Georgia: Atlanta's Oakland Cemetery

Oakland Cemetery is Atlanta’s burial place of record. It’s a city cemetery (with private ownership of lots). Many mayors are interred there including Maynard Jackson, Atlanta’s first black mayor. For him, land was made available even though space today is at a premium.  He and Margaret Mitchell are the most notable luminaries in Oakland, though neither grave is very distinctive. The most distinctive memorial is a mausoleum built by a nobody (sorry!) obsessed with his own immortality. On top of the family’s vault, he placed himself (see him?) in his favorite chair facing the cemetery’s main gate: absolutely the best way to keep track of those who visit (and those who don’t).  In Victorian cemeteries, the best way of rising above the pack was to commission a marble sculpture, build an ornate mausoleum, or erect a granite marker taller than anyone else’s. All must have cost a fortune, but you learn so little about the people they are supposed to commemorate. Rather, their symbolic language seems to have a two-fold purpose.

One is to deny death: Ivy is ubiquitous as a symbol of everlasting life; marble shrouds are everywhere waiting to be lifted; and outlines of bedframes around many graves suggest that death is as temporary as sleep. Another purpose seems to be an attempt to reclaim the glory of ancient Greece and Rome: Sarcophagi and symbolic urns crown many memorials; obelisks and their imitators are the cemetery’s exclamation points, and columns, capitals, and other classical design elements all seem to proclaim the grandeur of the long-lost past and its re-emergence in Atlanta.

A decade or so after the town was founded as a rail terminus, a hill outside of Marthasville was selected as a site for the cemetery. Before the town's name became Atlanta, it was Marthasville. In fact, Martha Lumpkin Compton is buried here. I suspect she is not very happy!  Oakland's early founding and the cachet that comes with its elevated position (geographically and socially) means that the entire history of the city is somehow reflected on the landscape: not just in its grave markers, but also in its spatial design. Segregation in the city's cemetery is one of the themes that betrays the city's past, not that the South was unique in this regard. There are separate sections for Jews, an example of requested segregation, and for African Americans, an example of forced segregation.  There are also sections for Civil War soldiers who lost their lives on the battlefields near Atlanta, and for paupers who could not afford a proper burial nor (needless to say) grave markers.

Maynard Jackson became mayor of Atlanta ten years after the Civil Rights Act became the law of the land.  When he died in 2003, the city attempted to negate its segregationist past by using the city cemetery symbolically.  Maynard Jackson is buried in the old (read: white and privileged) part of the cemetery (look right) with neighbors who must have been segregationists in their time. I suspect, though, that they welcomed him to the neighborhood and heartily approve what Atlanta has become in the post-segregationist, if not exactly post-racial, South.

Georgia: What Rhymes with McDonough?

McDonough.

It doesn’t rhyme with Done.  

It rhymes with McDonald.  

McDonough.
Internal rhyme.  Get it?

One of the souvenirs you can take home with you from any trip is a casket of correct pronunciations.  It’s information you can’t get from a map.  You can only get it in the field. How?  My preferred way is by talking to the locals (in a market where the old movie theatre sign may be on display).  As a backup, I tune into the local news on radio or television.  Articulacy (speaking well) is one of the most important skills of communication, and correct pronunciation is a component of articulacy – and of geography.  In fact, anyone who deals with place names needs to learn how to pronounce them like the locals. When you do, you have erased a barrier between ‘come heres' and 'born heres,' between 'outsiders' and 'insiders.'  And all travelers, in their heart of hearts, really want to be insiders.  

Another souvenir you can take home with you from any trip is a haircut.  In fact, it’s yet another way to go from outsider to insider: You start looking like the locals when you go their barbers.  Whenever, I need my ears lowered, I try to find a barbershop in a new place, preferably far from home.  On this trip, it must have been fate that drew me to the town’s senior barber (and local historian).  Out of town I was heading on the road south.  I had enjoyed looking around McDonough’s square, but when my half-hour of time on the meter was up, I left.  Soon, I hit the ‘new suburbs,’ not on the edge of town, but down the road a piece.  The sign caught my eye: Wayne’s Barber Shop. One U-turn later I was parking outside a typical suburban shopping center and sizing up the place.  I could see two barbers and one customer.  I was in luck: no waiting time. It was as if I had a reservation. Into the chair I popped, and the conversation never stopped.  I got a geography lesson about shifting business patterns (just because I asked who the street, Zack Hinton Parkway, was named after), the decline of cotton (there had been a gin in town, now a CVS if I got the story right), and a lifetime of barbering (Wayne is semi-retired, but his son has the next chair over). Through one of the windows I could see Russia from here.  Actually, the window was a TV and Sochi was showing.  That provided a few minutes of reminiscing about the ‘96 Olympics in nearby Atlanta. Through the other windows I could see the ridge that had at once been covered with pecan groves, and that provided a few minutes of reflecting on the tastes of the South.

