The Still Pristine Caribbean

By Michael Demarest

Six islands in the Antilles where Lesser is more

Believe me, Sire, these countries far surpass all the rest of the world in beauty and conveniency.

--Christopher Columbus, writing to King Ferdinand of Spain from the West Indies, circa 1492

Columbus was one of the few travel writers in history who actually discovered the paradises they praised. To be sure, he could not say much for West Indian cookery in his day. Among the then dominant Carib Indians, who were cannibals, la nouvelle cuisine consisted of smoked or stewed Spaniard, followed in later years by filet of Frenchman and Londoner broil. Nor, for that matter, before paths were cleared through jungles and up mountains, could a seafaring man more than sense the islands' dazzling diversity of terrain or the richness of their flora and fauna. Since Columbus first gazed on what was to be for three centuries the main corridor for settlement of the New World, the islands have accumulated an asset more precious than all the gold that was not there: people, of almost every ethnic origin, melded into distinct and assertively individual societies.

From the days of Columbus, most of the islands have been ravaged by colonial strife. Since World War II, many have been despoiled by commercial neocolonialists, with their genius for blanketing beach and meadow with concrete and neon. Few travelers in search of tranquillity and an authentic native culture would risk their dollars or digestions today on such tourist emporiums as San Juan and St. Maarten. The American Virgins have mostly been deflowered by developers; St. Croix has seen mindless racial killing. Trinidad and Jamaica, Barbados and the Bahamas have become tourist traps. Cuba and, to some extent, Haiti have been mutated; Castroism is infecting other islands, notably Grenada. In many parts of the West Indies, political, economic and social unrest are curdling the coconut milk.

Yet there are islands in the 2,000-mile-long Antillean archipelago that are still near pristine, islands without racial tension or xenophobia, islands with opalescent beaches, lush rain forests and brooding volcanic peaks, islands laved by waters that American Writer Lafcadio Hearn described a century ago as "flaming lazulite." Here the visitor will meet with hospitality and good humor as unflagging as the cool, dry trade winds.

The backwater Bali Hais are to be found in the Leeward Islands, which are part of the Lesser Antilles, south and east of Puerto Rico; Dutch-ruled St. Eustatius, better known as Statia, and Saba; French St. Barthelemy, a.k.a. St. Barts; and the British islands of Anguilla, Montserrat and Barbuda. These islands were named but largely ignored by the Spanish because they offered little promise of quick riches; for the most part, they have scant rainfall and thin soil. Thus they were generally spared the excesses of European rivalry that devastated rich plantation colonies like Jamaica, Trinidad, Cuba and Hispaniola. They also have escaped exploitation. They cannot be reached by direct flight from the U.S. or Europe, and they closely regulate development of any kind.

These islands provide more than an escape hatch. They offer a discovery of different cultures. No casinos there, no high-rise hotels. But Lesser can be more. Few of the small Leewards have room for as many as 200 tourists. Few are ever visited by cruise ships. They are politically and socially tranquil, and virtually crime-free. As Belgian-born Bishop Antoine Demets said of Montserrat to TIME'S Georgia Harbison, "Here a family spirit reigns. All the mountains and valleys are of shoulder height."

The islands glitter with bright, swooping birds, whose local names are often as colorful as their plumage: the sugarbird or bananaquit; eight varieties of tern, one known as kill-'em-Polly; five endemic warblers, one called Betsey-kick-up or Mary-shake-well; the common stilt or crackpot soldier; the mangrove cuckoo or 4 o'clock bird; the magnificent frigate, and the brown pelican, with its beak holding more than its belican.

The blue-green seas are a delight for sailors, swimmers and snorkelers. Through submarine gardens of coral and undulating sea fern dart brilliant damselfish and trumpetfish, butterfly and angelfish. The waters teem with spiny lobster (langouste); with crab, shrimp and snapper, as well as bass and swordfish. Ashore, the islands are ablaze with hibiscus, bougainvillaea, begonia, poinciana, wild orchids, frangipani, red and orange flame trees, wild ginger. Mangoes, avocados, coconuts, papayas, limes and grapefruits flourish, along with such tropical staples as cassava, spinach-like calalu, calabaza (the West Indian pumpkin), the squash called christophene, and soursop, a fine fruit to squeeze into rum.

