U.S. Virgin Islands: the Stars-and-Stripes Caribbean

Escaping from the stress of work, this new adventure we are about to undertake begins with the sound of the alarm clock, echoing in our room at 4:00 in the morning (who knows why one can never manage to leave at 9:00!). Still a bit sleepy we complete the preparations and shortly before 5:00 the grandparents appear in front of the gate of the house, having come to pick us up to accompany us to the airport. At 4:58, thus, the journey truly begins: we set off down the road with Federico, our son, who having shaken off the fumes of sleep now, radiant more than ever, shows us all his happiness, and a quarter of an hour later we get on the highway at Faenza. Trying to take advantage of the current weakness of the dollar we decided to go to a little piece of the States located in the heart of the beloved Caribbean: the U.S. Virgin Islands. There are three main islands: St. Thomas, St.

John and St. Croix (the only one we won't visit because it's too far), surrounded by a handful of mostly uninhabited rocks and islets and located eighty kilometers east of Puerto Rico. Together with their British Virgin Islands sisters they form, a vast archipelago that owes its name, like almost all places in this geographic area, to Christopher Columbus, who landed there in 1493 during his second voyage to the New World. The great navigator, struck by the beauty and profusion of the islands, christened them "Las Once Mil Virgines", taking inspiration from the legend of Saint Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins. The U.S. Virgin Islands, Danish until 1917, were purchased by the United States for twenty-five million dollars with the aim of creating a base in the area to defend the Panama Canal.

Over time, however, they have also become a sought-after tourist destination, which today Americans like to call "Our Paradise in the Caribbean" (our paradise in the Caribbean)... That paradise, however, is still very far away for us, because it's 5:50 on a cool spring morning and we are in front of the Marconi Airport in Bologna: we say goodbye to the grandparents and kick off a very long air journey, which includes two intermediate stops. We check in the suitcases (directly to St. Thomas... let's hope for the best!), have breakfast and wait at gate number 14. We don't have to wait long and soon we find ourselves buckled into the seats of the Air France Airbus A319 which, identified as flight AF 1029, takes off at 7:44 bound for Paris. We climb above the clouds of a gloomy March day and, shortly after, from the great cottony expanse a snowy peak emerges... Mont Blanc, I'd dare say...

then the clouds dissolve as we fly over France, with its orderly geometry of cultivated fields, until we land at Charles de Gaulle airport, in the French capital, with the clock hands showing 9:03. At Paris airport we are now regulars and in all tranquility we transfer from Terminal "F" to Terminal "A" and after repeated checks (including a sort of interrogation regarding the suitcases) we finally board flight AA 63, which takes off in the direction of Miami at 12:12. The American Airlines Boeing 767 rapidly climbs in altitude and when it banks we find Paris before us... Federico can thus happily spot the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, but the panoramic glimpse is short-lived, in fact, shortly after, we enter, amid a thousand turbulences, into a large cloud body and only emerge from it in the middle of the Atlantic.

The oceanic crossing, lasting over ten hours, is characterized by many clouds and the complaints of the little one, impatient from the long wait, then finally, after having circled who knows why several times over the area, we land at Miami International Airport: it's 4:46 PM local time and we are slightly behind schedule. We disembark and promptly present ourselves at the complex American customs checks: it seems one of those useless and ridiculous declarations is missing, so we retrieve the form, fill it out scrupulously and present ourselves again at the counter... they photograph us, take our fingerprints, but that's not enough!... they also ask us for Federico's passport, which doesn't exist, because he is eight years old and, as Italian law provides, is registered on our documents.

We point this out to the customs officer, but he, annoyed, insists: «You don't enter the United States without a passport!». An official accompanies us to an adjacent room where other people are crowded together (mostly black and Puerto Rican) and where, behind a counter, several agents work at a snail's pace. They tell us to wait while, apparently, they are making a temporary passport for the little one which, they tell us, has been mandatory since October 2004 (in June of the same year we entered the States without problems and before leaving neither the agency nor the Police Headquarters warned us of this change... strange)... Meanwhile time passes: our flight to St. Thomas departs at 6:25 PM and now there's only half an hour left, plus I learn that the suitcases, since the remaining flight is domestic, have been unloaded and not sent directly to the Virgin Islands...

it's absurd! The agitation grows exponentially as the minutes pass, then, finally, at 6:15 PM they hand us that blessed document and give us the green light! We run towards the baggage area and along the corridor we encounter, by chance, an attendant calmly transporting our suitcases on a cart: we literally snatch them from his hands and with them we go to the first baggage check-in we encounter, but the attendant after a brief phone call shrugs... too late!... They managed to make us miss the plane!... I've always wondered what would happen in such a case... and now I'll know: I'm furious, with salivation practically reduced to zero from the nervous tension and full of rage, so much for the relaxing vacation. With dark faces we face a very long line leading to the American Airlines counter...

The new wait, if nothing else, works as a decompression chamber and once the anger has subsided we can choose between the two possibilities offered to us: either set off this very evening for Puerto Rico and at dawn take the short flight to nearby St. Thomas, or leave tomorrow at 12:39 from here directly for the Virgin Islands... Not wanting to complicate our lives further we obviously choose the second option, also because we are exhausted and absolutely need rest: we thus have them recommend a hotel in the airport area, aware of the fact that this way we will, in practice, have to deduct a day from our vacation. With the help of a free shuttle we reach the Wyndham Hotel, where we are assigned room 501 and where the very kind girl at the reception does us a big favor by calling the Best Western in St. Thomas (booked from home) to let them know about our inevitable day of delay.

