El Caribe: St. Thomas

Sant Thomas, Virgin Islands
Latitude 18 20' N
November 5, 2013

Roaming through the streets of St. Thomas gave me pause for reflection and a bit of nostalgia. 

My parents did not do a great deal of traveling, but they did come frequently to St. Thomas the 1960’ and 1970’s with friends of theirs.  They’d take a week off in March and fly to this American protectorate for a week in the sun.

They were hardly beach people and I know nothing of their ventures here.  I do know that a distant cousin of mine lived here one time and my mother spent the better part of a day tracking her down—something harder to do in the days before Internet and cell phones.

I’m sure their visits were different from my all-too-short time on the island.
We were excited.  This was our first island, and after being onboard ship for three days, it was nice to put feet on soil.

We picked up an island tour.  ‘Four hours,’ we were told.  The driver, who later turned out to be a blow-hard transplant from Illinois, used the island’s main circle road as is personal racetrack.  Frankly, I think he wanted to get back as soon as possible to pick up another van full of people.  It was left hand drive but driving was on the left, which I thought odd seeing how we were, technically, in the United States.  It was slightly horrific.

It didn’t help that we were trapped in this van with Mr. and Mrs. ‘We Have to Tell You Everyone About Ourselves in as Little Time As Possible’ from Somewhere, Massachusetts who’d started cruising and let everyone know just how many islands they’d been to, what beaches to avoid, all about their kids and grandchildren (as if any of us cared), their church trip to Italy where it had taken four years to sell enough cake and cookies to make the pilgrimage, and the fact that they weren’t married because ‘why should I give the state of Massachusetts money just to marry him.’  I wonder why people need to share so much?  Thank god they got off at the second stop—a nice beach they’d been to before.  Oftentimes silence is best.

Twice we stopped at picture-perfect beaches—ribbons of white sand with an aqua colored sea lapping against their shores.  The day was never intended to be a beach day, so it was OK just to sit on the shore and enjoy the vistas.  The islands we could see off to our distance belonged to Tortola which were British territories, which probably accounted for driving on the left side of the road.

We drove through a verdant landscape and through small settlements of Caribbean hued houses.  Twice we stopped at lookouts high above the island.  To the east we could see St. John’s and further out the island of Tortola.  It was a clear and sunny day under a hot sun—the first intense heat we’d had on this trip.

Once the tour—hardly worth the $30.00 we paid—was over, we spent the rest of the day touring the streets of the island’s capital—Charlotte Amalie.  It was here that we came face to face with the island’s rich history.

I would like to have explored more deeply the island’s interesting past, understand more about Columbus’ failed attempt on the island  and the ultimate conquest of it by the Danes who held on to it for more than 200 years until it was sold to the United Sates for $25,000,000.00 in 1917. 

Under the Danes there was a large Jewish population and the capital is home to the second oldest Synagogue in the Western Hemisphere.  We wanted to see it not only for its historical significance but because its floor is layered in sand to represent the forty years of Exodus.  What an interesting architectural idea.

We made our way off the main street, climbed two steep hills, and found the synagogue not only open but preparing for a Bar Mitzvah.  What good fortune. The boy and his family, off another cruise chip, had arranged with the rabbi for this rite of passage.

All of it was really quite wonderful and, for me, the highlight of the island’s visit.  The family, as well as the rabbi, made us feel welcome and invited us to participate in the ceremony.  We declined and I’m sorry I did that.  This was an opportunity to experience something I’d never seen.

We wandered slowly back to the boat, stopping every once in awhile to browse in shops.  It was also a good place to stock up on a 12 pack of Diet Dr. Pepper and make phone calls home without assuming horrible charges.  We were, after all, still in the USA.

Most places beckon to return, but, for me, St. Thomas is not one of them. I wearied of hucksters on the street trying to sell me something.  I tired of the heat and I felt saddened by the many unemployed young men on the street doing nothing.

Perhaps if I’d been tucked away at a resort on a crescent of Caribbean beach, I’d feel differently, but for now I’d give this island a pass.  If a cruise ever brings us to the area again I’d make my immediately to St. John’s for the day.

I wasn’t sorry to return to the boat.