Lessons learned: First, when traveling, depend on serendipity to deliver the best results.  Second, don’t reject the suburbs when you are looking for local color.  Third, always be prepared to make a U-turn.

U.S. Virgin Islands: End of the Safari

With no planning and no room reservations, I made it through a trip at the height of the Caribbean tourist season.  There shouldn’t have been any rooms available, but thanks to cancellations resulting from the Polar Vortex over the mainland, I was able to find shelter.

I spent four nights in Charlotte Amalie at the Galleon House, two nights on St. John in Cinnamon Bay campground, and one night on Tortola at the A & J Hotel.  I was pleased with them all and recommend them to you.  The islands I didn’t get to were St. Croix in the U.S. Virgins, and Anagada, in the British Virgins.  Of course, there were dozens of little islands I didn't get to either.  I hadn't planned on Anagada, but I had hoped to see St. Croix.  However, the seaplane service that serves the island charges at least $150 round trip from St. Thomas.  I promised myself St. Croix on a future trip: I would land in San Juan, Puerto Rico, take a sea plane to Vieques (in the so-called Spanish Virgin Islands), add another leg to St. Croix, then hop back to San Juan or maybe head on to Dutch/French St. Martin.  On any trip, always leave something undone; you will need a reason to come back.

The tourist industry seems to generate a good return here in the Virgin Islands, but more of the money needs to circulate to the locals.  I see too much of a dual economy: tourist and native. Another way of saying that is white and black.  I hope the government is pumping up the capacity of the University of the Virgin Islands to turn out ambitious and highly skilled graduates who can take charge of their own island.  Right now, the visitors, foreign firms, and come-heres seem to be in control. Charlotte Amalie has a downtown with a wasted wharfside, a 1671 Danish fort (post office mural to the left) that is a dilapidated cultural asset, barkers on the street who seem to terrorize tourists, night life downtown that is sparse, wifi coverage that is even sparser, and lots of crime after dark (at least, that's what everybody tells me).  On the other hand, history has been used quite nicely to refurbish streets and storefronts in Charlotte Amalie's downtown, the cruise ships keep motoring in, and the St. Thomas police have a reassuring presence everywhere.  As for St. John, I hope it keeps its small-town atmosphere.  May its resident population never exceed 5,000!

With my backpack packed, I headed off to the airport.  I now knew the transit system. For a dollar, I hopped on a safari (below) and rode it to one more place, the old submarine base that has been turned into a cruise ship terminal.  Yes, Charlotte Amalie has two cruise ship terminals.  This one is called Crown Bay.  For good or bad, the terminal is a microworld unto itself, complete with ersatz windmill that anchors yet another shopping precinct dedicated to meeting the needs of cruisers. Another safari took me to the airport's edge.  I would grab a sandwich roadside, then hike the half-mile to the terminal.  On one side of the airport are beaches on yet another bay, and on the other side is the University of the Virgin Islands, a reminder to me that work awaits.

U.S. Virgin Islands: Spectacular

From Charlotte Amalie, it was over the mountain for a great view of Magan’s Bay (pronounced as Megan's Bay), with its long bayhead beach that is so visible from Drake's Seat, the most popular overlook on the island.  Supposedly, Sir Francis chose this peak as a place to keep watch over his private armada.  For whatever reason, the the beach at Magan's Bay does not get good reviews, and it was not my choice of beaches for the day.  Coki Beach was, and it does get good reviews.  From the main road, you can jump off a safari and walk to Coki Beach.  It's about half a mile.  I had worn my trunks and was ready to swim, but Coki Beach was far too crowded (with rich white tourists, sorry) for me.  Still, I walked the length of the strand, found room only to stand, toed into the sand, and my getaway planned.  A surprise, however, slowed me down. I found a small graveyard next to the beach. It occupied me for a good half hour. Then, it was on to my next mission.  I had to get back to Red Hook.

