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St. Kitts, looking toward Basseterre
We visited Puerto Rico, Saba, St. Kitts, Nevis, and Barbados. We stopped briefly in St. Martin and Dominica.
We traveled by regional airlines and bush planes, local ferries
taxis, vans and rental cars.
We flew into San Juan from the States. Oldest city under our flag. Founded in 1521
This is Old Town
El Moro. The old Spanish fort
Here we are in St. Kitts
The Group having breakfast at our Guesthouse , ready for adventure.
Here comes the Cruise Ship. Jurgen and Diana had just completed a cruise, so this looked familiar.
Brimstone Hill Fortress. State of the art in the 18th century
More Brimstone Hill
Old cannons are everywhere in the West Indies. Relics from the days of Empire and Pirates.
Main Square of Basseterre, the capitol of St. Kitts and Nevis.
Maybe 11,000 souls in the town, 40,000 in the entire country.
Supposed to look like Piccadilly Circus in London
Pat and John having lunch on the square. On the second floor balcony of the building in the previous slide.
Produce stand on a Baseterre street.
St Kitts Scenic Railway, a real tourist attraction. The only thing on the entire trip that was even close to being sold out.
Pat "patiently" waiting for the ferry to Nevis. Right in there with the "Locals".
Leaving St. Kitts behind and heading for Nevis on the local ferry.
Beach on Nevis. The scenery is starting to improve
But Pat is looking the other direction.
Same beach. St. Kitts in the background. About a two mile channel between the islands. 
Jurgen and Diana at the beach on Nevis. Looking for Sunshine's Rum (and food) Beach Shack
But Pat already found it, and is waiting for everybody to catch up.
Inside, Sunshine, (the owner) is charming the customers
The food, by the way, was surprisingly good.
We visited an old Plantation House for lunch. The flowers were awesome.
We visited an old Plantation House for lunch. The flowers were awesome.
Another view of the grounds.
An old sugar mill. Circa 1850
The old rollers that crushed the cane.
Our transportation to Saba. A Twin Otter bush plane, Circa 1970.
But the flight wasn't too expensive. Only US$260 per person for a 20 mile ride, and return.
The dreaded Saba airport. At 1300 feet long, the shortest commercial runway in the world.
Saba is a Dutch colony. Part of the Netherlands Antillies. In late 2010, it will become an intergral part of Holland.
Population is 2,500 souls, most of them Scotch/Irish, or Dutch.
This view is of Windwardside, the largest town on the island.
Saba gets about 12,000 visitors a year. Less than St Thomas in one day.
Most are hard core divers from Europe or the US.
The Windwardside Main Street.
The Guesthouse where we stayed in Windwardside.
View looking toward St. Eustatius. The islands are surprisingly close together.
"The Road". The only way to get from the Port and the Airport to Windwardside, and the rest of the island. First constructed Circa 1965.
"The Path". The only way to get up the hill, before "The Road".
Bottomside. The next largest settlement. But halfway up the mountain. The big buildings in the foreground are a medical school. For real.
So we leave Saba. The pilots used every last inch of the runway.
Welcome to Barbados. A little larger and a bit more sophisticated island. Population about 250.000. Until the '60s, a British colony.
A "Local" out for a stroll. Shot from our hotel balcony. (Yep, a real hotel, for once, but only about 15% occupied). 
A produce stand on a Georgetown back street. (Georgetown is the capitol and biggest town on Barbados.)
Pat waiting for a taxi on the Georgetown Main Street.
The sign says it all.
A cane cutting demonstration.
The best Barbados beach. Now this looks like the West Indies.
And Jurgen found a "friend" at the beach.
Another Barbados beach.
We bid Goodbye to Barbados.
CARIBBEAN 2010
John, Pat, Diana, and Jurgen recently did a two week excursion to the West Indies, checking out five islands, and briefly stopping at two more.
John and Pat began this odyssey in San Juan Puerto Rico, flying in from Palm Desert CA. They hooked up there with Jurgen and Diana, who had been doing a cruise with other friends and relatives.
John and Pat particularly wanted to spend some time in San Juan, as John really likes Puerto Rican cuisine, but scheduling problems had left him “out of luck” the last few times he had been through San Juan.
So he picked a hotel in Miramar, an upscale residential district, right around the corner from one of the best Puerto Rican restaurants in town. And they were not disappointed, the food was superb. San Juan, as you may know, was founded in 1521, and was part of the Empire we took away from Spain in the Spanish American war. Old Town, out by the fort, used to be very authentic and historic, with architecture going back hundreds of years. But progress, alas, seems to have caught up, and while still touristy, the place seems to have lost much of its original charm.