In Miami it's still 9:00 PM, but without even putting on pajamas, which are at the bottom of who knows which suitcase, we wearily drag ourselves to bed... and certainly not the bed in which we thought we'd spend the first night of this eventful journey.

Due to the time zone we wake up very early, then, in stages, we manage to stay between the sheets until almost 8:00 when, tired of tossing and turning, we finally get out of them. We laze around a bit more in the room and then go down to have breakfast before resuming our endless journey... which, given the developments, makes us a bit worried also for the return, with only an hour and a half stop in New York. We seem to have left an eternity ago when we leave the Wyndham Hotel aboard the shuttle (driven by Bruno, of clear Italian origins) to return, this time very early, to Miami International Airport. We look for the right counter, tag the suitcases and check them in: they ask if they are locked and if so to wait for them to pass the metal-detector check. We hand them to the attendant and in the blink of an eye they disappear...

we can't believe it: we look for them in the pile of luggage all around, but without result... Federico, all worried, even starts crying, while a bit anxious we leave with the hope that they've boarded them in record time. We head to Terminal "E", as indicated on the tickets, but our flight doesn't appear on the terminals, so we ask for information: they've moved it to Terminal "D"... it seems like a nightmare! Walk, walk, we arrive at the terminal and the right gate, and subsequently, God willing, the plane also arrives: a Boeing 757 of American Airlines. Through the glass I watch all the unloading and loading operations, during which I think I recognize our suitcases, so, shortly after, a bit more reassured, we board flight AA 671, which takes off at 1:00 PM sharp bound for St. Thomas...

Bye Miami, and let's hope we see each other again sooner or later, but, if possible, with a completely different state of mind! As soon as we climb in altitude some beautiful coral islands scroll beneath us: surely the Bahamas... too bad only for the thick haze. The flight proceeds smoothly and finally at 4:17 PM local time (one hour more than Florida and five less than Italy), we land at Cyril E. King Airport in St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where a beautiful sun is shining, and shortly after we also embrace our suitcases again...

all's well that ends well! With satisfaction we verify the good functioning of the cell phone, so we can immediately reassure everyone at home, then we get in line at the Budget counter to rent the car and shortly after we are handed a white Kia Rio (plate TBU 697), with which we drive the very short stretch of road (a few hundred meters) that separates us from the Best Western Carib Resort, where we will stay for the entire duration of the vacation. They hand us the keys to room number 109 (which we'll have to change tomorrow!) and there, finally, we can put down our things. There's still an hour of daylight, so we put on our swimsuits and run to relax at the edge of the pool, which however is already in the shade...

no big deal: the temperature is pleasant and the view in front, over Lindberg Bay, decent, in this way we pleasantly pass the time remaining until evening, while only Federico can't resist the idea of taking a first refreshing dip. At dusk we get ready and go out to find something to have dinner: we wander a bit disoriented through the streets of the island and arrive at Charlotte Amalie, the small capital of the U.S. Virgin Islands. We find a Pizza Hut chain restaurant and, at the little one's request, we have our first meal in St. Thomas there, then, tired, we return to the Carib Resort and drag ourselves to the room: the bed still isn't the right one, but at least the hotel is... and more relaxed we can blissfully slip into the world of dreams.

It was supposed to be the second day in the Virgin Islands and instead fate decreed that it be the first. After a hearty breakfast, included in the room price, we set off to discover St. Thomas which, extending over 72 square kilometers, is slightly smaller than Pantelleria and measures 21 kilometers in length by 5 in width. We are to all effects in American territory, but one drives on the left side of the road and the curious thing is that the steering wheel of all cars (coming from the States) is also on the left, so one finds oneself driving on the edge of the roadway instead of the center... it's strange, but we'll have to get used to it.

We pass Charlotte Amalie, in whose port two colossal cruise ships are moored, and continue along Road number 30 which, with vertiginous ups and downs, follows the southeastern coast of the island, then, after a couple of stops to buy some groceries, we reach Red Hook, the easternmost locality of St. Thomas and departure point for the ferry to St. John, the other American Virgin Island we will visit... not today though. After gathering some information we venture along the road that goes into the peninsula south of the town and, given the scarcity or rather the total absence of signs, after several attempts we manage to find the inlet of Secret Harbour.

The place is entirely occupied by a resort, but the beach, accessible to all, is nice, lined with palms and washed by an inviting calm and transparent sea, so much so that, having set up our things in the shade, we can't resist the temptation to immediately take a first enticing tropical dip. Finally, after the hardships endured on the long and troubled journey, we can calmly relax among the crystalline waves and bask in the Caribbean sun... to do this we would certainly have preferred a more wild beach, but to start this one is just fine too. Together with Federico I go exploring with mask and snorkel: there's some sparse coral here and there, but nothing special...

From a naturalistic point of view the most beautiful thing we see in the bay is the spectacle of an infallible pelican fishing a few meters from the shore, under the watchful eyes of an iguana perched sunbathing on the nearby pier. In the shade of the palms, in this setting, we have lunch... and the first part of the day quickly passes. Early in the afternoon we leave Secret Harbour and set off in search of another beach, where to spend the remaining hours until evening. Returning along Road number 30 towards Charlotte Amalie we stop at Bolongo Bay: a quick glance makes us understand that the small stretch of sand is not up to our expectations.

We then continue along the coastal road and, now in sight of the capital, we turn towards the sea in search of Morningstar Bay, which we reach, not without problems, after somewhat fearfully passing the gate of a large tourist complex, and there we decide to stop. Welcomed by a large iguana we set up our things at the water's edge, which in this place is not calm but characterized by large waves, and overheated we treat ourselves to a swim in that water which is anyway beautiful and temperate. We lazily conclude the day at Morningstar Bay and when the sun is now close to the horizon line we climb, following a winding road, which starts near Havensight (where the large ships dock), to Paradise Point, a spectacular panoramic point, which cruise passengers reach with the help of a cable car, located at 210 meters of altitude, on a hill, dominating the bay of Charlotte Amalie.