You will recall that Red Hook was where I had my eyes examined and where my new glasses would be delivered. Shipments came in after 3 and I had high hopes that Marlene, Dr. Friedenberg's assistant, would not have to mail them to me. That would be like not really getting them in the Virgin Islands; they would have lost a little of their tropical luster.  I checked at 3, not there.  I visited the marina. I checked at 3:30, not there. I found a homeless man sleeping in a mangrove tree (right). I checked at 4, not there.  I climbed the hill behind the plaza and took some pictures.  I checked at 4:30, not there.  I watched the last of the high school students, in their pink and maroon uniforms (really sharp looking, I thought) make their way home on the safaris.  I checked at 5, they had come in.  I lingered in the waiting room while the spectacles were fully assembled, watched a father and daughter choose new frames for a new prescription, marveled at how a home town doctor's office works, and finally was fitted.  The world came into focus!  A successful trip back to Charlotte Amalie, for $2 on a safari, meant that my mission had been accomplished.  The only thing ahead of me was the flight home. But first, I would enjoy one more great home-cooked breakfast (and great coffee) at the Galleon House the next morning.

U.S. Virgin Islands: The Liberty Bell

It was a touristy day.  In the morning, I climbed Government Hill (as in Danish government) via the famous 99 Steps and paid my $10 for the heritage walk:  packaged history.  In the afternoon, I paid my $21 and rode the Paradise Point Cable Car for an impressive view of the cruise ship berths and the commodious harbor:  packaged geography.

It is easy to see why St. Thomas is the cruise lines' most popular port in the Caribbean.  The harbor is large and deep, the scenery is excellent, and the Virgin Islands' public and private sectors have invested in infrastructure.  Each day, the Virgin Islands Daily News helps tell the story of high season on St. Thomas, with its two cruise ship terminals, Havensight and Crown Bay.  Note the capacity of each of the ships, and remember that the U.S. Census Bureau's definition of an urban place begins at 2,500 residents.  Note the inclusion of Cruz Bay, on St. John, where only the smallest of cruise liners can be accommodated.

Now, let me tell you what I found most interesting today:  a connection to Virginia history.  Did you know that the Jamestown settlers' last stop before sailing into the Chesapeake Bay and making landfall in Virginia Beach was on St. Thomas in the Danish Virgin Islands, right here in Charlotte Amalie on 4 April 1607? Who knew!  Virginia Beach doesn't get mentioned on the historical marker, but it should since Cape Henry, was the real place where permanent English colonization of America began.  Cape Henry was the site of the first landing after St. Thomas.  To us, the Jamestown settlement seems no more permanent than the foothold on Cape Henry. Here's the Liberty Bell, a gift from Virginia, that commemorates the Jamestown settlers' three-day stay in Charlotte Amalie.  Why Virginia chose a Liberty Bell, I cannot fathom since the real liberty bell rang in Philadelphia 170 years later.

British Virgin Islands: Haircut Day

It’s haircut day. I got my last haircut in Sandy Springs, Georgia (for $7!), but I like to get them out of the country when I can. You see:  I collect haircuts.  Today, I will get my first and probably only haircut in Road Town, Tortola, British Virgin Islands. Across the street from my hotel is the Designs Barber Shop and Snack Bar, 2^nd floor, where I found a young barber named Domingo, an immigrant from Santo Domingo! I seem to meet barbers from the Dominican Republic lots of places. My barber on Broadway in New York City is from the DR, and the my barber in San Francisco is from the DR. Styling hair must be a Dominican specialty. In fact, Domingo represents the industry well. He took his time and seemed intent on going after any hair that rose above the cut line. The cost was $12, which is usually what I expect to pay in the U.S. (That $7 clip was an exception!) Yes, the American dollar is the official currency in the British Virgins.  And, I will have to tell you how silly it seems to go through Her Majesty's passport control to get here. As you travel, you begin to think in contrasts. Here in Road Town, there were barbers galore. I had my choice. Back in Charlotte Amalie, I don’t remember seeing a single shop! I guess it was because all the store fronts were taken by jewelry stores.

If you are going to Road Town, walk the entire length of Main Street. It’s been bypassed by a street along the waterfront, so time has passed it by. I imagine it went into a state of decline decades ago (evidence: still lots of dilapidated buildings), but now it is coming back. Properties, not a chain store among them, are being commercialized and painted with the brightest of Caribbean colors. Plus, there is a good mix of churches, schools, old government buildings, restaurants (Midtown for the locals and Pusser’s for the tourists). Chickens run wild, gardenias bloom, and oversized vehicles fight with pedestrians for room to pass. I even found a modern coffee shop, the Live Well Bakery (at right), with an outdoor patio.  It is the kind of place I would spend every morning if I lived here.

