Our lady
in the Caribbean

On a gloomy, drizzly day in September 1995, I entered a small shop in Cruz Bay, St. John. Hurricane Marilyn had just swept through the U.S. Virgin Islands, wreaking havoc in a devastating two-day rampage before moving on to deliver her wrath further north.

There was one other person in the store: the owner. 

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.

I told her I was a reporter for Travel Weekly and was there to cover the storm and its aftermath.

“We’ve got no tourism now,” she said. “Look at this place, these islands.”

I had been looking, ever since I’d managed to snag the last seat on a flight from New York to St. Thomas full of nervous travelers headed to see if their vacation homes, businesses and boats had survived the storm. They feared the worst. 

“It ain’t gonna look good down there,” said my seatmate, an insurance agent for a hotel in St. Thomas.

On arrival, customs agents informed me that only owners, insurance agents and FEMA workers were allowed on the island. My new insurance friend stepped in. “She’s with me. She’s my assistant.”

He was staying at Sugar Bay Resort, one of the few open properties. Rik Blyth, general manager at the time, was in the driveway as we arrived, directing the cleanup and sorting out which rooms were salvageable for occupancy.

We knew each other from conferences and interviews, and he gave me a warm welcome, although he was most surprised to see me. Blyth said I could stay for one night because the room was needed for recovery workers arriving the next day. There was no power at the resort and certainly no food and beverage services, he warned. “And the rug in your room is wet.” 

It definitely was not the most comfortable night I’d ever spent in the Caribbean, but I was grateful to have a bed for my head. 

I spent the morning taking photos and talking to anyone I could find before hitching a ride on a freight ferry to St. John, where I spent the night in an empty apartment in a mostly vacant condo building that had seen better days. Later, a park ranger would offer me a ride on a National Park Service boat back to the airport in St. Thomas.

That trip is but one of so many examples of the friendliness, warm welcomes and hospitality extended to me by the people of the Caribbean who I have encountered in one form or another on every island I have visited, toured, explored, written about and reported on in my 37 years covering the region for Travel Weekly.

Although the Caribbean region stretches more than 1,000 miles from the Bahamas in the north to Bonaire in the south and 2,500 miles east to west, only 2% of the region, or approximately 32 countries, is inhabited. I’ve been to around 50 of the region’s thousands of islands, on hundreds of flights, some on airlines that no longer exist, like Northeast, Braniff, Pan Am, Eastern.

My first Caribbean assignment for Travel Weekly was a Caribbean Tourism Organization event in San Juan. I’ve visited Cuba, the largest island, several times but never the smallest, 5-square-mile Saba. 

And as I step back from regular reporting and writing about the region for Travel Weekly, I still have a wish list of places where I want to leave my footprint in the sand.

Travel has grown and evolved ...

In 37 years, I’ve seen changes in every aspect of travel, from handwritten airline tickets and paper boarding passes to QR codes on cellphones (my first mobile phone was the size of a small refrigerator). From dress codes on flights that ranged from fashionable to questionable (when did pajama bottoms and fuzzy slippers become OK?). From hot in-flight meals, even in economy, to a package of cookies ( although I do love the Biscoff cookies on American).

What has not changed is the spirit and resilience of the Caribbean people who have endured good times and bad, with floods, volcanic eruptions, political upheavals and pandemics. I’ve covered many natural disasters along the way: Hurricanes Ivan in Grand Cayman in 2004, Dorian in the Abacos and Grand Bahama in 2019 and the wild 2017 season when Irma and Maria dovetailed, cutting a swath of destruction through six islands.

I was sitting in a hotel room during the annual Caribbean Hotel and Tourism Association (CHTA) Marketplace in San Juan around 5 p.m. on Jan. 12, 2010, when a distant rumble and vibration knocked a small painting off the wall and momentarily blacked out my laptop screen. It was the 7-magnitude Haiti earthquake that leveled much of the capital city of Port-au-Prince, 400 miles to the west.