We enjoy a fiery sunset and then return to the Carib Resort, where they hand us the keys to our new and definitive room (217). We freshen up and go out for dinner at the Green House, a nice place located on the seafront of the capital, then we return quickly because Federico, destroyed by the swims and the time zone, insistently asks for a bed to lie down in. We thus conclude this first glimpse of vacation in St. Thomas: not one of the best Caribbean days I remember, but we trust we'll soon make up for it fully, with panoramas and beaches up to the fame of the islands.

We get up calmly: on the agenda is the visit to Charlotte Amalie and as we could see yesterday, passing through, until 9:00 everything is closed. We leave after breakfast, without the bulky beach backpacks, and shortly after we park next to the green Legislature Building and the red Fort Christian, historic buildings that testify to the old Danish domination, in particular the latter, erected between 1666 and 1680, turns out to be one of the oldest buildings in America. On foot we dedicate ourselves to the tourist tour of the small town and head towards Government Hill, a little hill dotted with pretty private houses and interesting public and religious buildings. We thus arrive in front of the characteristic Frederick Lutheran Church which, located at the top of a steep staircase, stands out made entirely of red bricks.

Climbing further we come before the very white Government House, residence of the Governor, with even a red sentry box on the front (but the guard has been missing for who knows how long). The valuable neoclassical building is located on Kongens Gade, the street from which also starts the staircase called 99 Steap (but in reality the steps are 103) which, built with the stones used as ballast of the ships coming from Europe, climbs, at the highest point of the hill, to Blackbeard's Castle. The manor (in reality just a tower), which we content ourselves with seeing only from the outside, is the oldest construction in the Virgin Islands and, perhaps, the most representative: the archipelago, in fact, has gone down in history as one of the most infamous pirate havens ever remembered.

The Buccaneers were the first European colonists of the islands, later supplanted by the most varied crews, among which those of the legendary Bluebeard and Blackbeard, precisely, to arrive at Francis Drake (whose name is still linked to numerous places), terror of the Spanish galleons and for this even knighted Sir by the British queen, who indirectly supported his exploits. We descend again to the lower part of the town and, after a stop at Crystal Gade at the Synagogue, the second oldest in the western hemisphere (whose floor is covered with sand to recall the exodus from Egypt), we walk along Main Street, the main street of Charlotte Amalie, studded with duty-free and souvenir shops: irresistible traps for the thousands of cruise passengers who disembark, unaware, in the port of St. Thomas every day.

At the end of the street we look for the old covered market (marked on all the guides), but we find the area cordoned off with inside only the base that supported the iron structure... collapsed in 2003 (its reconstruction is planned, but who knows for when). Having digested the small disappointment we briefly let ourselves be enticed by the parade of shops and, after a long line at the post office to buy some stamps, we conclude in the colorful taxi parking lot the visit to Charlotte Amalie, which, at times, has been able to offer us glimpses that are all in all interesting. When we return to the hotel it's already well past noon, so we stop to have lunch on the terrace of the room, cheered by the view that spans over Lindberg Bay, and then we take the road again heading towards the second part of the day.

We follow the strip of asphalt which, through steep streets, climbs onto the heights located behind the capital and we arrive at the so-called Mountain Top, on the summit of St. Peter Mountain (474 meters), where there is a place where they say the Banana Daiquiri was invented, a well-known cocktail, and from where one should also enjoy a beautiful view... nothing exceptional to tell the truth. We then take the road again and arrive, this time, at Drake's Seat, a spectacular panoramic point on the north coast of the island, from which it's said Sir Francis Drake controlled the ships that cruised off the coast of his small kingdom. At the foot of this natural balcony is Magens Bay, the most beautiful inlet of St. Thomas and, according to the illustrious National Geographic, one of the ten best beaches in the world (but the standard of judgment is very American).

After a photo, obligatory, of the admirable glimpse we descend right to Magens Bay: we pay the entrance ticket to the place, park the car and head on foot towards the beach... White sand, lush palms and crystalline water... there's no denying it, Magens Bay is the most classic of tropical paradises... too bad only for the excessive overcrowding, which nevertheless fails to diminish the irresistible appeal of a sea finally as God intended... So we immediately rush among those extraordinary waves to take the first, long-awaited, swim of the day. For the little one's joy we also inflate the air mattress and linger in the water, while the Americans, who generally are used to eating early, gradually begin to leave, at the same time giving increasing tranquility and beauty to the place...

We thus stay to enjoy Magens Bay, in the company, more than anything, of a surviving group of Americans who, celebrating, consume (women included) an impressive amount of alcohol, and only when the sun exits the scene setting do we leave the beach, after which, crossing again the ridge of the island, we return to the Carib Resort. For dinner we go to Wendy's, a fast-food located near Havensight, but the food offered doesn't excite either Sabrina or, even less, Federico... nothing serious though: right after we return to the hotel and retire to the room, concluding a more than positive day.

It's Easter Sunday and all the inhabitants of St. Thomas will surely pour onto the beaches, so we take the opportunity to escape, putting into action, for the first time, the operation that will take us to St. John, the smallest and least populated of the U.S. Virgin Islands. Having consumed the usual breakfast we leave following the southern coast of the island and after a stop at Compass Point Marina to get information about a boat excursion to Jost Van Dyke, a small island of the British Virgin Islands, we arrive, around 9:30, at Red Hook... The name of this place (Red Hook) is quite a statement, given that we are on the island that was the kingdom of pirates, it's who knows what it derives from...