With such bounteous raw materials, a meal can be a discovery in itself. On Montserrat, dinner may include "goat water," a ragout of kid, or "mountain chicken," crisp, fried legs of bullfrog. A dish unique to Anguilla is a brochette marinated in pineapple juice and dark molasses; a Creole specialty of St. Barts is a casserole made with cassava, calalu and other tropical vegetables. Conch (pronounced conk) fritters and chowder are delicacies anywhere. The drinks are equally exotic. On Statia, a kind of tea called mauby is made from the bark of a tree; when mixed with rum, they say, it makes "an old man young and a young man younger." Sabans serve a rum-based liqueur called Spice that would sink a buccaneer.

The real spice of the islands is talk--and very good talk it can be. The lingua franca of the Lesser Antilles is English, though it is not always understood on St. Barts, where the blacks also speak Creole and villagers of Breton and Norman descent converse in varied patois. While Dutch is their official language, few Statians or Sabans ever use it. Many, however, do speak Papiamento, the merry island melange of Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, French, English and African dialects ("Bon tim ni un quenta ta coppe tras mi mucha muhe; bai hombre sushi, i lagele na paz. "Translation: "You have no business chasing my girl; go away, you nasty man, and leave her alone").

Going away or getting there is not always easy. Because the Leewards mostly have short runways--landing on Saba's 1,300-ft. strip is like putting down on an aircraft carrier--visitors to these islands can go by jet only as far as St. Maarten; from there they proceed either by boat or Windward Islands Airways International (Winair). For Montserrat and Barbuda, the traveler flies to Antigua and then takes LIAT, acronym for Leeward Island Air Transport. On to the islands:

Statia: The Past Is Future. A little old lady answered the shrilling phone at 3 a.m. "Your oil shipment will be a day late," said the American-accented voice at the other end. "That's all right, mon," allowed the lady. "You'll tell 'em at the dock?" the American continued. "No trouble, mon." The conversation became progressively more surreal until the Statian woman inquired: "Where you callin' from, mon?" "Saudi Arabia. Where are you, for Pete's sake?" "St. Eustatius, mon." "St. What?'

It's not every day that a call from Riyadh to Buenos Aires is misdirected to Statia, but a mention of the island evokes an identical response from almost everyone: St. What?\. was not always so. In its 18th century heyday, 8-sq.-mi. St. Eustatius was the richest free port in the Americas, with a population of more than 8,000 (now 1,400), visited by 3,000 ships a year. During the American Revolutionary War, vessels from Statia (pronounced Stay-shuh) shuttled arms and supplies to the rebellious colonies. On Nov. 16, 1776, the armed North American brigantine Andrew Doria, flying the Great Union flag, dropped anchor in the harbor and was accorded an eleven-gun salute by the Dutch governor. Thus, as noted on a plaque presented to the island by President Franklin D. Roosevelt, "the sovereignty of the United States of America was first formally acknowledged" by a foreign power. In 1781 London dispatched Admiral George Brydges Rodney to punish the Statian "nest of vipers." Wrote Rodney: "Had it not been for this infamous island, the American Revolution could not possibly have subsisted." In five months Rodney stripped the Golden Rock of booty then worth as much as -L-4 million (as high as $100 million by today's values). The island never recovered from Rodney's revenge, and after 17 changes of ownership over 150 years, involving the English, Dutch and the French, St. Eustatius finally settled down in 1816 as a declining Dutch colony in the Leewards.*

Today there are twice as many goats as people on the island, as many donkeys as cars. Since the collapse of the plantation economy in the early 19th century, Statians have struggled for a living as fishermen or small fanners--or emigrated to other islands. Though The Hague takes care of their essential needs, they remain proudly poor.

The island is dominated by The Hills and The Quill, volcanic cones, now extinct. Climbing to the peak of The Quill (1,800 ft.) with a verdant rain forest in its crater is a not too strenuous 80-min. hike. An old Dutch command post, Fort Oranjestad, built on French foundations in 1636, is a neat little 16-cannon salute to colonial glories. This and several other of the island's 17 original forts are on a walking tour laid out by Statia's energetic historical foundation. One of the best beaches is on Tumble Down Dick Bay, apparently named after Oliver Cromwell's son and ill-starred successor as Lord Protector of England. The beaches on the brooding, windswept Atlantic side are more for roving than for swimming.