British Virgin Islands: Road Town and Spanish Town

Speedy’s operates an international ferry from St. John to Tortola, which is to say from the US to the UK.  Yes, you cross an international frontier, your passport is checked (and stamped with the number of days you are allowed to stay), and customs duties are assessed if needed. I just assumed the ferry went to Road Town, the principal town of Tortola, but I was wrong. It went to West End, which is not really a town, but a landing site, which is to say the ferry drops you off in the middle of nowhere. A few open-air safaris were stationed around the terminal, though, so $12 bought me on a scenic ride into town.  It was Sunday. Nothing was open on Tortola, and I didn’t have a place to stay.  As I stepped out of the taxi, I asked the driver to point me toward a hotel.  “Jump back in,” he said. Around the corner he took me to the A&L Inn ("an oasis in the heart of Road Town") right between main street and the traffic circle, which was still decorated for Christmas. Up on the second floor, I found the son of the owner taking care of business, as if there were any on a Sunday morning. I got right into a room, and back out I fled.  Great room, but I wanted to see as much as I could. First impression of Road Town: I liked it. In fact, it looked more like a real town than either Charlotte Amalie or Cruz Bay.

I hit the waterfront, which was all but closed down for the day. The yacht hands were around, however. It was their day off, a day to begin congregating by mid-morning, a day to guzzle rum, the classic drink of the cane-growing Caribbean islands.  They were a happy bunch, and invited me to have a drink with them. (Won't say whether I did or not!) They weren't really in charge of the harbor, but said that, of course, I could wander up and down the piers and gawk at the yachts. Tomorrow, they would be out on the sea, along with lots more yacht hands, I suspect. Road Town has a huge harbor, and lots of the them need crews.

Road Town is also the territorial capital of the British Virgin Islands. Government House is right on the water. The security officers listed my choices for lunch. Only three eateries were open. I had jerk chicken barbeque, and was left with most of the day to fill.  Since nothing was doing in Road Town, I hopped the ferry to Virgin Gorda ("Fat Virgin"). Before I knew it, I was disembarking at Spanish Town, the first capital of the British Virgins. There I found yet another yacht harbor and little else, not even a real town. Two angels were soon to appear, however. Do you believe in angels?  On Tortola, I had already met two: that safari driver who dropped me off at the A&L, and the son of the Methodist minister who gave me a lift back to the hotel after my early lunch.  Here on Virgin Gorda, I met two more.  One, a tourist, was walking along the road leading away from the harbor:  he on one side, me on the other. Across the road I headed. "Where's the town?" I asked in my naeievity.  "This is it," was the reply. He was walking, so I asked what he had been doing. Coming back from The Baths at Devil's Beach. Not far, said he, about 40 minutes walking time. Even though I was thinking about my 6 pm ferry (last one of the day), off I went toward one of the three national parks on the island. Yes, I was off to another national park, but this one British.  Now for angel #4: Two young guys in nice cars were talking by the side of the road. Hoofing it was taking too long, so I made the offer. "I'll give you $5 if you drive me to The Baths." One agreed, and soon I was there.  At the end of the trip, he actually declined the money, but I gave it to him anyway. It was Sunday, and I had been lifted up on angel's wings four different times. When I got to the park entrance, the first thing I did was make arrangements with a taxi driver there to take me back to the ferry landing when I was finished! Second thing I did was pay my $3 and enter the park.

I loved it. For this, I would come back. The Baths are a boulder field right along the coast. To get from Spring Bay to Devil's Bay (with their scenic beaches), you climb over, duck under, and jot around the boulders, while wading through the pools and ducking to get into and out of the caves.  It's fairly isolated, and sometimes you are all alone! Really cool. It was the granite that I couldn't figure out, however.  On my geologic mental map, granite does not belong on the coast of the Leeward Islands; it's a rock of continental origins. In fact, granites are the buildings blocks of the continents, and Virgin Gorda is not a continent.  I will research this later.  For now, though, climbing, wading, and shutterbugging are going to have my full attention.

U.S. Virgin Islands: Salomon and Cinnamon

The tent was perfect for sleeping, and the outdoor showers weren’t as cold as I feared. This campground (cottages as well as tents) would be perfect for a vacation if you wanted a constant diet of swimming and hiking (and boating if you could afford it). What I would do is take in a different bay every day. All of them have beaches. Cruz Bay is el hefe, though. It's a bay and a town.  There is even a building for the Virgin Islands Legislature, even though St. John is guaranteed only a single senator in the 15-member Senate.