We board the first available ferry, which leaves at 10:00 and unfortunately returns at 5:00 PM (too early), or at 7:00 PM (too late): next time we'll try to arrive earlier, so as to take the one of the other company, which offers clearly better times. Half an hour after departure we dock at the small port of Cruz Bay, the picturesque capital of St. John which, extending over 40 square kilometers (slightly less than Ischia), measures 14.5 kilometers in length by 6.5 in width and is inhabited by just over three thousand souls. As soon as we get off on this small strip of volcanic land we head along Road number 20, which follows the northern coast of the island and we arrive, at a very short distance, in sight of Caneel Bay, the magnificent inlet on which the homonymous luxury resort overlooks.

Having initially observed the beach from the top of a panoramic point we pass the gate of the hotel that belonged to the American billionaire Laurence Rockefeller... to tell the truth almost all the territory in the surroundings was his property, but he donated it in 1956 to the United States Government on condition that it become a park, and this was probably the salvation of this tiny Caribbean island, currently incorporated for two thirds of its surface within the boundaries of the Virgin Islands National Park. We park the car and, leaving aside the beautiful but organized Caneel Bay, on foot, in a few minutes, we reach the wonderful Honeymoon Beach: blinding white sand, clear sky and blue water that looks like a pool...

now yes we are in the paradisiacal tropical beach we had long dreamed of! We set up our things under the foliage of the trees and run to enjoy idyllic swims, while the clock hands run inexorably and noon arrives in the blink of an eye. We bite into our ham sandwiches with the sublime view of Honeymoon Beach in front of us and we feel like little Rockefellers, because being able to fill one's eyes with so much beauty means accumulating those inestimable personal riches that are memories, whose value can never be replaced by any sum of money. After lunch and after another swim I go, in the company of Federico, to also see the nearby and hidden Salomon Bay: this one also very beautiful, with the presence of some palms that helps give an even more exotic appearance to the place.

On the way back we then briefly dedicate ourselves to snorkeling, but to an exceptional transparency of the water does not correspond a particularly interesting seabed, as indeed we imagined it would be... Meanwhile time passes, implacable, and when we resurface it's practically already time to leave Honeymoon Beach, so we reluctantly tidy up our things and, having regained the car, we return to Cruz Bay in time to board the 5:00 PM ferry. The vessel leaves the dock right on time and shortly after we find ourselves sailing in the direction of St. Thomas, while over the latter big gray clouds are gathering... nothing to worry about though, just a passing storm. Having disembarked again on the main island we set off in search of other information useful for organizing a blessed boat excursion, but without much success (it seems impossible that it should be so difficult!)...

Having arrived at the hotel we also ask the reception for help, but it's too late and it will only be discussed again tomorrow. For dinner, given the hyper-festive day, we find several places closed and we take refuge at Pizza Hut to consume a good plate of pasta... then off to bed: tomorrow we want to return to St. John, which, when it comes to beaches, has proven, today, to be a cut above its big sister, and we absolutely want to get there with the 9:00 ferry, so as to have much more time available... Thus, with the enchanting sea of Honeymoon Beach still in our eyes, we gently slip into the world of dreams.

The alarm clock rings even before 7:00, while the sun, which has been filtering through the curtains for a while, suggests another good day from a meteorological point of view. We promptly get ready to return to the island of St. John and, after leaving instructions at the reception to book the long-awaited excursion to Jost Van Dyke (let's hope for the best!), we head along the strip of asphalt that runs east and then towards Red Hook. Half an hour before 9:00 we are already in line on the pier facing the landing stage, in the company of some heavy vehicles and a few rare tourists, then, having passed the narrow stretch of sea that divides the two islands, we arrive at Cruz Bay, as expected, an hour earlier than yesterday (and we'll be able to return an hour later!).

As soon as we get off the ferry we take Road number 10, better known as Centerline Road, which crosses the entire territory passing, indeed, through the central heights, with the intention of reaching the extreme southeastern tip of St. John. We climb, one curve after another, to about three hundred meters of altitude, on the ridge of the island, crossing the verdant sub-tropical forest, which has literally erased the over one hundred sugar cane plantations that once characterized the place and, observing the stupendous panoramas that embrace in the distance the British Virgin Islands and the astonishing Drake's Channel, we arrive, descending again to sea level, in the tiny village of Coral Bay: the second urban agglomeration of St. John...

but I don't think there is a third! We avoid, in order not to waste precious time, reaching the extreme northeastern tip, which can be seen with the naked eye in the distance, where it seems the last Danish settlers still reside and instead of following East End Road we take Road number 107 which winds south of the town and, after numerous ups and downs along the coast, ends in what seems the most remote strip of land of St. John. We stop in a dirt parking lot, where other cars are already parked, and on foot we conquer the solitary Salt Pond Bay. The inlet, with calm and transparent sea, is not lined by the classic palms but by a low and sparse vegetation, which makes it lose a bit of exotic flavor, nevertheless one certainly cannot say it's ugly...

quite the contrary: we carve out a little patch of shade in which we leave the backpacks and immediately run to enjoy the classic, extraordinary, swims in crystalline water. On the left side of the bay there also appear to be some coral formations and, with Federico, I go exploring... indeed there is something, but nothing exciting (with the Red Sea in our eyes, moreover, it's not easy to satisfy our needs, though aware of the untenable comparison on the subject of seabeds). The sun is scorching and we have lunch holed up at the base of our little tree, then, on foot, I set off along the path that skirts the suggestive reddish Salt Pond and, crossing a promontory, I arrive at the sea in the agitated Drunk Bay.