Statia has two of the pleasantest inns on the islands, the Moushay Bay Publick House and the Old Gin House, facing on Gallows Bay. They are in fact a single entity, across the road from each other, with guests flowing to and fro, and a total of 23 rooms. Four-course dinners deftly blend West Indian, Continental and American cuisine. The owners plan to expand their Inns of Gallows Bay with three additional connected buildings. Other hotels are sure to follow. Also with an eye to tourism, the Dutch government is funding restoration of historic ruins. As they say on Statia, "Our past is our future."

Saba: Talking Rock. After the white-knuckle landing on Saba's mini-airstrip, navigating the island's single tortuous road provides more sustained excitement, particularly if the cab driver is Bobby Every, whose red taxi carries the bumper sticker: ISLAND TOURS, REASONABLE STORIES. Everyone has stories to tell, many about the far corners of the earth to which Sabans have voyaged as sailors. Though anecdotes, reasonable and unreasonable, are the island's main crop, fishermen, farmers and craftsmen also do well.

Saba (pronounced Say-buh) is a Dutch colony, half white, half black (pop. 1,020); its original white settlers were mostly dispossessed Scots. The island, a lush volcanic rock soaring 3,000 ft. from the sea, has no beaches or sports facilities, though some visitors find the hike up steep Mount Scenery worth the risk of a heart attack. The big excitement comes on Saturday night in the village of The Bottom, where the Soul Redemption provides rockalypso loud enough to raise the dead. There are several attractive inns, with a total capacity of 25 rooms. Sabans call their home "Unspoiled Queen." It is.

Anguilla: Three-Pedal Languor. On Anguilla, a rich man runs a "machine-go"; humbler folk own "three-pedals." Translation: the rich man's car has automatic drive; the poor man's, stick shift. There are few machine-goes on the island. Anguilla (pop. 6,000), so christened by the Spaniards because it is shaped like an eel, is one of the few Caribbean islands that have been occupied by the same power since it was first settled by the British in 1650. The 35-sq.-mi. coral-limestone atoll is a crown colony; in fact, it was occupied all over again by British paratroops and bobbies in March 1969, making headlines around the world. The bloodless invasion, dubbed the Bay of Piglets, was nominally triggered by the islanders' refusal to accept a British-sponsored proposal for independence in association with the economically more advanced islands of St. Kitts and Nevis. In 1971 the Eel That Squealed was once again accepted by Westminster as a separate dependency.

The second British coming turned out well. Royal Engineers improved the roads and installed a telephone system. Though the island now is staking its future on tourism, a proposal for a 150-room hotel was turned down flat because Anguillans liked neither the design nor its sponsors.

Three smaller hotels and a health spa are now abuilding, however. It is one of the few islands on which cricket is not the No. 1 sport; Anguilla's passion is a special kind of sailboat racing. The undecked, gaily striped hulls, built solely for the August regattas and manned by six men each, do not have keels; instead, ballast of iron and rocks is shifted around inboard.

Anguilla (pronounced Ong-wil-luh) has 30 talc-sand beaches and gentle waters. There are two tennis courts and two more on the way. A growing number of yachts are available for bareboat charter. The Wallblake House, a handsomely rebuilt 18th century structure, is being converted into a museum that may contain some relics of the Carib* Indians. Night life extends to conversation, backgammon and sea-lulled sleep. There are only two hotels, with a total of 30 rooms. Rendezvous Bay, presided over by the patriarchal Jeremiah Gumbs, faces onto a crescent beach; Cul de Sac is straight out of a Waugh novel (Evelyn or Alec). Its scattered villas and a main building were put up two decades ago by Ruth Goodnow, a Boston heiress who, as captain of a 99-ft. schooner, had earlier been known as the toughest cargo skipper in the Caribbean. Mrs. Goodnow boasts that she has never charged a guest for a drink.

St. Barts: Saint-Tropez West. Roadside signs proclaim that NUDISME EST FORMELLEMENT INTERDIT. The signs are frequently swiped by souvenir hunters, but are largely ignored anyway. Along miles of empty beaches and coves where swimmers informally cavort in the altogether, topless bathers are almost as common as the Australian-built Mini-Mokes that are the principal form of transportation.

