A giant rainbow just off the starboard wing banners our approach to the Virgin Islands. Serious sailing yachts are seriously heeling below, skirting rock cliffs plunging into the sea. Nubby green knots of rugged island break the many-blue-hued seas defiantly–and everywhere.
I scan the map in my lap. It could be St. John there. Cooper there. Or maybe a Dog. I can’t finger Tortola in the British Virgins, my destination, amid the 63-island, two-nation cluster. Thankfully, the pilot can.
While separate countries, only a few miles of channel–and a dotted line on the map– separate the U.S. and the British Virgin Islands. Once you reach either, both countries lie short straits apart, bridged the old-fashioned way–via public ferry. One country gets you two. Or, rather, one island gets you an archipelago, even if you haven’t chartered a yacht.
A yacht, the chosen vessel of many Virgin Island vacationers, for me implies responsibility–for galley cookery, for navigating shallows, for not dinging when docking. But I want to shed my to-dos along with my shoes. I’ve come to unplug, unload, disconnect. I’ve come ferrying.
On the Virgins, as in many Caribbean islands, sea travel trumps land for comfort and, sometimes, speed. Tortola’s wriggling roads skirt the tattered and undulating coast, leading family and me a bouncy 45-minute cab ride from the airport to Long Bay Beach Resort where we immediately develop island-envy.
Our veranda view takes in the at-hand seductions of pool, beach and beach bar. But my eyes drift constantly horizon-ward, to nearby Jost Van Dyke. How anyone can stay put here is a mystery. Soon after arriving, I’m anxious to walk Long Bay’s white sands, order a nutmeg-rum punch and wade into the surf with the pelicans. Two hours later, I’m beset by island lethargy.
For a few days husband Dave, son Seth and I mellow into the island flow. At Cane Garden Bay, Dave helps two uniformed schoolgirls fix a broken bike chain while I watch a fisherman guide a skiff to shore, blowing on a conch shell Neptune-style to call all shoppers.
A dozen yachts anchor just off shore and their crews dinghy in for vitals and meals. The British Virgins’ many islands and cays, rife with isolated bays and plentiful anchorages, put the sailing set an elite step above the crowd.
But we like to fix bike chains and meet fishermen and root around like locals. We are to the ferry born. And now, revived, boat bound.
Part local bus, part freight hauler, the ferry to Jost Van Dyke boards us and like-minded day trippers for the 20-minute passage. But not before the aptly named When false-starts, returning to Tortola’s West End ferry dock to pick up Jost’s fire chief–though encumbered by Pampers and infant, clearly a man with considerable pull.
Open side doors and constant sea spray make the When a close-to-nature thrill ride, chugging into harbor beside a surfacing sea turtle. We dock at the barefoot-friendly Jost, tracked in port by only a single sand lane where a few beach bars and a cool fringe of shade trees extend a zoned-out welcome. Venturing one headland over, we snare a hammock between the palms at the Sandcastle inn and watch the surf under the tranquilizing spell of the resort’s signature rum-coconut Painkiller cocktail until When time.
If the When approximates a public bus, the private launch for Little Dix Bay resort on Virgin Gorda resembles a private yacht. The uniformed crew, which picks us up from the Tortola airport, offers us rum punch, and cookies for the kid. In an all-too-brief 20 minutes they cut engines to enter the bay.
“There’s the resort,” announces the skipper. I scan the pristine palm-fringed strand for any sign of development. “That’s the resort?” Minutes later we find our stone cottage tucked discreetly behind the sea grapes. It boasts no clocks, no TV–Eden, albeit at $500 per night.
The pampering for which Little Dix is famed extends to sightseeing on Virgin Gorda without ever traveling the roads. Its water taxis ply nine beaches on the island and nearby cays, depositing game guests and a beach umbrella on the shore with an appointed pick-up hour.
The sea heaves at Devil’s Bay when we jump from a Boston Whaler’s bow to shore for a hike to the famed Baths through the crevices, canals and tide pools created by enormous shoreside granite boulders.
Later we squeeze in an afternoon drop at isolated Trunk Bay, where by staking our umbrella in the sand we claim it as our very own deserted beach, before promptly falling asleep in the shade.
Ambition to island-on strikes early next morning. We awake before daybreak to catch the public ferry and rejoin the public. The optimistically dubbed Speedy’s service links, among others, Virgin Gorda and St. Thomas in the U.S.V.I. As the boat gasses up from an ancient oil truck on the concrete wharf, the 6:30 a.m. ferry draws a mix of morning commuters, airport-bound travelers, erranding shoppers and, beside us, a crocheting grandmother who plays peek-a-boo with Seth as we navigate international waters. A monumental cruise ship pulling into port incites a moment of collective awe as we bob across its wake. But it passes, replaced by gratitude for our grizzled boatmen who emerge from the hold amid St. John’s choppy narrows bearing a giant cardboard box of glazed donuts, a tray of instant coffee and, thoughtfully, a roll of paper towel, dispensing breakfast with elegant sea-honed balance.