I thus spend ten pleasant minutes of walking, immersed in nature, during which I can admire various species of succulents, among which numerous specimens of Cactus Intortus stand out, particularly curious due to the large red protuberance (on which the flowers sprout) that earned it, in the French Antilles, the name of "Cactus Testa d'Inglese" (English Head Cactus)... before now I had in fact encountered them only in Guadeloupe, on the island of La Desirade. On the way back, enthusiastic, I recommend the short trail also to Sabrina and Federico who, with pleasure, accept the suggestion and in turn set off along the path, while yours truly seeks the right refreshment in the sea.

Playing among the transparent waters of Salt Pond Bay it's almost 5:00 PM and we have to go: we collect two coconuts (which we'll open in the coming days) in a palm grove near Coral Bay, we cross the entire island again along Centerline Road, we stop to take a photo with the right light on Drake's Channel from the panoramic point called Coral View and we arrive at Cruz Bay right on time to board the 6:00 PM ferry. In the dark we return to the Carib Resort and for dinner we go out to Frenchtown (a suburb of Charlotte Amalie) where we dine at the Tuscan Grill, which offers good cuisine... but nothing to do with the sublime Tuscan culinary art. We thus close another good day at the sea, with the certainty of having found in St. John a little paradise within reach.

Having received confirmation from the reception that Thursday morning we'll go on the excursion to Jost Van Dyke (and for this an early rise will be necessary), we leave to spend a day in all tranquility in St. Thomas. We cross the island and go, on the northern coast, to Coral World: a marine and tropical park. Shortly after 9:00 we are in front of the entrance: we pay the ticket and pass the gate. Immediately, on our left, we encounter a tank housing several small sharks, then, after the so-called touch tank (in which one can touch some sea inhabitants), we enter a pavilion housing several aquariums, on which we briefly linger. When we go out a passing cloud drops a few harmless raindrops, while we begin to realize the mediocre substance of the park...

but the little one, this is the important thing, seems to appreciate it and, map in hand, guides us towards another series of aquariums (fortunately nicer than the first ones). After the necessary lapse of time we emerge again into the open air, with the sun meanwhile having returned to shine high in the sky, so we follow the "Tropical Nature Trail", inside a tiny tropical forest (really not much), and subsequently we reach the main attraction of the park: the Undersee Observatory. It's a building constructed in the middle of the sea, a few tens of meters from the shore, which is reached by means of a pier, from whose lower floors one can directly observe the underwater environment of the area... an experience all in all original.

There would also be the possibility of doing a sort of underwater trekking with the help of equipment, like a deep-sea diver's, made available by the park management... and the thing would have pleased Federico (and yours truly too), but all the excursions of the day are already booked and we have to give it up. So in a little over an hour we complete the visit of Coral World and immediately after we go, as everyone does, to the adjacent beach of Coki Beach. The stretch of sand, with very white sand and crystalline water, is stupendous, perhaps the most beautiful in St. Thomas, only, due to the proximity to the park, it's a real meat market... it feels like being in Sardinia in the middle of August! We settle in the part furthest from Coral World (there one can breathe) and enjoy the fantastic sea.

We also go exploring with mask and snorkel: the fish fauna is abundant, a little less so the coral one. We have lunch and also spend the whole afternoon at Coki Beach, where, for the first time since we left, we hear a few words of Italian spoken, from the lips of four kids probably disembarked from a cruise... in fact they too leave shortly before 4:00 PM, when the beach in a very short time empties... then yes it's nice, and we literally enjoy the place: we are not in a hurry (we don't even have to take the ferry) and we'll stay on the spot as long as the sun's presence allows us. In complete relaxation we take more swims in that magical fluid, until evening, when, after a scare for the presumed loss of fins and masks (erroneously collected by a local facing the beach, who rents them), we close the more than positive day at the sea and calmly return to the Carib Resort.

After getting properly ready we go out, as usual, for dinner and right after we return to the hotel (after all all the shops are closed and there's no other way to spend the evening)... it's preferable to rest and then get up early in the morning, so as to be able to enjoy as much as possible the day to come (especially if lived in the much quieter and wilder St. John).

Having also collected at the reception the departure point and the name of the boat with which we'll do, tomorrow, the excursion we head towards Red Hook. There's quite a bit of traffic this morning and we remain stuck for a long time around Charlotte Amalie, with the risk of missing the 9:00 ferry... fortunately then we make up for it in the last stretch of road and arrive at the landing stage in time to board the vessel. Half an hour later we are at Cruz Bay and, with a slightly veiled sky overhead, we head along the northern coast of St. John. We pass the Caneel Bay Resort and after a series of ups and downs we arrive, from above, in sight of Trunk Bay: a sublime strip of very white sand, lined by dense vegetation and washed by a stupendous turquoise sea... according to many the most beautiful beach in the world...

too bad only for the sun which, absent, doesn't properly ignite its incredible colors. We descend to the beach and access it by paying the required four dollars, because the stretch of sand is guarded and protected. We walk along the water's edge towards the part furthest away and presumably less crowded, skirting the sea which, despite the lack of a shining sun, releases its enchanting reflections, while a parade of verdant palms rises as a natural backdrop against the background of the blinding glow emanating from the candid and soft sand

I open my eyes even before the alarm goes off and watch the scheduled departure time from the hotel for the excursion pass by: no point in brooding, we've made our decision... A little later, when we go down for breakfast, I go to the reception with a banal excuse... of course, if only we spoke a bit better English all this probably wouldn't have happened... and promising ourselves, for the umpteenth time, to study as soon as we get home, we can set this day in motion too, whose programme has naturally been turned upside down. Mindful of the excessive crowding that characterises almost all the beaches of St. Thomas, we head again today towards Red Hook and then towards St. John.