Twenty minutes by air from Saba, St. Barts is administered as part of a French departement--and a swinging outpost of Southern France. Often likened to the Saint-Tropez of 20 years ago, the 8-sq.-mi. island boasts 36 restaurants, French bakeries, discos, wind surfing, sailing, a harbor full of yachts, elegant boutiques and enough local eccentrics to fill a Truffaut film. However, St. Barts--named by Columbus for his brother Bartolomeo--is more than a transplanted French beach resort. It is a beautiful, pastoral island, whose inhabitants--95% of the population of 2,800 are white--are mostly of Breton and Norman descent. In villages perched on the hillsides, older women still wear quichenottes, the starched white bonnets of Brittany. Some of the countryfolk have never traveled the dozen miles to Gustavia, the capital and only town. They are fisherfolk, sailors, carpenters and masons; the women weave delicate hats (caleches) and bags from straw.

Food ranges from the haute cuisine of Castelets, an elegant, nine-room hilltop aerie where Bruno Oliver, grandson of the great cook Raymond Oliver, is chef, through the restrained chic of the Marina on the Harbor to beachfront bistros. Chez Franc,ois boasts such surprises as country-and-western bashes; Mme. Jacqua's Auberge du Fort Oscar cooks up some of the best Creole food in the islands. Jean Bart, the biggest hotel, owned by the French PLM chain, is an efficient, friendly place with 50 rooms. Tourist facilities are not likely to expand greatly on St. Barts, since the islanders have no intention of risking social stability or economic security by importing foreign construction workers.

Montserrat: Smiling Black Irish Eyes.

Say "How are you?" to a Montserratian and the reply will be "Me dey easy" (I'm easy) in an Irish brogue. The teardrop-shaped, 39 1/2-sq.-mi. atoll (pop. 12,000) calls itself the Emerald Isle of the Car ibbean because it was largely settled by Irish Roman Catholic refugees starting in 1632. Montserrat's blacks, now 90% of the population, have owned their land since the early 19th century. They are very much in command of Erin West, and as cheery as their Connemara cousins.

The island was named by Columbus for the great mountaintop monastery in northeastern Spain. Montserrat has a mildly active volcano, Galway Soufriere, which huffs and puffs sulfurous fumes.

Seven other sulfur vents mustardize the air above the village of, hah!, Upper Galway. A two-mile hike leads to the Great Alp Waterfalls, a deafening, 90-ft. pour that barefoot Guide Jim Corbet acknowledges is "plenty strong." Corbet's rates ($6 round trip), like taxi fares, are set by the government. Not much else is regulated except the sale of land; this has been planned so that outsiders who build homes will not find themselves in white ghettos.

The Emerald Isle has one of the few playable golf courses (eleven holes) in the Lesser Antilles. Its beaches are of black volcanic sand; the only white sand beach can be reached by a mountain hike or a charter sail. While the food is more plain than fancy, there is one excellent restaurant, Cafe le Cabotin. The best show in town is at the Vue Pointe, a 40-room bungalow-cottage complex. The hotel becomes le tout Montserrat on Wednesday nights, when steel bands like the Montserrat Symphony perform.

Barbuda: The Gentle Isle. Nearly 75% of its 62 sq. mi. is beach: endless, empty stretches of white sand glimmering in the roseate reflection of billions of tiny shells. Barbuda (pronounced Ear-byou-duh), which has one of the Caribbean's few bird sanctuaries, also offers the area's best hunting: white crown pigeon, guinea hen, duck, fallow deer and feral boar.

Barbudians, who are known as "the gentle people," own every inch of ground as common property. Strikingly hand some and articulate, they are the descendants of slaves selected for breeding by their 18th century British owner on the basis of physique, looks and intelligence. Barbuda (pop. 1,200) has only one village, Codrington, no telephones, no paved roads, and only three Jeeps available for visitors.

Apart from the exclusive Coco Point Lodge, open only from December through April and "booked solid" at $245 per cou ple per day, the only place to stay is Le Village Soleil, a charming cottage-style hotel that can put up 20 guests. One way to dip toes in this particular par adise is to take a day trip by plane, swim, see the bird sanctuary, savor the langouste -- and lay plans for a longer visit later.

--Michael Demarest

* So-called because they are downwind of the prevailing northeasterly trade winds. Though the entire Lesser Antilles chain was known to the Spaniards as the Windward Islands--Islas de Barlovento --the group running from the Virgins to Guadeloupe is now known as the Leewards.

* The fierce, feared Caribs are a virtually extinct race. A small colony of the Indians, now mixed with other bloods, survives on Dominica. The Caribs gave their name to the Caribbees, as the Elizabethans called the Caribbean, which thus should properly be pronounced Cari-bee-an, not Ca-rib-ean.

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