As happens with many disasters, this one spurred the travel industry into quick action. By the next morning, company representatives attending the CHTA event had organized medical and food supply flights and started
fundraising initiatives for disaster relief. Tour operators vowed to return with visitors when the time was right.

... and so has the region

Tourism in the Caribbean has also grown and prospered in the years I’ve covered it, with the Dominican Republic opening tourist areas in places like Punta Cana, Puerto Plata and La Romana over the past 20 years; Jamaica seeing major hotel brands like Playa, Hyatt and Sandals plant their flags; and the smaller Out Islands of the Bahamas becoming add-ons to Nassau and Freeport vacations and then destinations in their own right. 

The growth and diversity of the Caribbean hotel sector over the years has been eye-opening to me.

I’ve stayed in sprawling resorts where golf carts equipped with GPS helped me navigate from room to sand; in city hotels where business meetings replaced beach gatherings; and in charming, cottage-style accommodations on small islands with sand roads and beach shacks serving rum drinks and conch salads. 

All-inclusive resorts have come a long way since Club Med was introduced in Europe by Belgian entrepreneur Gerard Blitz in the 1950s and then spread to the Caribbean in the late ’60s.

My husband and I honeymooned at the Guadeloupe Club Med in 1975. The accommodations were basic, the crowd was party-hearty and as newlyweds we were a bit of an anomaly. And we had a blast.

The floodgates and interest in the all-inclusive business model began to open after legendary Sandals founder Butch Stewart opened his flagship Sandals Montego Bay in 1981 and continued to raise the bar as his brand expanded to more Caribbean destinations. Other hotel companies took note, and the pace of development picked up as the all-inclusive business model began permeating brands including Hilton, Wyndham, Marriott and Hyatt.

I returned to Club Med La Caravelle in Guadeloupe in 2007, and except for the wide beach that curved around the bay, nothing was the same as it was in 1975. A top-to-bottom, $30 million overhaul updated and expanded the property, giving it high-tech guestrooms. Adults and kids were flying high on a trapeze, couples basked in lounge chairs with sunscreen (still not mainstream in the ’70s) and listening to iPods. Families walked the grounds with babies in strollers.

Luxury ain’t what it used to be

What passed as “luxury” even 10 years ago would no longer be very impressive. Such amenities have moved well beyond towel art, rose petals in the bathwater, butlers and infinity-edge pools.

Nowadays, luxe means soaking tubs on private balconies, over-the-water bungalows and enormous showers with rainfall showerheads as well as private outdoor showers and TVs that rise from the foot of the bed for viewing but then descend to enable views of the sea beyond. 

Beaches and pools offer large private cabanas and massage tables. Restaurants have vegan menus and wine and rum tastings, and cooking classes with celebrated chefs are expected. Lobbies no longer resemble lobbies, and check-in is done in guestrooms or suites. Wellness treatments incorporate programs tailored to an individual. Activities include environmental hikes, and there are many more watersports to choose from. WiFi, once a novelty, has to be strong and complimentary. 

“The best part of working here is meeting new friends and then seeing old ones return,” Marksun, the head gardener at the two Sandals resorts in Barbados, told me in 2018. He remembered me from an earlier visit. 

I asked him then what changes he’d seen in his years on the island, in the community, on the job. 

“Too many looking at their phones and not at the beauty around them,” he said. “I’ve traveled some, and there’s so much here in these islands. People got to get out and see it.”

Marksun died a couple of years ago, but I’ve never forgotten what he said. Little did he know how prophetic his words were. “Getting out and seeing” has given rise to tourism niches incorporating heritage, culture, wellness, adventure, cuisine, sports, revenge travel, regenerative travel and, of course, voluntourism.

On a beach in Punta Cana a few years ago, I spotted a tourist talking animatedly with a beach vendor. I assumed they were settling on the price of a bottle of mamajuana (a typical Dominican drink made from a blend of rum, wine, honey, herbs and barks) or a Macanudo cigar.