While, on board the ferry, we sail across Pillsbury Sound, the stretch of sea that separates the two islands, we notice on the horizon big rain-laden clouds: the wind, which has changed the direction from which it blows (a bad sign in these parts), pushes them inexorably towards us and the weather conditions suddenly change... We let slip a few curses on the subject, but immediately pull ourselves together: on an excursion it would, in fact, have been much worse! When we arrive at St. John everything is in shadow, but we don't lose heart and go to the nearby Hawknest Bay, situated between Caneel and Trunk Bay, in the hope that sooner or later the good weather will return... Apparently more later than sooner, in fact it's not a good day and, after the initial illusion caused by a few timid rays of sun, it gets even worse...

It starts raining too and we take shelter under the dense vegetation, then it stops but the greyness continues to reign: what a shame, the place would be beautiful too. We approach midday while overhead the parade of cloud bodies continues and we can consider ourselves lucky because on St. Thomas, which we see on the horizon, the rain has been raging uninterruptedly for quite some time... Further east, however, you can see wide patches of clear sky and after lunch we leave Hawknest Bay, heading in precisely that direction, in search of a bit of sun. We pass Trunk Bay and Cinnamon Bay (which we'll visit in the coming days) and come in sight of the wide Maho Bay, which from a distance cuts a fine figure. The beach, as we hoped, is sunny and the sea calm, even if not wonderful, but we'll have to make do.

We enjoy a few swims and a few hours of sun, with the sky gradually clearing almost completely of clouds. The afternoon thus passes in a dignified manner and allows us to make up for the outcome of a not exactly positive day, which nevertheless manages to cloud over again before evening, when on the way back to the hotel the sky almost completely covers over, making us worry about the next day too. We go out for dinner in Frenchtown and finally eat good fish, while the stars shine high in the sky, confirming the extreme variability of the weather, which we hope will settle down as soon as possible.

The sun is shining and, by now in love with St. John, we set off again this morning in the direction of Red Hook... We risk being monotonous but, over the course of the holiday, we were counting on going a few times to the little islands around St. Thomas too, certain that there was a boat service... instead there isn't (apart from Water Island, which doesn't convince us though, because of its closeness to the port), or we haven't found the right channels, because this disorganization seems rather strange... Be that as it may, we have to "make do" and, as happens now daily, we find ourselves on the ferry crossing Pillsbury Sound, while, exactly like yesterday, the first big grey clouds appear punctually on the horizon...

it's a curse! Once we reach Cruz Bay we head along the coastal road and in a short while we arrive at Cinnamon Bay, with the sun that, hidden behind the clouds, every now and then peeks out. Something has changed in the last two days, now the wind blows from the north-east and no longer from the south-east... the result: hateful cloud cover and slightly choppy sea, at the expense of the transparency of the water, which, nevertheless, when the sun filters through shows its delightful greenish-blue reflections. Cinnamon Bay, equally beautiful, would be enchanting with optimal weather conditions... we console ourselves by looking, in the distance, at St. Thomas, over which the bad weather rages without respite, while here at least it isn't raining and every now and then a furtive sun even delights us with its presence, giving us the opportunity to enjoy a few pleasant swims.

We have lunch, we treat ourselves to a good coconut and let time slip away, during which I also go exploring with mask and snorkel on the nearby Cinnamon Cay: a few fish and some isolated corals... an experience neither fish nor fowl. Shortly after 4:00 pm, finally, the sun disc comes out completely into the open and still burns on the skin. We thus enjoy almost an hour of this new, pleasant situation and then we have to go so as not to risk missing the ferry... which instead leaves later than usual and we end up disembarking at St. Thomas in total darkness. We have dinner at the Green House and right afterwards we go back to the room because tomorrow morning the alarm is set earlier than usual, to go to Jost Van Dyke... trusting, hopefully, in the clemency of the weather.

6:30 am: the alarm goes off. Still sleepy I get up and go to pull back the curtains: the usual big, irritating clouds appear on the horizon. I go back between the sheets to sleep a little longer... this Jost Van Dyke really doesn't want to let itself be seen! We get up calmly and after breakfast, irony of fate, the sky opens up and the good weather comes out, with the wind that seems to have gone back to blowing from the right direction too! Obviously, having by now ascertained the characteristics and quality of the two islands, we set off for St. John again today too, despite the complaints of the little one, who is beginning to tire of the inevitable ferry. It's Saturday and there's a lot less local traffic, so the vessel, which waits in vain to fill up, leaves very late and we arrive at Cruz Bay when it's almost 10:00.

We follow the whole coastal road and arrive at the Annaberg Plantation: a historic site, where the ruins are found, dating back to the early nineteenth century, of the mill, the warehouse and the huts in which the slaves engaged in sugar cane processing lived. The site, in and of itself, wouldn't be anything exceptional, if it weren't for its spectacular panoramic position dominating the view over the enchanting Leinster Bay, with its incredible colors and endless shades, which make it resemble a Van Gogh painting, but not suitable for swimming because of its shallow water level. We enjoy the landscape a bit and then go to the beach at the nearby Francis Bay, which isn't lined with palms but is characterized by a beautiful blue and transparent sea that looks like a swimming pool...

there, naturally, we set up our "base camp" and, just to start, we run into the water to take an endless swim. The weather conditions, in spite of the clouds of the early morning, today are the best one could wish for and time flies, so after lunch I go, with Federico, to walk a stretch of the Francis Bay Trail, a path that winds between the vegetation and a lagoon behind the beach. Nothing special, but we observe the burrows of some big land crabs and impressive termite mounds on the trees, then the buzzing of the mosquitoes makes us give up on the walk we'd started. On the way back we dedicate ourselves to snorkeling and go exploring on the rocky coast to the left of the bay: we observe a small barracuda and I slightly hurt my shoulder bumping into a coral... just a scratch, but as usual it will take a long time to heal.

