Added Pix

I added the pictures.  They’re all mixed up.  I started to order and caption them, and decided it was taking up too much of my life, so fuggedaboudid.

Day 2

We are both up and down all night, really struggling with sleep.  It’s the second sleepless night in a row, but nevertheless we are both up and out of bed at 6:15am to go and fetch a complimentary continental breakfast at the beach bar.  We sit on cushy chairs facing the ocean and snarf down bagels, cream cheese, and sweet strong coffee while checking out the jaunty red boat and stately sailboat that are moored out there in the bay.  After breakfast, we head back to the room to prepare for a day at the beach(es).  Swimsuits and sunscreen on, bags packed with books, water, more sunscreen, and bugspray (not even luxurious Caneel bay management can spare me from being eaten alive), we head off to pick our beach for the day (there are 7 on the property).  After glancing and even lying down for a bit on Caneel (crowded), Cottage (tiny), Paradise (also tiny), and Scott (wide and serene), we end up on Hawksnest.  It is one of the longest strips of beach (the one in the pictures with the tidepools and the feet in the hammock).  Paradise beach, by contrast, only has room for 3 deckchairs.  All the beaches at Caneel have startlingly blue flat water, white sugar-like sand, and lush low trees planted right near the waterline.  There is little surf, the waves are small, but so are the beaches and most have fewer than 10 people on them at any time.  We park ourselves smack in the middle and settle in to read, snooze, occasionally swim, and then read some more.  Time passes.  We link hands and head over to the tide pools to climb around a bit on the rocks, examining the spiny sea urchins (black spines come out of a red center, like a koosh ball), and the tons of other wildlife I can’t name but find fascinating.  We spend hours gazing over the bay at the ships that slip in and out, and eventually  make our way from beach chairs to a hammock, which we share for a while.  Pina coladas arrive on a tray, and we sip them in the hot sun – then our bellies tell us it is lunchtime.  We gather our now-sandy beach items up into their bag, and then head to the Turtle Bay Estate House for lunch.  The route we take is a scrubby, short path through wilderness – unpaved, weaving among 10 foot tall cacti with woody tree-like stems, tropical almond, bromeliad, and mossy heaving rocks.  Every few feet or so is an opening in the scrub with a view to the ocean, and at one sudden clearing we find a small bench, engraved in honor of Mary Rockefeller, whose husband Laurence had bought the island and built Caneel 50-odd years prior, apparently at her urging.

My $14.00 bratwurst at the Estate House was, well, fine, but not something I would pay $14 at any time other than on my honeymoon.  We savor our lunch in the open air restaurant, across from an arbor where brilliant hibiscus frame a stone archway through which we can see the sea.  While we eat, we hear the constant mewing of a hungry cat, who wanders in an out among the legs of the patrons, begging food and hissing at a mongoose who is loitering nearby afer the same treats.  There are too many stray cats on the islands, and being a cat owner I am moved by her scrawny backbone, but I notice people feeding her and decide she must not go too hungry on this lush island full of tourists.  After lunch, we lug our beach bag on a short tour through the grounds while we wait for housekeeping to finish with our room, and then head in and lie down for a brief and refreshing nap.  An hour later I am pushing off the shore in a kayak, paddling my way around Caneel Bay, where even at the deepest parts you can see the sandy bottom.  The Professor joins me some minutes later, and we explore the rocky shoreline, race across the middle, dodge swimmers and boats, and I briefly consider stowing away on an enormous yacht when its lobster-colored occupants abscond for the shore, leaving it anchored mid-bay.  After we turn the kayaks back in, we swim out to a platform anchored in the middle of the bay and lie exhausted on the hot green plastic.  From here we watch the sun go down, then paddle slowly into shore and slip into our room via the porch to shower and dress for dinner.

Cruz Bay is a nearby town where we take our dinner this evening.  A short taxi ride takes us there, and it is an entirely different feel from Caneel.  It bustles, it bursts, it is just chock full of young people looking to hook up.  It has a completely different dynamic, and we enjoy it very  much.  We would stay longer, except the taxis stop taking people to Caneel because it is so far away (5 miles.  I guess technically that is half the island away).  As it is we only have time to eat, at a loud and happy seafood place called the fishtrap (lowercase letters and all).  Across the street from the deck on which we sit is what sounds like a Puerto Rican band playing loudly, and there are dozens of people pouring out of every shop, bar, and street corner.  We savor Virgin Islands Pale Ale (mango flavored) and Blackbeard Ale (brewed by the Virgin Islands brewing company – in good old Minnesota), and have our first taste of heaven.  Yes, I am talking of conch fritters, like angels crying on your tongue.  After that tasty starter, we dig into hot slabs of excellent fish and grilled vegetables, which are unfortunately so good, I will never enjoy Food Lion brand catfish fillets again.

It’s been a long day of eating, drinking, and exercise (really, we didn’t JUST snooze on the beach), so as soon as our taxi deposits us at Caneel and we make it to our rooms, I am sound asleep.  While I snored (musically, i might add), the Professor retrieved the shell and little quotation card that had been left on our turned down bed, and then prepared our order for a picnic lunch for the next day.  Within minutes he, too, was asleep.