simply irresistible. In case you haven't guessed, Cat Island felt like home to me.

Travel and accommodations provided by the Bahamas Tourism Ministry.