The afternoon passes pleasantly and it's time to leave Francis Bay in the blink of an eye. We make our way back to Cruz Bay and board the ferry which, half empty, arrives at St. Thomas with the sun already having set below the horizon some time ago. The Carib Resort, as we have amply ascertained, is not in a happy position with respect to the points of greatest interest and we reach it in complete darkness... it gets later and later and we end up finishing dinner when it's almost 10:00 pm... it doesn't matter much, because alternatively there's nothing else to do. After a couple of not exactly special days we thus put an end to an excellent day... Much less good is the outcome of this April 2 for His Holiness, Pope John Paul II, who (we learn from the special edition of CNN) has passed away... peace to his soul... and good night to all of us.

The alarm goes off again at 6:30: not much light filters through the gaps in the curtains. I get up and look out the window: the usual big clouds are on the horizon, but, defying adversity, we decide to go to Jost Van Dyke anyway, because this is the last chance we have left to do it. Hoping the weather improves we have a skimpy breakfast in the room (at the Carib Resort they don't serve it before 7:00) and head in the direction of Red Hook. Twenty minutes before 8:00 we thus arrive near the port, park the car and start searching for the right vessel: we find it, buy the tickets and while we're about to board a violent storm breaks out... our confidence, however, remains intact, because in the distance broad patches of clear blue sky stand out. We set off and a handful of minutes later we disembark at... St. John, with Federico extremely worried about having gotten on the wrong boat.

In part, in fact, he's right, because we're transferred onto another one and with that one, finally, we set off for Jost Van Dyke. In a little more than half an hour we thus cross an invisible border line and enter the British Virgin Islands, which, much more numerous than their American sisters, are politically a colony of the British Crown. We will visit only one of them, Jost Van Dyke, indeed (the others, perhaps, on another trip). The island, which has an area of barely eight square kilometers, owes its name to the homonymous Dutch pirate, who occupied it in the seventeenth century, and has a population of barely 130 inhabitants. When we arrive in the capital, Great Harbour (which is anything but "great"), it's raining, but we continue to be confident.

Once the modest customs formalities are completed and we've set foot on land, we hire a taxi driver to take us to the well-known White Bay, basically the only beach on the island. We take a road, the only paved one in the place, which ventures along the coast with very steep gradients and we reach a height, with the engine of the decrepit vehicle we're traveling in completely redlined: the driver, not at all intimidated by the situation, points out to us the spectacular panorama over the bay below, which stands out, despite the absence of the sun. We descend in a "nosedive" onto White Bay and when we set foot on the sand the sun floods it wonderfully with light. We settle under the palms and, infinitely far from our daily life, we literally enjoy the place, then, before midday, I also go exploring with mask and snorkel on the coral bank offshore from the beach...

it's a veritable paradise: brain corals, staghorn corals, gorgonians (fan corals) and myriads of fish of every shape and color, surely the best snorkeling spot of the whole trip. I linger a long time among these wonders, then return to shore and take Federico to the same spot, to let him enjoy the same emotions. We have lunch while the New Horizon arrives, having already visited three other islands: it stops for half an hour (no more) and immediately sets off again... absurd, we don't share that kind of "hit and run" tourism at all!... But time, unfortunately, flies for us too and soon 2:30 pm arrives: the time set for the return. After having waited with a bit of apprehension for the arrival of the taxi driver with whom we had previously made arrangements, we return to the port and a few minutes after 3:00 pm we leave Jost Van Dyke and its wonderful White Bay. We arrive again at St.

John, where we have to complete, this time, the customs formalities for re-entry into the United States... not exactly formalities: the customs officer finds a quibble and nails us to the counter for a good half hour filling out forms (but how many useless complications in American methods and how little mental flexibility on the part of the customs officers!). The boat loses time along with us, with the vessel's operator who, fortunately, comes to our aid (at least she was kind). When we finally get back on board all the passengers' eyes are on us and I try to lighten the mood by saying out loud: "We are Italian terrorist!"... someone understands and hints a smile, someone else doesn't, and we set off very late towards St. Thomas.

We disembark at Red Hook in the late afternoon and go to enjoy the last rays of sun at Coki Beach, but we don't stay there long because Sabrina, struck for a few days by an enigmatic skin rash or by an infinity of annoying insect bites (invisible as they are ravenous), has the impression of being attacked and, frightened, prefers to return to the hotel. Calmly we can thus prepare to go out for dinner: the place we wanted to go to is closed and we fall back on the Green House, then we return to the room to recall the numerous positive aspects of a day that, in many ways, was also troubled... but the holiday is almost at its end and, on the whole, its foregone good outcome now prevails over any isolated event with less brilliant nuances.

