If you’re adventurous and have your passport, you can visit the nearby British Virgin Islands from St. Thomas. We woke early and took a taxi to the Charlotte Amalie station ($6 per person) to catch the ferry departing at 8:25 AM. We found out that the latest return ferry would be from a different company and return to the Red Hook station. A roundtrip ticket would be cheaper, but we decided we wouldn’t be in Tortola often and decided to keep our options open, going one way at $30 pp.
After a 50 minute ferry ride, we arrived at the West End of Tortola. This Tuesday wasn’t a big day for tourists, and in fact we might have been the only non-locals on the ferry. We found Barry, a physically-imposing black man, polishing his new gold taxi-truck that had seating for about 40.
We asked him about going to Smuggler’s Cove, and he told us that was a very deserted place that had a washed-out road with lots of exposed rocks that made it difficult to reach. He suggested Brewer’s Bay near Roadtown, which was more distant but easier travel.
At first, I thought he bordered on being rude, stalling because he really didn’t want to take us. I saw a smaller taxi come by and asked if she was open. She pointed at Barry and drove off.
When Barry realized no other tourists were forthcoming, his entire approach changed, and he said he would change to a small SUV to take us to Smuggler‘s Cove for $48 roundtrip. He had apparently been directing us to where he expected most people to want to go, and when we said something about going to Brewer’s Bay instead, he said, “You had a plan and good reasons for it. Go to Smuggler’s Cove.” I told him I didn’t have enough cash, and he agreed to take us by an ATM on our way.
The ride to Smuggler’s Cove was beautiful, but the roads became very bumpy. I can’t deny thinking that he could be taking us to the middle of nowhere to rob us. I pushed that out of my mind, contemplating instead how I would assure he picked us up, possibly tearing a twenty in half as I had other places. My worry was for naught. Barry asked for no payment and said he would return for us at 3 so we could catch the 4 o’clock ferry to St. John that connected to Red Hook, St. Thomas.
Upon arriving at Smuggler’s Cover, Barry introduced us to Eugene, who had set up a snack shack on the deserted beach. Barry waved farewell and drove off. Eugene offered us tattered lounge chairs for free. Later, we would order drinks and lunch from him. Considering he had no competition for miles and a very limited audience, Eugene’s prices were very reasonable. Diet Coke: $2. Carib, Red Stripe or Heineken: $3. Smoothie: $4. Hot Dog and Cheetohs: $4. Fish plate with rice and beans: $12. He had a more extensive menu, but that was all we ordered. I had a Carib, but not the other beers, and Eugene stuck a lime in the refreshing, light-tasting tropical brew.
Smuggler’s Cove is the best beach I have been in the Caribbean. It has everything. The setting is gorgeous. An isolated white sand beach that stretches about a half mile between craggy rock sides surrounds warm, turquoise water, with distant atolls providing a nice back drop. The beach is surrounded by jungle foliage. Looking back at shore from the warm water, the hillside is covered with trees, but scattered houses improbably peak through, looking perfectly harmonious with the setting. We enjoyed just standing in the water and taking in the 360 degree views.
There literally were more pelicans than people most of the time we were there. At its peak time, maybe a dozen people were on the beach, and most of the time, half that many or less. At one point, I saw three pelicans take flight from the water in unison, fly a short distance and then dive lie synchronized Olympic divers to catch fish. It was amazing, and then they repeated the trick three more times.
Eugene had a few tricks of his own. When we ordered a smoothie, he went to his nearby truck and started it up, apparently generating the power for his blender with which he made a delicious strawberry smoothie. His kitchen for cooking mostly consisted of a barbecue, and his refrigeration was a standard tailgate cooler. All in all, it was a more sophisticated version of a Gilligan’s island makeshift cafe.
Where Coki Beach had great snorkeling in moderate depth water, something like Black Rock on Ka’anapali Beach in Maui, this snorkeling was shallow, meaning we had to be careful of approaches, especially where small waves broke on the reef. Once again, we found terrific visibility in the clear water through which to view diverse, brightly colored fish.
All too soon, it was 3, and we were happy we had stretched our day to the max allowed by ferry schedules. We walked out to the clearing. and as if by magic, Barry drove up. As we drove, I asked Barry about an abandoned restaurant I saw disappearing into the jungle by the beach. He said years earlier he had worked for a contractor who regularly took him there for lunch, and it had the best burgers anywhere. It had been the bar and grill for a small hotel of a dozen rooms, but when the original owner died, it had fallen into disrepair and then ruin. Certainly, these bumpy roads couldn’t have been good for business. His eyes showed a sense of loss.
On the ride back to town, he stopped to show us his duplex, which he rents to vacationers. He was hoping this would be a good season for him. Barry said next week he would be arranging transportation for 150 cruise passengers on a tour from Roadtown. This guy, I began to realize, epitomized American entrepreneurship, starting out as a laborer, somehow getting into the taxi business where he rose to become the head of the taxi stand in West End, recently buying his newest big taxi-truck. Branching into vacation rental units. When we walked over to get a soda before the ferry left, we saw Barry playing dominoes with three older men on a porch. He played passionately, clapping those dominoes down emphatically and laughing with joy over his points scored.
We had to clear customs on the island of St. John on our way to Red Hook, so it wasn’t as easy as the trip would have been to Charlotte Amalie, but we had enjoyed the full day in Tortola. We would pass Bolongo Bay on our way to the Marriott, so we broke up our ride home with dinner at Iggie’s Beach Bar and Grill. The cab rides were $7 pp from Red Hook to Bolongo Bay and then $6 pp from Bolongo Bay home.
Back at the resort, we sat in the 75 degree night air at the Rumbar, basking in the distant lights of Charlotte Amalie and waiting for Carnival Liberty in the foreground to set sail for her next port.