And then it was on to St Kitts. This is a country of about 40,000 souls, and is pretty depressed since the sugar cane industry collapsed a few years ago. But it does have some of the most complex and arcane immigration procedures I have ever seen. And staffed, of course, by a few incompetent “locals” who didn’t seem to be able to land gainful employment elsewhere. But their uniforms do have lots of gold braid. I always said that if a 747 happened to land there, it would take two days to process the passengers.
Anyway, an officious official took exception to how Pat had filled out the immigration form, and after trying it twice more, I suggested to the official that she fill it out herself. About this time a 737 with 150 passengers landed, and what with one thing and another, we ended up last in that line, and cleared immigration about two hours later. Later, when leaving the country, Jurgen just about didn’t get out, due to some unexplained row with another official. I had been to St. Kitts, and through the immigration drill before, so wasn’t surprised, but the whole thing seems pretty dumb for a country that lives on tourism.
And speaking of tourism, it was really down, about 10 to 15% of normal. But the prices, which are always outrageous in the West Indies, hadn’t dropped a bit.
The only thing that was really going strong was the St. Kitts scenic railway, This attraction was pieced together from some old sugar plantation railways, and sported open air cars pulled by an ancient diesel with a new coat of paint. It wasn’t particularly scenic, and didn’t really go anywhere, but the Rubes, 99% being from cruise ships, really piled on, and at $US 175 per head, somebody was making piles of money.
But while in St. Kitts, I should mention the Rum Shacks. They are a West Indies institution, which I was first introduced to maybe 45 years ago, and have enjoyed ever since. Basically shacks on the beach, usually open to the four winds, serving all manner of drinks, and sometimes, surprisingly good food. In the old days, before tourism, they were like right out of an old Bogart movie, populated by weird whites, the kind of detritus which used to wash up on those shores, along with retired civil servants from the mother country, nursing their pink gins and commiserating about the glory days of Empire. All leavened by a sprinkling of natives, to add local color. I actually wrote a story, years ago, about being hustled by a beach bum in one of those joints, but I turned the tables on him, and he ended up buying rounds for everyone in the establishment.
Nowadays, of course, its mostly tourists knocking back too many drinks, aided and abetted by a bunch of happy go lucky locals. It’s all good clean fun, and the party can go on for hours, maybe even till sunrise.
But would you believe, these shacks were deserted, and I mean deserted. No tourists, locals or anybody. Many times we were the only ones in the place, and the proprietor was usually so glad to see anybody, that he or she would whip up some unbelievably good food and drink. And this was essentially the same, on every island we visited.
Then it was on to Nevis, actually a part of the country of St. Kitts. This island, whose main claims to fame are that it is where Alexander Hamilton was born, as well as where Admiral Horatio Nelson was married, was a real tourist disaster. The Four Seasons Resort, the only decent hostelry on the island, closed some time ago, and without the hotel traffic, all the airlines serving the island pulled out. So now the only way to get there is on the native ferry, and you know how many tourists are going to chance that.
The B&B where we stayed was run by a New Hampshire couple who were going to make a little extra money during their retirement, but it has turned, instead, into a very expensive winter vacation home. And, of course they can’t sell it for anything like they have in it, ‘cause there are no buyers.
Speaking of Lord Nelson, he was in charge of the Royal Navy West Indies Squadron for a while, based in Antigua. So let’s pause here for a bit of history.
Now in the 16th and 17th centuries, all these islands were extremely valuable sugar and rum and tobacco producers. So they were highly prized, and changed hands with great frequency. Needless to say, the European countries who had these possessions built forts to hold them, and fleets of ships to go after more islands. All these forts and installations look pretty primitive now, but were state of the art in those days. And remember, that was when the US, and most of the rest of mainland North America, was primitive wilderness.
All these ships and forts, of course were equipped with cannon of all kinds, and cannons being fairly substantial pieces of iron, tend not to rust away. And when I first frequented these parts, there were literally thousands of them laying around. In fact we would use them for fence posts, and sometimes, even for re bar in concrete. And even today, they are still everywhere.
Another interesting fact about these islands is the variety of wild or feral livestock. Mongoose, cats, wild boar, donkeys, chickens and monkeys being the most abundant. And each island has it’s own mix, I might add. None of these animals are indigenous, with most having escaped from, or been abandoned by the early sailors. Jurgen was particularly charmed by a tame monkey at a beach on Barbados, and had his picture taken with his new friend.
But I digress. Anyway, the next stop was Saba. A very interesting island, different from all the others. It is an extinct volcano, about five miles across, and without a level spot on it. It also has the distinction of having a runway, which at 385 meters long, or short, if you will, is the world’s shortest commercial runway.