Only three cruise ships weigh anchor at St. Thomas when we pull in, a light traffic day. From Charlotte Amalie’s ferry docks, opposing the cruise piers across the harbor, we make for the downtown shopping mecca Main Street, uncharacteristically quiet at 8:30. Waiting for the hustlers to punch in, we coffee break, and within an hour I’ve already declined several diamond-buying opportunities. Not being a diamond-buying clan, we hit the historic sights–Ft. Christian, the 99 Steps, painter Camille Pissarro’s former home–and still have time for a West Indian meal at Cuzzin’s before catching the 1:15 p.m. ferry for neighboring St. John.
You can cruise, ferry or sail in, but you cannot fly to St. John; thus the waters between the two U.S. Virgins are well plied. And our enormous ferry is indicative of high-season crowds. But not today, and not at midday. We check into Caneel Bay, located inside the boundaries of the Virgin Islands National Park that stakes the majority of St. John, in time for an afternoon snorkel and, of course, rum punch hour. Sister to Little Dix, Caneel keeps telephones, TVs and radios out of the rooms, the perfect checked-out spot to check into on a ferry lark.
Culturally less Caribbean and naturally more exotic than its Virgin kin, St. John draws mainland expats with a Key West-like outpost mentality (for a close encounter, hoist a few at Skinny Legs in Coral Bay). But the national park occupation on two-thirds of the land protects the native environment, making it the easiest Virgin to spot Caribbean hummingbirds, iguanas and, underwater, starfish. Snorkeling is the best we find in the chain as is hiking, especially the descent from mountain to shore on the Reef Bay Trail and a headland-hugging route on Turtle Point.
Our ticket to fly comes up, so we hop the Inter-Island line’s Mona Queen ferry with four other passengers back to Tortola. More islands, some familiar but most a mystery, lie right and left. Wanderlust wells in our wake. Island-envy, it seems, can’t be cured, only contained, ferried from shore to next.
IF YOU GO
GETTING THERE
American Airlines (800-433-7300) has service from Chicago to the U.S. and British Virgin Islands. Note: a valid passport is required to travel between the two countries.
GETTING AROUND BY FERRY
Both the tourist offices of the U.S. Virgin Islands and the British Virgin Islands publish public ferry schedules. (See tourist office contacts below.) Typical one-way fares range from $3 from St. Thomas (Red Hook port) to St. John (Cruz Bay), to $20 from Virgin Gorda to St. Thomas. Boat reservations are generally not required.
ACCOMMODATIONS
Rates are per room, double occupancy in low season; rates rise considerably in high season, roughly Dec. 15 through March 30.
Tortola: Long Bay Beach Resort is the island’s only full-service resort (800-729-9599; rooms from $155). For a more intimate retreat try the Sugar Mill Hotel (284-495-4355; from $210).
Jost Van Dyke: Take a room at the beachside Sandcastle Hotel (284-495-9888; from $125), home of the anesthetizing Painkiller. Little Dix Bay on Virgin Gorda will pick you up from the Tortola airport and whisk you by private launch to the resort (888-767-3966; rooms from $275; $65 round-trip launch).
St. Thomas: Check into historic Hotel 1829 terraced above downtown Charlotte Amalie (800-524-2002: from $75), also home to a fine restaurant.
St. John: Unplug at the high-end but low-key Caneel Bay (888-767-3966; from $275).
DINING
On Tortola have a home-cooked island meal at Mrs. Scatliffe’s (284-495-4556), and reserve a table for some of the Caribbean’s most elegant food at the Sugar Mill Restaurant (284-495-4355). On Virgin Gorda, have the generous lobster pasta at the Rock Cafe (284-495-5482), nestled in the giant boulders near the Baths. On St. Thomas don’t pass up Cuzzin’s Caribbean Restaurant (340-777-4711) for fine West Indies fare and the housemade fiery hot sauce. And on St. John dine with a view to the ferry harbor at night from the romantic hillside Asolare (340-779-4747).
ACTIVITIES
Get to the Baths on Virgin Gorda either early in the day or very late to avoid the considerable cruise ship crowds. Arrange to hike the Reef Bay Trail on St. John with a National Park Service ranger (340-776-6201).
INFORMATION
U.S. Virgin Islands Department of Tourism, 500 N. Michigan Ave., Suite 2030, Chicago, IL 60611; 800-372-8784, www.usvi.net.
BVI Tourist Board, 370 Lexington Ave., Suite 1605, New York, NY 10017; 212-696-0400 or 800-835-8530; www.bviwelcome.com.
— Elaine Glusac