I saw them again, a couple hours later, each holding a bulging plastic garbage bag. Andy, the tourist from Pennsylvania, told me his hobby at home is “plogging” — an activity that combines running and trash collection — and he wanted to do it in the D.R.

“It’s where I go around and pick up litter,” Andy said. “So I asked Jose here where to go, and Jose took me to his neighborhood and we both plogged until our bags were full.”

Maybe that fits under the real sustainable tourism category of travel.

The increase in the use of and appreciation for travel advisors, once thought of as a dying art as online travel sites proliferated, continues today. The past two years of Covid with its closures, cancellations, chaos and ever-changing regulations put many agents to the acid test.

They may be battle-scarred survivors now, but most proved their mettle and garnered respect among new and returning clients.

“It’s been interesting to say the least to try and sell travel during a pandemic,” Robin Brengle, a St. Charles, Mo.-based travel advisor franchisee with Cruise Planners, told me in February as the omicron variant was surging.“Nothing has been as devastating as Covid, and we’ve been through it all from SARS to hurricanes, volcanic eruptions and 9/11.”

My next destination

I’ve never met an island I didn’t like, but there are islands I really love, where I could see myself as a digital nomad if someone could act as my tech expert. Perhaps it will be Bequia, at 7 square miles the largest of the 32-island archipelago that makes up St. Vincent and the Grenadines. It’s my kind of place: Nothing much happens there, it’s still a sleepy island and has an “old Caribbean” feel. Same for those Bahamas Out Islands like Harbor Island, San Salvadore, Andros, Kamalame Cay, Staniel Cay and Abaco. Then there’s Vieques and Culebra in Puerto Rico, and Ambergris Cay in Turks and Caicos. 

Oh, but I also love the colors of Curacao, the vibe of Jamaica, the history of Montserrat, the rhythms of Cuba and the chatter of women in markets and the lilt of children at play on every island.

Although I’m stepping back as Travel Weekly’s Caribbean beat reporter, it’s a bittersweet decision (though you’ll still see my byline here from time to time). I just renewed my passport, and my flip-flops, earrings (see accompanying story) and reporter’s notebook will always be at the ready.

As Dr. Seuss wrote: “Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.”

It’s been a wild ride thus far.

What these eyes have seen, these ears have worn

Over the years, my earrings became my trademark fashion accessory. I’ve been eyeing them, buying them and collecting them throughout my travels in the Caribbean. 

I set a low bar in terms of tacky vs. classy and plastic vs. silver or gold. Vendors’ stalls on the beaches, the markets in towns and sometimes small souvenir shops unearthed great finds. When I’d depleted the stock of colorful, bright (usually large) baubles, I resorted to island keychains, which I’d disassemble, insert a hook (or glue one on) and wear my newest treasure that very day. 

From my ears have dangled bananas, pineapples, baskets of flowers, sandals, dolphins, flip-flops, miniature cigars, Red Stripe bottle caps, Mount Gay rum bottles, birds, guitars, steel pan drums, alligators, palm trees, lobsters, straw hats and my latest acquisition, a set of lionfish gill earrings from the Bahamas. 

My collection numbers over 200 pairs, but there is one pair I never travel without. I wear them on every flight. They are my “good luck ladies,” purchased long ago from I don’t know where. I once wrote a poem about them, and here’s what I had to say:

I fly a lot over many miles. 
What dangles from my ears brings many smiles.
They’re little ladies in native dress
from who knows where, it’s anyone’s guess.
On every flight, they are a part of me
just like my passport and cup of tea.
They bring me luck and they bring me home
wherever I go, wherever I roam.
No trip is complete without my ladies.
I would not travel without them.
Superstitious I am, but they bring me luck
versus canceled flights and very much mayhem.
If you see me in an airport, I think you’ll know
I’m headed for somewhere with my ladies in tow.
Just look at my ears and you will know
I’m in safe hands and away I go!