The taxi winds up the main road-less than two lanes and a bit gravelly-about as well as can be expected.
The taxi driver and guide, Claudius Albertine, pulls over and waits for a truck to pass. To the right are ruins of a 17th Century French fort; to the left are ruins of a 20th Century tin shack. Outside the latter an old man, perhaps the owner, stares vacantly at the fort across the road.
The difference between the two sides of the road is that one is not to be missed; the other can’t be avoided. The dichotomy appears frequently on the island of St. Lucia, considered by many the most primitively beautiful in the West Indies.
Nearly three-quarters of the island is national park or nature reserve. The government has limited the flow of tourists so much so that all the island’s hotels sport only 2,500 rooms.
Most Americans visiting St. Lucia come from cruise ships and spend less than a day.
There are only two main roads on the island, about 40 miles long and 20 miles wide, the better to preserve the ecosystem.
An accident can snarl all traffic on the island for the better part of the afternoon. And visitors can’t help but notice burned-out shacks and abandoned cars.
Perhaps it’s time for us to discover the island’s history and beauty and to join the competition for those few precious hotel rooms. After all, Europeans for centuries have visited the islands.
In a span of 150 years, St. Lucia changed hands 14 times, going from French to British and back again.
Beginning in the 16th Century, the Spanish, Dutch, English and French attempted colonization; all fell victim to massacres by the Carib Indians. The French established the first permanent settlement at Soufriere about 1700 and began importing Africans as slaves for sugar and banana plantations.
Ft. Charlotte was the main French fort during the 150 years that they struggled with the British for control. It offers a great view of the harbor at Castries, the capital, where cruise ships dock. Here the British and French waged the largest and costliest of their battles in 1796, which led ultimately to control by the British in 1815.
The British base of operations in the 17th and 18th Centuries was to the north on Pigeon Island, now connected to St. Lucia by a causeway. From here you can see Martinique, about 25 miles away.
The St. Lucia National Trust has restored the ruins here and has laid out a two-hour walking tour, a portion of which Claudius and I hiked.
We pass desert palms and ruins of the barracks that overlook the Caribbean, then start the ascent to Ft. Rodney. Halfway up, I stop to take a photo.
“Tired?” Claudius asks.
“No. It’s a nice view,” I say defensively. We proceed a bit farther and I ask to stop again.
“Tired now?” he asks.
“No,” I said.
At the top, it becomes clear why the Brits ultimately prevailed; they had a better view and were in better physical condition from getting up and down this fool hill.
I’m soaking in the view, glad I stuck it out and say, “This was worth it, Claudius.”
No response. “Claudius?”
He has abandoned me, the bounder. Momentary panic.
Then from a hole in the fortress wall comes, “You can climb down?”
He’s descended into the powder magazine, dark except for the small windows, each of which affords a gloriously framed view of the island.
“I show you all the best.”
After officially gaining control, the British abolished slavery and the French language in 1838 and made St. Lucia part of the Windward Islands government. The island became independent in 1979 but remains part of the British Commonwealth.
Claudius recommends a visit to the Diamond Baths.
“You will feel five years younger,” he says.
I traveled alone to the baths and the other natural wonders around Soufriere, which gets its name from the sulphur springs that boil in the volcano nearby.
The sulphur springs are part of what remains of a large volcano that geologists believe blew its top off eons ago. The other remnants of the volcano are the Pitons, steep mountains rising out of the ocean just south of Soufriere. The larger of the two can be climbed with a guide and minimal equipment.
The area teeters on the edge of tourist trapdom; the goverment allows a handful of young hawkers to sell cheap souveniers here and at the other natural attractions in the area.
And the smell. Be warned that sulphur steam emanates from the craters left in the volcano floor. “Cleans out the sinuses,” the guides will tell you.
Considerably more aromatic are the Botanical Gardens and Diamond Falls. The path to the falls offers a taste of the rain forest. Listen closely and you can hear parrots and hummingbirds and warblers, among the 119 species that spend at least part of the year on St. Lucia. Gradually the roar of the falls overtakes their song and the green of the forest is replaced with the rushing, near-black mineral-rich waters.
St. Lucia has gained a reputation among snorkelers and divers. Especially attractive are the coral reefs in Anse Chastenet-pronounced ahns-SHAHS-tuh-nay-between the Pitons. Accommodations at a hotel of the same name include open-air gazebos, perfect for the Robinson Crusoes among us.
I can take only so much of Mother Nature, even on an island so beautiful, so I pass on the myriad coral reefs for snorkeling, the overnighter in the rain forest and the trek through the bird sanctuary at Maria Island Nature Reserve.
Unlike many of the Caribbean islands, St. Lucia isn’t a shopper’s paradise. Recently completed, though, is a small duty-free mall at Pointe Seraphine, where the cruise ships dock.
The island has a few cottage industries that offer a glimpse of nearly lost skills and the chance to buy at the same time. The Eudovic brothers sit in the shade, carving teak at Eudovic Art Studio. For sale in the shack next door are their works, ranging from paperweights and earrings to 10-foot tall free-form sculptures.
The women at Caribelle Batik will explain how they wax, dye and cut unbleached muslin into wearable art. I bought the gaudiest pair of batik shorts hanging on the walls of their shop as a souvenir for my husband. He thought they were fabulous.
Nearby is a small perfume factory, where workers explain the selection, fermenting and bottling processes that go into their four perfumes, all of which are for sale.
I was prepared for snappy banter and feverish bargaining at the public market in Castries, the capital. Claudius didn’t want to dampen my spirits, so he merely said, “No place to park. I’ll circle the block until I see you at the entrance.”
“This may take a half-hour,” I say.
“No problem.” (I note this because that was the only time on the island I heard anyone utter that hackneyed Caribbean phrase.)
I enter and am immediately assaulted by the smells of burned something and rotten something else. All the vendors are elderly. None wants his picture taken; none wants to talk; none wants to bargain.
The only thing they wanted to sell me was The Two-Headed Doll. The doll has a smiling face and a colorful skirt. Turn her over, as if she’s doing a headstand, and the skirt flips over to reveal not a pair of legs but another body and head, this one painted with a sad face.
I leave the market after 10 minutes. To his credit, Claudius doesn’t say “Told you so.”
He seems confused, however, when I ask why the vendors were pushing those tacky dolls.
“Tourists like to take them home,” he says.
“Why?”
“It’s life, isn’t it? You’re happy; you’re sad.”
Too simple, I thought at the time.
Since then my daydreams have been filled with St. Lucia: The sun shining through frequent, brief rains; the geometry of the Pitons; the bougainvillea and frangipani that grow along the side of those gravelly roads and how enjoyable they can be on the long drive to and from the airport.
I realize now that in keeping things simple, St. Lucia keeps things beautiful, keeps itself in the vacationers’ daydreams and keeps attracting more people.
Let’s hope the crowds don’t complicate things.