It's the last day of vacation in the U.S. Virgin Islands and we decide to spend it at the undoubtedly most beautiful beach: Trunk Bay on St. John. More creatures of habit than ever we wake up, as usual, in time to manage to catch the ferry departing at 9:00 from Red Hook and already before 10:00 we are blissfully "lazing" at the southwestern end of the cove. The sea is a little choppier than the first time, slightly at the expense of the transparency of the water, but it's a bit like looking for a flaw in Miss World: Trunk Bay is a spectacle and its colors are incomparable... the parade of palms behind it then completes the admirable tropical picture. Completely immersed in this setting we carefree enjoy the morning taking countless swims, then with Federico, I go to finish the underwater photos...

always watched over by the ever-present ranger who stands out, dressed in red, with the surfboard and the cowboy hat on his head, against the blue of the sea. We have lunch and then spend the whole afternoon too in complete idleness: it's needless to say that one is divinely well, among other things the cruise ships anchored in port today are really few and, consequently, the crowding is pleasantly scarce. However, 5:00 pm also comes and, with regret, we have to leave the place: bye... or rather, see you again enchanting Trunk Bay. We leave behind yet another little piece of our heart, while on the sand, in the warm light of the late afternoon, a wedding is even taking place: a man, a woman, a priest, a photographer and two guests... a little further on, on a table, a small cake, two glasses and a bottle of champagne...

these Americans are incredible! We arrive at Cruz Bay and, sipping a piña colada on board the ferry, while waiting to set sail for the last time, we prepare to bid farewell to St. John too, probably one of the most beautiful islands in the Caribbean. We arrive at St. Thomas in darkness and run to the hotel. We tidy ourselves up properly and have dinner, to the delight of the little one, at Pizza Hut, then we return to the room to sort out the suitcases, because tomorrow the long and tiring journey back to Italy awaits us.

We get out of bed with less haste than usual: there's no ferry to catch for St. John, on the other hand the plane that will kick off our return journey to the Bel Paese awaits us. We have breakfast and then, with our towels, we go to enjoy the last warm rays of Caribbean sun on the edges of the small pool of the Best Western Carib Resort... but 10:00 comes quickly and we have to go back to the room to take a shower, have a snack and close the suitcases. Shortly before 11:00 we settle the bill, return the keys and leave the hotel, which has worthily performed its role, then, a minute later, we present ourselves in front of the Cyril E. King international airport of St. Thomas. We hand over the rental car, the legendary Kia Rio, with which on two tiny islands we covered a good 375 miles (600 kilometers), and we get in line to check in the luggage.

Fortunately (if it's true) they send the suitcases directly to Bologna... and with this weight less, mindful of the outbound journey, we begin our adventure. We pass all the laborious checks, including the obligation to witness the opening and searching of one of our two suitcases, and in the end we land like true victors in the departure lounge. From here, a little later, through door number 3, we board the American Airlines Boeing 757, which, identified as flight AA 412, at 13:16, almost perfectly on time, takes off with destination JFK airport in New York. We climb in altitude and in a short while St. Thomas is at our feet with, clearly visible, Charlotte Amalie bay and Water Island... then only sea and muffled clouds along the route.

We land at JFK at 16:58 and get off the plane with the nightmare of managing to catch, in the skimpy hour at our disposal, the next flight to Brussels, so when we realize we've disembarked at gate 48 (with the tickets already in hand) and that we have to board, without further checks, at gate 46, in an airport as big as a city, we can't believe it and, incredulous, we ask for confirmation at the information desk. In the end we find ourselves with plenty of extra time at our disposal and we even find a way to spend the last few leftover dollar coins, then we board flight AA 172 and after an endless line on the runway for takeoff, with ahead of us, in the distance, the skyline of the Manhattan skyscrapers, the American Airlines Boeing 767 lifts off the ground, immediately banking in the direction of Europe.

It's a pity that the evening lights have already taken over and the skyscrapers are now in darkness, on the other hand the warm tones of the sunset wonderfully flood with color the mouth of the Hudson River, which flows beneath us. We climb back up the coast of New Jersey, now dotted with so many small artificial lights, then we leave America behind us and begin to fly over the ocean... I synchronize my watch to the arrival time zone and in an instant it's...

We make our way through the Atlantic night and manage to sleep a little too, then dawn begins to break. It's a morning full of clouds in Europe: we begin to descend in altitude and enter the thick white blanket beneath us... When we emerge from it the checkerboard of the Belgian countryside appears and shortly after, slightly late, at 8:12 (local and Italian time) we land at Brussels airport. Everything goes smoothly: we find the right terminal and the right gate, so we board flight SN 3123 too, an Avro RJ 100 (we had never taken this type of aircraft before), of Brussels Airlines (formerly Sabena), which takes off perfectly on time for Bologna.

We climb again above the clouds, which then gradually dissolve, we fly over the snow-covered Alps (and it's striking to see so much ice on the way back from the tropics), then we begin the final descent and touch down at Bologna's Marconi airport at 11:11, well ahead of the scheduled time. We collect the suitcases and so it's we who have to wait for the arrival of the grandparents, who, as usual, have come to pick us up. The wait is short and shortly afterwards they show up: we greet them and set off on the way home chatting about this and that, but above all about the trip and the passing of the Pope. At 12:30 we're in Faenza and a little later, at 12:43, we happily conclude this trip too. What can one say about the U.S.

Virgin Islands, the "Stars and Stripes Caribbean": we particularly love this geographic area, as well as the States, but the union of the two things, perhaps, isn't the happiest. In essence the American way of life, applied to these places, has somewhat diminished and taken away the flavor of the Caribbean environment as we understand it. St. Thomas especially is penalized, with its immense residences, the fast-foods, the duty-free shops, the colossal cruise ships and the inevitable chaos that derives from all of this. St. John is a separate matter, more genuine, and fortunately easily reachable: thanks to its National Park, which occupies almost all of it, it's a little tropical paradise and by itself it has meant that even the one just concluded has been a wonderful trip.