The main function of Cruz Bay is to serve as ferry hub, commercial center, and park headquarters. There is free wifi on the plaza (thanks to Connections!), though you loose the signal every five minutes. The headquarters of Virgin Islands National Park is a five minute walk from the plaza. There, you can pick up a trail map and take off on foot. I hiked to Salomon Bay. It is reached by a spur from Lind Point Trail. Salomon Beach is small but isolated enough to be uncrowded even on a Saturday. I didn’t go swimming there. I saved that for the beach at Cinnamon Bay where I was staying. It was late afternoon by the time I got suited up in my tent (having been distracted by the ruins of a Danish sugar factory), but I had a good three-quarters hour in the water before the heavens opened up. I got out because everyone else was getting out. Oh yes, and I saw my towel and shirt blowing away. The water is blue and shallow, the sand is white and soft. Cinnamon Island creates a small wave-energy shadow where the sand accumulates. The island looks like it would be an easy swim. I wished I had brought my goggles.

Tons of other bays await for my next trip. So does the east end of the island. That was going to be my destination for the afternoon. I asked about getting there, to Coral Bay, and was told to take the VI Transit bus. Apparently the safari taxis don’t go there because it’s off the tourist circuit. The bus never showed up. As someone explained, it runs on island time. The east end is very sparsely populated and drier, I am told. I toyed with the idea of renting a jeep, but the $70 estimate for the day was just too much.  

U.S. Virgin Islands: From Saint to Saint

The morning brought a sunny view of land and water, and I got to see a cruise ship threading its way between the islands that guard Charlotte Amalie's harbor. I later got to see the ship's tourists: in the jewelry souk, of course. Following a nice breakfast on the patio at Galleon House (home cooked and thankfully not a buffet!), I headed off to the city cemetery (my hobby). I had passed it on the taxi ride into town.  Burial vaults are all above ground, sometimes stacked three high.  In fact, even the single-story vaults have ribars on top, suggesting they are ready to expand upward. Above ground burial is necessitated by the water table at this low elevation.  As the land rises to meet the adjacent neighborhood, however, some graves are below ground. There is nothing commercial about the appearance of the memorials. Most are simply concrete vaults, usually painted white, with some Caribbean colors showing up here and there. Inscriptions have typically been hand-etched in wet concrete, and there is very little granite in sight. The dates are often prefixed by 'Sunrise' and 'Sunset,' reminiscent of New Orleans. The most polished and least interesting memorials were the VA-supplied headstones for veterans. What life there is in this cemetery is provided by the tree lizards, which dart around everywhere. All over these islands, they are as common as insects.

The Galleon House couldn’t take me for another night, so I hit the road to Red Hook, on St. Thomas’s East End. Red Hook is the site of a yacht harbor, and, more importantly, the ferry landing that links St. Thomas to St. John ($7 each way). I had half an hour until the next ferry left, so I spent an hour and a half looking around Red Hook. (Yes, you read that right: I missed the 1 pm ferry). There is a new Senior Frog’s in Red Hook, which suggests there is not much to see. In one of the street-side shopping centers, though, I did find something I was looking for: an optometrist. I had been thinking about getting new glasses for at least six months, so why not on St. Thomas? How many residents of Virginia Beach can say their optometrist is in the Virgin Islands? As I was to learn, Dr. Friedenberg grew up in Richmond and arrived on St. Thomas the year I moved to Virginia Beach, 1980. It was meant to be.  The doc took me in right away, gave me an eye exam, wrote a prescription, and sold me a pair of glasses, all done on Caribbean time. We will see if I the lenses are back for me to pick up before I return stateside. The downside:  I missed the 1 pm ferry. So, I just caught the next one.

After a rainy morning, the sun came out and proved to be a perfect perfect companion for the 4-mile ferry ride to Cruz Bay on St. John.  Most of the island's 20-square miles is a national park, and there are well under 5,000 residents.  I had already formed some opinions about the island: The people of St. John were friendly; the town of Cruz Bay was nicer than anything on St. Thomas; and living conditions were better than anywhere in the Virgins. Whenever I told someone I was on my way to St. John, these were the appetizers they fed me. Thanks to Dr. Friedenberg's advice, the first thing I sought out was Connections, which was a post office/internet point/bulletin board/tourist information center/and more, all in one. There was nothing like Connections on St. Thomas: but there should be.  The busy women behind the counter spent a lot of time trying to find me a place to stay. For a while, it seemed hopeless. There was nothing in town and maybe nothing out of town. Everything: fully booked. But, finally, the Noreaster that hit the Northeast worked in my favor. A cancellation meant that there was an opening, but I would have to travel five miles out of town to the north shore of the island.

