When I push open the patio doors of my mini mansion to greet my first morning on St. Thomas, the view east and west is a panorama of green hills that roll into the sea, and of tiny islands dotting the tourmaline water beyond. As the sun marches in from the east, it engulfs the islands in its path. Mingo, Grass, Thatch, one by one disappear in a blazing pool of light, and as the sun comes closer, I wonder if it's going to swallow me too.
A sudden brief rain comes first, and then, as the sun finally pours over my terrace, a perfect rainbow arches up from bustling Charlotte Amalie to gently touch my castle in the hills. Here, in a villa aptly named Seventh Heaven, it appears the whole island has been washed with gold - literally. St. Thomas' landscape has always been colored by the intense jewel tones of sun and sea. Now there's also a rich patina of sophistication and service, the kind Caribbean travelers are accustomed to finding at exclusive down-island haunts. Villas like Seventh Heaven, tony four-star resorts and fine dining halls have blossomed like the bougainvillea that drapes the hills embracing Charlotte Amalie. Private yacht charters, chauffeurs and chefs abound. There's even a personal shopper who'll hit the streets and find just the right piece of paradise for you to take home. After dusk, the night-blooming jasmine perfumes the air as hot jazz wafts from cafes with deep wine lists and cool crowds.
But you can't experience this side of St. Thomas on a 12-hour shore leave from a cruise ship. You have to stay awhile, a requirement made easy by the island's proximity to the mainland. Short, nonstop flights make an in-on-Thursday-out-on-Monday weekend live like a full week in similarly sophisticated destinations that require full travel days coming and going.
Staying on, however, doesn't mean staying put; to fully appreciate this island, you've got to get moving. St. Thomas' tastiest bits are scattered over the hills like sprinkles on a lime sherbert sundae. And some of the best of these are the beaches, all of them public. Even if you're not a guest at, say, the Ritz-Carlton, you're warmly welcomed to spend a day on its stretch of white sand, linger over lunch at its open-air cafe, rent watersports gear and revel in the elegant atmosphere.
From my perch in the center of the island, I'm perfectly situated to head in any direction. Driving is on the left and the hills can be challenging, but a little caution and some practice have me going in no time. Now that the main roads are clearly marked with numbers, even I, who could get lost walking out to pick up the morning paper, have no trouble getting around. A pair of green parrots zip past my window into the shelter of leafy trees, and I can slow down for an instant and watch them without fear of losing my way.
Heading down into Great Bay, the Ritz-Carlton looms up, a grand palazzo set on 15 oceanfront acres. At 10 a.m., it's already steamy, and the Palladian windows of the soaring marble lobby tame the tropical light and heat. Out back, the terraced hillside falls away, with steps connecting the pool deck, restaurants and sand in a landscape made for lounging. Which is what I intend to do. Studiously ignoring the activities - although I admit I'm seriously tempted to sign up for a sail on the resort's luxury catamaran Lady Lynsey - I opt to dig my toes into the sand, splash in the ocean and count my blessings. And think about food.
I lunch under umbrellas at Iguana's, starting with coconut gazpacho, a cool, spicy tomato soup served in a coconut shell. Seared tuna medallions and plantain tostones over sprout salad are accompanied by a sprightly lime-pineapple relish. I make a note to come back here for dinner on Monday for Caribbean night, when they break out a buffet brimming with suckling pig and fresh seafood, accompanied by live local musicians and a glass-walking demonstration, topped off with awesome coconut crème brûlee.
I manage to hold out until tea - served properly at 4 p.m. daily - which comes with a twist: In addition to the usual Earl Grey, you can choose from local bush teas, all with folkloric powers.
Tuckered out from a day of sun, soup and sightseeing, I head back to the villa for a dip in the pool before getting dressed for dinner. After this morning's dramatic sunrise, I can hardly wait for dusk, and I'm in no way disappointed. The sun fires the sky gold and orange and seems to hang at the horizon long enough to permanently fix the image in my mind, then plunges into the sea.
"You've got to try Romano's," says Nancy Anderson, who runs the rental firm that manages Seventh Heaven. "We're coming by to take you." She arrives with one of her associates, Frank Kerwin. Frank's follow-the-yellow-brick-road highlighter markings on my road map are part of the reason I'm not getting lost, and I couldn't ask for better guides to the nightlife of St. Thomas.
