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twisting island roads invite speeding, as we soon discovered.
We set off gingerly, keeping left, for our rental cottage at Estate Zootenvaal. Accommodations on St. John range from posh resorts to small hotels to beachfront condos to rental houses. We selected the latter, wanted to soak in as much island culture as possible, to live as natives and to steer well clear of things “touristy.”
Estate Zootenvaal, the remnants of a Danish sugar plantation from the 1700s, is now home to four rental cottages and a main house on the East End of St. John. It is accessed by a single road that runs the length of the island, and one must pass through the entire length of the national park to get there. The 10-mile trip took 30 minutes (driving the sometimes overly optimistic speed limit.)
As we settled into our cottage — comfortable,. breezy, light and beachfront, we made an odd discovery. Though there was snorkeling equipment, a barbeque grill, champagne in the fridge (left by the managers) and lots of fluffy beach towels, there was no telephone. Nor a television. Not even a radio.
What, I wondered, would we do for two weeks? Talk to each other?
Our fears were soon swept away by rocking into the gentle island rhythm that “there is time for everything, mon, and if not today, manana. No worries. You’re in the islands.”
From the first snorkeling we did, right off the beach outside our house, I
See WEDDING, Page 15
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