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Chewing on conch fritters in the Dockside Cafe, I asked Keith Cooper if many celebrities visited small, tranquil Old Bahama Bay, the luxe resort he works for on West End Grand Bahama. More all the time, he said, pointing first across the marina toward six villas owned by John Travolta, then toward a house modeled perfectly on Tommy Hilfiger's Mustique Island home.

On the way out to Old Bahama Bay, the taxi driver and his partner told me in their lovely, lyrical, island accents that there were lots of celebs visiting the West End these days, then laughed and said that famous types were mostly "cheap, mean and in a hurry."

The first two may be forgivable sins in the islander's worldview; the last one, however, is not.

It's tough to know how many come, Cooper added, "since nobody pays attention to them here." At that moment, Greg Norman walked idly by just outside our cafe window, in t-shirt and shorts, un-pestered by passersby. Norman, the famous yachtsman and angler, who's played a bit of golf, too. Indeed, nobody was paying attention to him, and he looked neither cheap, mean or in a hurry, but relaxed and certainly in no rush.

"How'd you do that?" I asked Keith. "Have him just happen to be walking by?"

Cooper laughed, like only a theatre major with a James Earl Jones voice can. Sure, they come, he said, and why not? It's only 56 miles from Palm Beach to West End an easy spot to clear customs and enter the kind of beaches, water and solitude found nowhere in Florida.

Luxury hotels are sprouting up around the Bahamas from Nassau to Exuma, but Old Bahama Bay is the smallest (49 rooms), allowing the managers to cater to each guest personally. When I'd been forced to lay over in Miami en route, the concierge knew I'd be hungry and had snacks of my choice waiting in the room.

Movie-star treatment, but for the right reasons. The real celebs are the locals, not American glitterati. Most of the staff at Old Bahama Bay sing, dance and perform for the hotel by night. By day, they are back to being a staff that is the friendliest and quickest to remember your name I've ever seen.

Ah, life in the past lane. Growing up in Florida, I heard of the nearby glamorous Bahamas non-stop, and came to think of them as merely a glitzier extension of the jet-ski-hammered, Ferrari-filled Florida Keys. Was I wrong. Grand Bahama, at least, is much more akin to Ted Williams' laid-back, uncrowded Florida Keys of the 1950s, where the boats sailed slowly, the fish schooled thickly and nobody was in a hurry.

Old Bahama Bay's three seaside restaurants, modest size and emphasis on the marina and snorkel trails all seem built to let the shocking blue water do the talking on behalf of real estate offerings, and wisely so. Dream lots exist here, with some encompassing up to a full acre on Pine Island with ocean frontage on one side, and deep-water yacht moorage on the opposite. The master plan also calls for beachfront condos, a fractional residence club and a condo-hotel.

The peak of my trip was sharing ice-cold Kalik beers beachside with Bahamian icon Bonefish Folley, the 85-year-old grand patriarch of sport fishing at the islands. Folley, who has fished with Ted Williams (yes, that one), regularly holds court at Old Bahama Bay. Folley (his full name is Israel Bonefish Folley Rolle) has 20-20 vision and can tie fine knots in low light, but more importantly spots the trophy bonefish, the grey ghosts of the flats, like an eagle. On an outing with him, I used my years of fly-fishing prowess to frighten fish after fish off the flats, including one lurking monster that looked the size of a striped bass.

Folley's home was destroyed when one of the most powerful hurricanes in the history of the Atlantic parked here in October 2005. The U.S. ambassador rebuilt Folley's home because of his recognizance. The storm came through like a wrecking ball off its chain, and signs of Wilma's fist were everywhere. Where do you go on a flat island when the death wind blows? Nowhere, I was told. You just cry, then you pray.

"I personally know 15 people who survived by hanging onto trees," said Bob Kramm, resort manager. "Had it struck at night, thousands would have died."

In this area, at least, Old Bahama Bay is a financial lifeline to recovery, and Americans are figuring out paradise is right under their nose, just across the Gulf Stream. When the sun sets over a Caribbean resort, it's like someone hits a switch. Palm trees grow taller, their shadows longer. The water glows soft and golden, and the bright pastel colors of the buildings that are too harsh at noon emanate rich, throbbing tones.

"Florida is full now, the Bahamas are the natural overflow," Cooper said. "Our proximity to Florida is our biggest draw."