Most of St. John is occupied by the Virgin Islands National Park. I wish even more of the island were protected. As you pull into Cruz Bay, the island’s chief town, you can see the housing frontier moving up the hillsides: everybody wants a view of the sea. An expansion of the National Park would stop that, but it is probably already too late. Nevertheless, so much of the island is protected that St. John will never succumb to debilitating development the way St. Thomas has. As you leave Cruz Bay on one of the 12-to-20-person safaris (shared taxis) that congregate around the ferry landing, you pass almost immediately into VINP and then across the islands's mountainous spine and downhill to the Atlantic. I was heading to Cinnamon Bay, a section of the national park where there was a campground. That’s where there was an opening. I was promised a tent for two nights thanks to some poor family (probably from Boston) who a had to cancel their reservation.  Everyone on St. Thomas and St. John was talking about the cold, snowy weather up North. 'Polar Vortex' entered the island vernacular while I was there.  A large part of the visitors here seemed to be from New York and New England, and many were repeat customers. Campers and cottagers from Germany and Scandinavia were common, too.

Tent #2 (with my orange shirt drying outside) was in the woods, but only about 300 feet away from Cinnamon Bay beach. As I arrived, the day trippers were leaving and the concessions closing. Despite the fact that I had no electricity in my tent, only the promise of an internet signal at the check in area, and nothing to eat but the cheese and crackers I bought in Cruz Bay, I proclaimed myself lucky to be in such an enchanting place. I bought a flash light (regretting I has deliberately left mine at home just to lighten my pack) and proceeded to the so-called restaurant (an open-air pavilion which eventually did fill up) just so I could get something to drink while I charged my computer and camera for the day to come. Before the night ends, I may also hear some African drumming. The day began on St. Thomas and ended on St. John. In my tent, I slept peacefully. Not even the mosquito corps dive bombers disturbed my slumber.

US Virgin Islands: From VA to VI

Despite wicked weather to the North, where a nor'easter was getting ready to wreck havoc on flight schedules, it was an on-time take-orf from ORF, i.e., the Norfolk International Airport. After a transfer in PHL, I found myself winging my way to a new destination, the U.S. Virgin Islands, an American territory since 1917 when we bought it from Denmark.  The archipelago's name makes these islands sound as if they should belong to Virginia, so let’s see what our alphabetical next door neighbor is like. It is like: warm, but not too warm, around 80 degrees when I arrived and around that temperature the whole time I was there. Knowing that the islands were in their dry season, I didn’t throw my umbrella into my backpack, my only 'bag' on this trip and every trip.  Wise elimination?  As the plane landed it was raining!  But only lightly, and by the time I got to the other side of the terminal, it had stopped.  Soon the sun was out.  It would rain a little bit every day, just enough to freshen the air.  I was told it had been a very wet six months.  A $6 shared taxi ride (not enough change for a 'ten spot,' so it turned out to be $8) took me into the territorial capital and cruise ship megaport of Charlotte Amalie on the archipelago's most populous island, St. Thomas. No reservations for a room, of course, and the tiny tourist kiosk was closed at 3 pm! Why? The cruise ship passengers were gone for the day. Asking around led me to the Galleon House, a bed and breakfast built into the side of Government Hill, a very historic part of town. If you come, stay there, and make sure you ask for room 204. Its balcony offers the best view of downtown and the harbor (evidence below), but the view from the breakfast terrace is almost as good.

With only an hour or two left of daylight (it’s dark by 6:30 pm), there was just enough time for a walk through town and a quick bite to eat, my first meal of the day: a Caribbean chicken wrap (spicy and good) and fruit cocktail (from a can) at the Side Street Pub.  Expect to pay high prices for almost everything, especially during high season, which is December through May.  Every other establishment in town seemed to be a jewelry store, over 200 I am told. I don’t know how they can all stay afloat. I suspect they do have good prices, just because there seems to be so much competition. Cruise ship customers are their mainstay. The problem is that they have driven out diversity in Charlotte Amalie's downtown. Other than some art boutiques, there is very little else to buy. I think the whole town needs a make-over. The jewelry stores could stay because there is a 'gray zone' surrounding CBD (think:  concentric zone model) which could accommodate expansion.  The architectural resources of the old town are impressive:  Danish and Danish revival warehouses and workshops that have been re-purposed for retail.