Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, February 17, 1991 TAG: 9102170296
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: C-5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: By STEVE SILK THE HARTFORD COURANT
DATELINE: ISLA CULEBRA, PUERTO RICO LENGTH: Long
Underneath the tree, a big, gap-toothed American named Conrad strums his 12-string guitar and sings. Conrad, it seems, never left the '60s, but suddenly his time-worn peace songs echo with an eerie resonance. "The eastern world, it is exploding," he sings as, on the other side of the planet, Scuds arc across the sky.
Among the cluster of onlookers - yachties, locals, a few resident Americans and a handful of tourists - tangled emotions run as deep and strong as the currents of the gin-clear sea lapping at a handful of ships just offshore in Sardine Bay. More than one pair of eyes looks a bit teary.
Located between Puerto Rico and St. Thomas, the tiny island of Culebra seems about as far from the world's problems as you can get. But Culebrans know war better than most of their fellow Puerto Ricans. Not only are native sons serving in the armed forces, but the idyllic island was used for decades as a bombing range by the U.S. Navy. On one of the island's most popular beaches, two old tanks gather rust.
Still, Culebra is proof positive that life goes on. The sun is too bright and the sea too alluring to surrender to the shadow of war. On this thinly populated island, there is but one imperative: Live for today. It is enough for most; a laid-back lifestyle is what Culebra is all about.
To some visitors the islanders' brightly painted, boxy homes and frugal ways appear born of grinding poverty. But look more closely; the houses are clean, the children smiling, the people laughing.
The locals are all too happy to share their paradise with outsiders. Within hours of arriving, you will know the local characters, be privy to island gossip and exchange greetings with almost everyone you pass.
For some, Culebra's guileless simplicity is a bit overdone. There are no glitzy hotels, just simple guest houses. Nor are there great restaurants, only a few local joints serving such fare as stuffed chayote squash, steaks or shark nuggets. Night life? Forget it.
Nothing is fancy. Jim Peters put together his restaurant, Barbara Rosa's, with bits and pieces salvaged from places destroyed by Hurricane Hugo in 1989. (The island has nearly recovered from the effects of that devastating storm.) The tiny eatery cost less than $1,000 to open. "It came out kind of cute," the former Iowan says. "You should see some of the other places."
Perhaps the height of island elegance is reached at the weekend barbecues at Dingy Dock, where folks eat fresh-cooked chicken over plastic tables or industrial wire spools.
But low-key living has its advantages.
Crime is almost unheard of. Homes are left unlocked, keys in ignitions. Sometimes, of course, the temptation proves too much, and the unthinkable happens. But thieves are almost always caught and generally receive a punishment considered far worse than a stay in jail - exile from Culebra.
This barefoot island is totally lacking in pretension - and aims to stay that way. Fast-trackers, developers and well-funded types have tried to elbow their way onto the island, but permits needed to realize their big-bucks schemes somehow just never materialized.
And things are not likely to change soon. Supplies of electricity and drinking water are limited, and the sewage system is not up to greater demands. Besides, locals like things just as they are, thank you.
Who could blame them?
How could anyone complain about miles of pristine beaches where you can wander for hours without seeing so much as another set of footprints? What's wrong with untainted coral reefs teeming with marine life? Or grassy hills where soft trade winds caress lone walkers?
Out on Big Tamarind Point, a half-hour walk from the nearest road, three wide arcs of bone-white sand are almost deserted. A few locals are diving for lobsters on the other side of the bay, but that is it. Underfoot on the beach, chunks of coral and battered seashells clink in the surf; the only other sound is the rustle of butterfly wings. The skinny peninsula, which adjoins some great snorkeling spots and is spiked with palm trees, is all yours.
Walk-in beaches such as Zoni, Brava and Resaca all have their adherents, but many prefer Playa Flamenco, a perfect mile-long crescent of snow-white sand at the end of a macadam road.
Even without a car, getting around is no problem. Many visitors travel about via "dedo gordo" (literally, fat finger); they stick out a thumb to hitch a ride.
But this lobster-claw-shaped island is made for walking, with gentle, round hills, plenty of dirt roads and well-tended paths to get you wherever you are going.
Columbus reportedly discovered Culebra on his second voyage to the New World. Pirates and, later, the U.S. Navy used the island as a base. And long ago the Taino Indians lived here after escaping Spanish colonizers on Puerto Rico.
Present-day explorers will find discoveries still await them on the island; large chunks of Culebra - and many of the 20-odd islets and cays surrounding it - have been set aside as a wildlife preserve.
Many of the smaller islands, as well as the hidden recesses of Culebra, can be visited on seagoing kayak trips. Birdwatchers can have a field day anywhere in the islands.
Back in downtown Dewey, not much happens; even the drawbridge doesn't work. Dewey is a huddle of small buildings saddled on a strip of land between the Caribbean and a 2-mile-long, mangrove-lined bay. By day it looks like a heap of outsized building blocks, but by night its twinkling lights look like a bank of stars. The arrival of the ferry from Fajardo, on Puerto Rico, is the day's high point; everybody drifts down to the docks for the big event.
On Culebra the boundaries between days break down and blur. Even the clocks seem to slow, their hands winding around and around through a barely moving subtropical continuum. Every day is at once a replay of yesterday and a preview of tomorrow. For jangled Type-A Americans, Culebra may be too slow, too uneventful. But if nothing is your idea of something, this is it. > Getting there
> Culebra is part of Puerto Rico. U.S. citizens do not need passports. Spanish is the official language, but English is widely spoken. U.S. dollars are the official currency.
Culebra can be reached by air via Flamenco Airways from Isla Grande Airport in San Juan (about 20 minutes away from the international airport). For reservations or information, call (809) 723-8110. The round-trip air fare is $50.
Culebra-bound ferries depart daily from Fajardo, a town about a one-hour drive from San Juan. A one-way ticket costs $2.25.
For information about accomodations and rental properties on the island, write Tourism Office, Box 56, Culebra, Puerto Rico 00645; or call (809) 742-3521.
by CNB