Upon stepping off the plane at the Cyril E. King Airport in St. Thomas, I soon realized I was stepping into a different world marked by  warm salt-scented Caribbean air, a definitive culture,  and the  bustle of the port of Charlotte Amalie. With luggage collected, we took a ride share taxi from the airport to our hotel, the Windward Passage.   The ride  itself was the real beginning of the adventure as the driver quickly merged onto Waterfront  Drive staying to the left lanes since vehicles drive on the left of on the narrow roads of St. Thomas (remnants of the British Colonial past). Though a short drive,  we were  served up views of the Charlotte Amalie harbor, palm trees, colorful buildings that climb the hillsides, old colonial buildings, warehouses, narrow streets, and a harrowing closeness to other vehicles.

Our hotel for the one night here was the Windward Passage, an aging relic that has seen better days, situated along the harbor front just a short distance from the downtown area of shops and almost directly across from the Blyden Ferry terminal which we would be departing from on the morrow for St. Croix. The convenience is hard to beat as we could walk the short distance the next day hauling our suitcases to this terminal. No ride share of rental vehicle. So it proved to be adequate lodging and did not devour the whole checking account balance at $225.00 a nightly vs The Westin @ $612.00 or The Ritz-Carlton St. Thomas @ $1011.00. It has definitely seen many better days and would not have been a good choice had I anticipated a luxury Caribbean escape. NOT the case.

Convenience and expediency though is not of concern to my grandson Luke. Luke will devour the reviews for just about any property or activity we might encounter and of course focus mostly on the 0 or 1 star entries. From son Nick’s blog, as he recounted Lukes take: “But DAD! This one says that there were obvious prostitutes in the alley behind the hotel!” To make matters worse, according to Nick, their room was, as Luke quickly informed him, overlooking “Prostitute Alley. ” Of course the hotel was “dodgy” (one of his favorite words.).

Upon my arrival, the hoped for tranquil atmosphere was pre-empted by a bone jarring rhythmic thumping of calypso music spewed from a speaker in the rear alley. Once in my room it was of minimal consequence. I peered through the salt-encrusted sliding glass door at a baseball filed below and could have a slim view of the harbor if I stepped out on the not very useful narrow balcony which was not wide enough for a chair. But we settled comfortably in our room with its outdated decor, well worn furnishings, and worn carpets. Nick, Luke and Miriam were on the alley side and definitely decided to have their room moved mostly because of the music since it could have been quite interesting evening sideshow to observe the goings on in “Prostitute Alley” later.

We opted to go to “The French Quarter” for dinner and ate at the French Quarter Bistro serving a fusion of French, American , Caribbean and Creole dishes. Being in the French Quarter, I, by necessity, had to order French Onion Soup. I especially enjoyed the walk to and from this destination as it was partially along the waterfront area, a mixture of small shops and cafe’s, and an architectural shift to pastel home with wrought iron balconies. Of particular interest to Luke was the McDonald’s we passed in this area which did not look at all like any mainland McDonald’s . Perhaps an imposter????

We all (but Nick) headed back to the hotel. Nick headed out to explore the area which in my younger days would also have been something I would be doing as well but thought better of trying to keep up with my oldest “child” this evening who definitely follows in his mother’s footsteps.

The next morning Tasia and I headed out in search of a market to buy some makings for a healthy breakfast.  Much to my dismay the strong stomach which I boasted of in years gone by has been replace by someone else’s sensitive digestion system which now demands a healthy breakfast of oatmeal, banana, milk etc. unless I want to spend the day in search of public bathrooms. So we found a market a couple blocks away and headed back to the motel  to eat in our not so elegant room. Afterwards we met up with the Honimills (a nick name for Nick’s family) and we commenced our walking tour of the Charlotte Amalie tourist district. 

Of great fascination to me was the vibrant colors of the islands architecture with the red tiled roofs, pastel painted walls, arched doorways and the Danish shutters (wooden louvered window covers painted  in bold colors). . Historic Fort Christian, with its very distinctive red brick walls, is no longer needed to guard against pirates and raids by foreigners and thus has been repurposed as a museum. It is designated as a US National Historic Landmark and thus the requisite picture in front of it. Additionally, should I ever return to Charlotte Amalie, I learned that had I wanted a really old room instead of an aging worn out modern room, I might have stayed at the Hotel 1829 with its “real” vintage furnishings and decor.

Though there are many remarkable things to note about Charlotte Amalie, such as the historic Fort Christian, the scenic harbor, the Danish architecture, the most memorable for me is the “Jewelry Jungle. ” The downtown area was no salmagundi of one-of-a-kind specialty stores , where you can find unique creations and local products but a glittering gauntlet of jewelry stores with their diamonds rings , gold chains, gemstones, luxury watches … all nestled within their cases in air conditioned shops while their proprietors stand in the doorway beckoning one to step inside. I really only needed sunscreen or to invest in some cheap trinket emblazoned with St. Thomas on its exterior (the exact same trinket I bought on my last trip with the St. Louis Arch emblazoned on it). The man in the white guayabera shirt promised me the best price on diamonds in the Caribbean and his store had been voted #1 on the Island! I managed to escape his clutches and those of the 40 + jewelry hawkers on Main Street with pocketbook unscathed only to find myself tripping over the chickens and rooster which roam freely through the streets.

Having successfully escaped the bauble hustlers, I thoroughly enjoyed traversing the stone and concrete promenade that hugs the harbor and thus was protected by a four lane heavily trafficked thoroughfare.from the Charlotte Amalie sales force on the other side. There was but one floating city, the Carnival Venezia, with a 4000 passengers capacity . It seemed to me that the cruise goers were totally immersed in their pretend Piazza San Marco experience that there were a scant few on the streets .

We headed back into the cobble streets of the town for a thirst quencher and before long it was time to trudge back to the hotel, retrieve our luggage (from that dodgy hotel) and catch the 3:00 pm ferry to St. Croix. With about an hour before we needed to go to the ferry terminal,  we decided to take up residence in the hotel lobby.  Whether the multi-purposed porter, concierge, parking lot attendant did not want us loitering  in the lobby or perhaps he was grateful for the nice tip he received for storing our luggage, he bade us follow him to across the courtyard to the business center which had baskets of snacks (which we descended upon like vultures)  and chilled water.  Best of all were the electrical outlets so we could charge up our devices in case we got marooned at sea on the way to St. Croix during that “lengthy”  2 hour ride.