Confessions of a Western Wino: Three Caribbean Vignettes

Like the backs of giant dinosaurs

Photos and text by Jason McKenney...except the photos that have the 2003 date posted in them. Those were taken by mom... and the date is incorrect. Sorry, mom.

Road Town, Tortola (British Virgin Islands)

“This road is called Horse Path.” The tour guide, Andrew, was doing his best to answer our questions and give insights on the area all while handling an Army surplus Jeep bouncing along some fairly intense off-roads.

“We’ll be back on the paved road soon. No worries.”

Road Town

My hair was still wet from swimming. We had just left a secluded beach of white sand and blue water that was as warm as a bathtub. A few minutes later we pulled off to the side of a narrow road up in the hills for a breathtaking view of Road Town below. The small port city was spread out before us like a child’s play set. The intense greenery of the hillside forests creeping down towards the fishing harbor was only outdone by the sparkling sapphire blue reflections of the tranquil bay. Other small islands rose up from the water in verdant parabolas like the coiling humped back of a giant underwater dinosaur swimming somewhere down below.

Save us, Andrew!

According the cruise ship’s literature, what we know today as the Virgin Islands were first settled by the South American Arawak around 100 BC. In the 1400s the Arawak were displaced by the Caribs migrating from the Lesser Antilles. The Caribs were soon displaced by Europeans who first arrived in 1493. Christopher Columbus gave the islands the name Santa Ursula y las Once Mil Vírgenes (Saint Ursula and her 11,000 Virgins), shortened to Las Vírgenes (The Virgins), after the legend of virgin martyr Saint Ursula.

Secluded beach in the BVI

The Spanish Empire claimed the islands in the early 1500s, but never actually settled them. So the English, Dutch, French, and Danish tussled with the Spanish for control of the region, which became a notorious haunt for pirates. Eventually British might won out over the Spanish and the Dutch, and today the sun-drenched archipelago (excluding a few western islands controlled by the US) is classified as a British Overseas Territory.

Your host hunting for treasure

The fishing port city of Road Town serves as the capital of the British Virgin Islands. I was in the middle of a family cruise through the Eastern Caribbean and the small island of Tortola proved to be a true gem.

“It’s a very popular port for yachts and cruise ships, as you probably guessed,” said Andrew with a cheery smile. His white teeth gleamed brightly in contrast to his dark skin. He was of East Indian decent. His parents had moved to the islands when he was a child.

“The oldest building still there is the prison on Main Street. I was built in the 1840s.”

Prisons and yachts. What a contrast. I tried imagining being locked up in such beautiful surroundings and grew depressed. Banish the thought because the Jeep tour continued! Up the hills and across the island we drove. More lagoons, Andrew! Show us more of those lovely lagoons!

Phillipsburg, St Maarten

My idea of a perfect day of tropical splendor includes a boat ride, ocean swimming, and a touch of alcohol. This trifecta was accomplished on another excursion from the cruise ship with the help of an American ex-pat called Mark on the island of St. Maarten. Mark ran his own self-drive mini-boat operation. A small group of maybe eleven of us were broken up into pairs. Each pair commandeered their own small motor boat. I was the odd one out so I rode along with Mark leading our convoy out from the docks along the Simpson Bay Lagoon.

Our merry band plowed across the turquoise waters of the lagoon on the west side of the island. We crossed the imaginary border across the lagoon, where the French & Dutch parts of the Island meet, as if we were rampaging marauders in search of plunder.

With an area of only 37 square miles, the island of St. Maarten is the smallest landmass in the world to be divided between two governments. The southern half is Dutch (and referred to as Sint Maarten). The northern half is French (referred to as Saint Martin). The capital, Phillipsburg, has cobblestone streets and colorful, colonial-style buildings lining its Front Street shopping area, but shopping was the last thing on my mind today.

We continued out into the Caribbean Ocean through the narrow French Bridge, passing close to the sleepy town of Marigot on the northwestern curve of the island. We stayed close to the coast. The water reminded me of blue Kool-Aid. Mark gave me the option to drive the boat, but I declined, opting for the scenery instead.

Fishing port of St. Maarten

He was an older guy, lean and leathery with long graying hair that probably hadn't seen a barber in a year. He was originally from Florida but had opted to move further south after falling in love with the area during a visit several years earlier. We talked about fishing, Van Halen, and life on the sea. In addition to driving us to our snorkeling stop, Mark kept a close eye on the five other boats behind us, making sure no one fell behind or took an unwanted detour.

Wonderful day on the water

We powered out to a tiny outcrop of an island a couple miles offshore. We found a beautiful reef that Mark said was part of a protected Marine Reserve and choking with colorful fish. Dropping into the water was like slipping into a warm bowl of soup. The water was clear and precious, but the nearby rocks and reefs were sharp to the touch, causing irritating scratches if one brushed too closely.

Once the snorkeling was finished, we sped back to the docks where Mark's assistants had a giant vat of rum punch waiting for us like glorious friends welcoming our return from abroad. And few things go better with salt water dripping off your lips then rum punch.

Half Moon Cay, Bahamas (aka Little San Salvador Island)

Bahamas lighthouse

“You have beach shoes.” The horse wrangler was impressed with my footwear. His name was Billy. He was Afro-Bahamian and handled the horses like a pro.

“I live in California,” I wanted to tell him. “I know what’s up when it comes to beach life.”

Who hasn’t wanted to ride a horse along the beach? It’s wonderful if not cliché. I wondered how many times a day Billy had to put up pampered, mostly-white tourists who had never been on a horse in their lives, living out childhood fantasies before being quickly ushered back to their cruise ships.

Here comes another crop. Ride your horsy. Back on the boat ya go.

“I’ve ridden horses before,” I told Billy. He was on a brown stallion off to my beach side as we walked along the pleasant surf. He smiled incredulously and nodded. Sure, kid.

Still, the horse ride was great. We rode along at a slow trot, the sun pulsing above, my new L.L. Bean beach shoes proving their worth.

“Don’t let it smell the other horse’s butt,” warned Billy. I was letting Lemon Meringue get a little too close the horse ahead of me.

I wondered what Billy did in his free time. Live music is good in the Bahamas. It’s always warm outside. I pictured Billy and his friends going to Nassau on the weekends, eating fresh crab, listening to reggae, and making jokes about the week’s pudgy tourists.

“Keep his head up. Let the horse know whose boss,” he said and I dutifully obeyed.

Half Moon Cay is one of about 700 islands that make up the archipelago of the Bahamas. It is a tiny island (privately owned by Holland America Cruise Line) out near the long and stringy Cat Island.

The horse’s hooves churned up the sand with each step. The sand was then quickly refreshed with the next incoming surf. The warm rinse of the water and the gentle, sweet breeze was divine. Lemon Meringue was a strong beast that could’ve bucked me off and trampled me in a heartbeat if she so chose. But I was showing her who was boss. I held that bridle like a seasoned pro. Did I mention I had ridden a horse twice before? Both time before the age of ten. I had also seen every episode of the old Lone Ranger TV show.

Basically I knew what I was doing.

We made it to the finish and Billy helped the rosy tourists out of their saddles. It was thrilling but a bit stressful as well. I mean, that horse could have run riot at any moment, veered off the beach or who knows what if not for my constant tending. I’m sure Billy recognized my skill.

I met up with my dad and we made our way back to the docks where the tenders awaited to shuffle us back to the ship. As we were leaving, more tenders were arriving. Another crop. Going to ride the horsies. Then back to the boat.