The only planes, of course which can use such a runway are STOLs, (Short Takeoff and Landing Airplanes) which haven’t been built for over 30 years, and of which, deHavilland Twin Otters, and Britten-Norman Islanders are the only existent species. A number of these museum pieces are flown by a bush operation, name of Winair, which flies from St. Martin, charging $US260 for a 20 mile return trip. Since the only other way to get there is an erratically operated native ferry, over a really rough channel, there are not, needless to say, many tourists. Maybe 10 to 12 thousand per year, which is less than St. Thomas, for example, sees in one day.
The place is a colony of The Netherlands, and is inhabited by 2,500 souls, almost all Scotch-Irish or Dutch, whose forefathers have been there for hundreds of years. And by law, all buildings must be white, with red roofs, and gingerbread trim in front, so the place does look somewhat like Holland. And the barmaids, guest house clerks and the like are almost all young, well scrubbed Dutch girls, playing hooky from the motherland for a semester or two, to see the world. Of course, they know little about Saba, or the West Indies, for that matter, but they try hard, so who cares. The tourists, what few there are, are almost all hard core divers from the US or Europe.
We did though, meet a local glass blower, who was a Dale Chihuly fan, and had seriously considered apprenticing at the Pilchuck Glass School. When we told this lady that Pat had been a friend of John Hauberg, who had set Chihuly up in business, and that we had been at the school several times, we all bonded instantly. Small world, huh.
Last stop was Barbados, a pretty sophisticated former British colony, with great white sand beaches and expensive resorts. Just like you imagine the Caribbean should be. But again, no tourists, with everything running at 10 to 15% capacity. And, of course, with no guests, even a luxury resort has to cut back on staff, and service suffers. The luxury resorts on Barbados, incidentally, run from $US600 per day up, but we were staying in one which cost about half that. And although the service left something to be desired, we had a beachfront suite with a killer view, and the beach bar served great food and drinks. So we managed to survive.
Through all this, Pat, although an old West Indies hand herself, was not doing too well. Her knee and ankles were acting up, and were not helped by clambering on and off bush planes, jumping on native ferries without benefit of gangplank, climbing in and out of vans, and clambering up and down endless steps. But she was a good trooper and managed to survive, even though the West Indies is not really handicapped friendly.
As to air service in the Islands, it was a bit better than normal. Although the planes were pretty much museum pieces, they actually went to the island they were supposed to, and departures were never more than an hour or so late. And they only lost our bags once. The seating arrangements, though, were still chaotic. Although everyone had reserved seats, when the gate opened it was a mad scramble to grab the first available seat, and devil take the hindmost.
But leaving Barbados we got on a real airplane, an American Airlines 767, and flew nonstop to Miami. And after all the adventure, we thought we deserved our First Class seats.
In summary, everyone ended up with a real tropical suntan as well as a gigantic hangover, but a good time was had by all.. We might suggest though, that if you are not an experienced island traveler, or are a bit thin of wallet, you might be well advised to see the West Indies from a cruise ship.
And here is the newspaper column I wrote about a beach bum attempting to hustle me in one of those shacks.
But it was not always thus. The first time I set eyes on the place, a long time ago, it was a real backwater, with less than a hundred expats, plus a couple of thousand local souls, in the whole colony. With few, if any, visitors. But let me tell you about it.
I was working for the Rockefellers at the time, and after a tough day of running their errands, I repaired to the local watering hole, a quaint thatch roof shack on the beach, with all four sides open to the sea breeze. This place was right out of an old Humphrey Bogart movie. Most of the dozen or so customers looked to be retired British Government functionaries who were playing darts and draughts (checkers), while nursing their pink gins and commiserating about the glory days of Empire. There were also a few beach bums, and other lost souls, the kind of detritus which you would expect to find in such a setting.
Anyway after a couple of pints of bitter, as I was checking out the dartboard, one particularly devious looking character sidled up to me and said, “Do you play darts, Yank?” “Not really, I replied, “But I’m willing to learn”. So this guy proceeded to explain the game, also told me that we played for drinks, and went on to beat me handily. He then proposed another game and I said OK, but to make it interesting, I suggested that this time it be drinks for the entire bar. Backed into a corner, my new friend had to agree, and when we “threw for the Bull” to see who would go first, he knew he had been had. I got a perfect fifty point bulls eye with my first dart.
You can guess the rest, I cleaned him and he stood the bar for drinks. And my final comment, as I walked out the door was, “Maybe some Yanks do know how to play darts after all.”
