Saturday, April 26, 2008

Our County Seat in Paradise

--April, 2008: St. Thomas, American Virgin Islands




Charlotte Amalie–our own duty-free county seat in paradise—is so diversified and bustling with life that there are at least four different ways of saying her name among the folks who live there. Jon Lucien, her velvet-voiced native son, has sung her praise as Bearer of the Seed of Love, Teacher of All the Rules of Mother Nature....






















In fact, when I met her, she was buzzing with cruise ships and shoppers, beauties young and old, gold merchants, African lads making offers you couldn’t refuse, tax dodgers and other gamblers—all of it framed in a sensuality so earthy it made you want to stay forever, or leave at once. That decision seems to flow like island music carried on the trade winds.









Ms. Tanya pointed out beautiful homes and vistas on the rest of the island. She told us that those who love St. Thomas manage to stay, while those who don’t simply “bounce off-island” rather quickly. And smiling warmly over a hearty Irish breakfast at Molly Molone’s, where every day is a lovely day for a Guinness, Ms. Poincy stopped everything to deliver her on-island report:

“It’s fantastic,” she sang, as some of the local folks do when they speak. “You know, when you go away and then you fly back, you look down at these islands and you say, Yes!” Here, her fists fell victoriously at her sides. “I’m home!”









Just then, an iguana came to call. Eyeing familiar haunts, it had stopped to catch the lay of the land on a sandy hillock, then scaled the artificial waterfall before scurrying across the lawn and disappearing into the hibiscus. No one seemed to mind. They’re merely the local squirrels, ignored or admired from a respectable distance. And like our squirrels, they tend to fulfill their manifest destiny; they bite.









In spite of the relative density of population compared to the neighboring Virgin Islands, there’s little risk of island fever once you’ve decided to stay. In a sense, paradise isn’t really an island at all, but a cluster of mountain tops jutting out of the sea, where hopping from one set of peaks to another is encouraged by affordable ferryboats and the free trade winds (more reliable than treacherous, if you know how to use them).























Wherever you are in Charlotte Amalie, or out and about among her neighboring villages, you can hear and feel the caressing rhythms of the Caribbean. But this island’s sensuality is never the stuff of sultry Somerset Maugham damsels draped among palm fronds and wrought-iron balconies under endless tropical rains. The balconies and fronds do make a showing; but palm-trees are not native to these parts—merely well-nourished imports that many equate with paradise. And so, they have been scattered as accents across the landscape. Rain is often light, refreshing and intermittent, usually sufficient to fill cisterns for those rain-water bathroom showers that positively spoil the general populace (baths are frowned upon as water-gluttony).
But they do tie their rooftops down, for when the hurricanes come, just to make sure verandas stay in one piece—the better to savor those postcard vistas away from the crowd, the playfully colored houses, the doll-world patios and terraces.




















And the sultry damsels, based on a significant historical model, tend to be strong women who can take care of themselves. As the story goes…

In 1848, the African Queens, renowned and revered with Queen Mary at their head, stormed the colonial governor’s palace with fire in their hands and in their eyes. (The cabbie who related the tale warned that it tends to brandish and flourish with every telling. Even now, I feel the tale telling itself…)

“Free the slaves now,” they warned, “or we’ll burn down every stick of every plantation on your blessed isle!” Apparently they struck a memorable figure, because the governor, being Danish, freed the slaves forthwith. Predictably, however, he lost his job.




Still, some of the sugar-mill towers survive to this day, along with other colonial landmarks, architectural designs and period interiors. These vestiges of colonial elegance welcome the tourist with perfect grace.

















Along with her neighbors, Charlotte Amalie looks out across the water, around the sound, and past the islands on sale for 35 and 10 million, respectively. Alas, there are no true bargains for the ruling class. But the view onto St. John—pristine, tailored, and monied—is of the beckoning sort. We’ll have to go there, won’t we?










And soon.





IF YOU GO:
  • Bluebeard's Castle, in Charlotte Amalie, for comfortable lodging and fine dining in luxurious surroundings.
  • The American Yacht Harbor, in Red Hook, for sailing opportunities; the ferry to St. John is closeby.
  • Molly Molone's, at the American Yacht Harbor, for hearty Irish-Caribbean fare and a great sailor's breakfast.
  • Little Switzerland, on Dronningens Gade in Charlotte Amalie, for quality duty-free shopping, including fine jewelry, crystal, and china.
  • Talk-to-Tanya.com, for all your short- and long-term rental and real estate needs.

© Copyright 2008 by Cary Kamarat . All rights reserved.


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