We head northeast across the island's hills toward Coki Point, the high beams reaching from curve to curve as we snake toward Tony Romano's low-key eatery. We park on a neighborhood street in front of the single-story building, and I immediately see why locals come here to nosh on Northern Italian cuisine when they could be eating fresh conch salad. The decor is simple: an open living room-style seating area, the walls hung with original paintings by Dominican artists, some of them discovered by Tony himself. The food is just as unpretentious and elegant: tomato, basil and bread soup, zuppe di pesce, linguine in fresh sweet clam sauce, veal Milanese and penne in a mushroom, prosciutto and cream sauce that's probably on the list of mortal sins.
Over dinner, Nancy and Frank, both longtime residents, talk about their adopted home; the hard times after the hurricanes - Hugo, Marilyn, Luis - and how the territory seems to have reached a new plateau since, trading in its cruise-port image for serious cache. Both have children who grew up here and, like the youth diaspora that afflicts so many islands, left to see the world. Having seen what the world has to offer, several of them have moved back. No wonder - this is where Al Gore came to chill out after losing the presidency, and where Clinton vacationed to escape the public eye - twice. Harrison Ford, Mel Brooks and other glitterati have frolicked in this place with Bel Air style - plus a beach.
The next morning I head south to Marriott's Frenchman's Reef, a landmark set up on a bluff overlooking peaceful Morningstar Beach, where the resort has built new rooms and a vacation club. On my way down I meet "Bushy," who directs the platoon of landscape workers. Around 10 a.m. most days he gives guests a guided tour of his grounds, showing off the lush flora you meet at every turn. Bushy's another boomerang baby; he left St. Thomas for college, but came back to devote himself to making life a little more beautiful, one heliconia at a time.
"Can't use too much aloe vera," he says ruefully as he points out bougainvillea, ixora and bird of paradise growing in wild profusion. "As soon as the guests find out what it can do, they start taking it to put on their sunburns." Bushy may be his own worst enemy; before we part he advises me to squeeze out some juice and mix it with honey, ice and orange juice as a tonic.
Sounds smooth and soothing, but it's the more traditional use I'm thinking of as I head down to Morningstar Beach. The taupe sands edge calm Pillsbury Sound; the lush green cays and St. John float in the distance. That stuff I do from Monday to Friday has already evaporated; this is living.
My sun and soak are so restorative that I make an error - heading into town to shop. I neglected to check the newspaper, and there are eight cruise ships in port, all full of passengers looking for bargains, just like me. But misadventure is the key to discovery, and as I work my way beyond the cruisers thronging the well-known stores that front the harbor, I discover the delightful smaller shops on the streets climbing the hill behind. There are merchants and merchandise I never knew existed, even jewelers facile with loose stones who offer to custom-craft whatever emerald and diamond fantasy I can imagine. Trust me, I can imagine a lot - a lot more than my mad-money budget can handle. On days when there are no cruise ships, any store is fair game, but when the place is packed, the road less traveled is just as sweet. I load up on fragrances for family and friends and find a cute bathing suit - on sale. As I said, this is living.
I have told myself that this is the night I'll make it all the way up Government Hill. The neighborhood has steep streets and even more high-flying nightspots. My goal is to hit them all. The stylish Herve Restaurant & Wine Bar and Hotel 1829 are excellent for dinner, and the recently opened Restaurant Marisol adds variety and a special funky flavor to the scene.
I'm hardly alone in my quest; a well-dressed herd of locals and visitors makes the rounds of the three in various order. Some choose Herve for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, dinner on the balcony, savoring the Old World ambiance of Hotel 1829, and rounding out the evening with a midnight snack and digestifs at Marisol, with its awesome late-night tapas menu. The eclectic crowd seems to favor the Chinese dumplings as I watch order after order steam past.
The scene is much the same the next night in Frenchtown, an encampment of restaurants and live music venues clustered on the waterfront. Everyone's specialty is seafood, but Alexander's serves it up with atypical Central European flair, a style not common in the Caribbean. The Ocean Treasure pasta is much too generous - overflowing with crayfish, mussels, shrimp and salmon. Between bites I discover the bartender, Jonathon, is a student of the classics. We talk Plato, Sophocles and St. Thomas nightlife.
On his recommendation, I migrate next door to Epernay. With its foot-long win
Posted online 06/01/01.
