British Virgin Islands

British? Here? Not a bloody jot and barely a tittle.

Oh, you have the Pusser's Road Town Pub, purveying the rum that fueled the British navy long ago. And there's the Best of British Shop for tins of pudding and wee biscuits.

But otherwise, Tortola is very Caribbean, from the calypso patois of longtime residents,to the brilliant blue of the water that surrounds it. The British Virgins are much like the U.S. Virgins but slightly more virginal. Yet, the style is untucked and breezy, rather than stiff upper lip.

For visiting American wallets, that similarity represents a definite advantage. Here, Washington, Lincoln, Jackson and Ben Franklin rule, monetarily speaking. No extra-strength pounds sterling to lug around and dole out incessantly, as in most of the United Kingdom.

The weak but lovable dollar is accepted as a matter of convenience here, just as the vehicles come equipped with steering wheels on the left, even though traffic creeps along on the wrong side of the road. That way, a used island SUV could be sold in Florida.

"No, no, no. It's not like British here," declared tour guide Glenroy Tobin, as the two of us rode in his 15-passenger van up, down and around the hills and mountains of Tortola. "We see a lot more people from the States than from England."

Still, and this is not just a technicality, the British Virgin Islands are a British territory, and Tortola — at 10 square miles the largest of the 36 islands — is the seat of British Virgin Islands government.

In Road Town, the main city for what most people around here call BVI, the Supreme Court and Legislature convene in a dignified building just a few yards from the high school. As his van plunged down a hill on the island's east side, Tobin pointed out a large, green-roofed complex on another hill. "That is the prison," he said.

Not that the BVI are full of troublemakers. The main islands — Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Jost Van Dyke and Anegada — are quite serene. About 17,000 of the BVI's 22,000 people live on Tortola, which makes for a lot of solitude.

Road Town and scattered bars around Tortola's perimeter provide what noise there is on that island. Boom boxes and occasional live bands fill the air with calypso and reggae stylings, fungi (odd instrument) rhythms and Greater Antilles energy ("hot-hot-hot!").

I finally did meet a British subject on the top of Sage Mountain, Tortola's highest peak at 1,780 feet above the ocean. Jim Cullimore owns the Mountain View Restaurant up there and has lived on Tortola for 26 of his 55 years.

Before settling down in the BVI, Cullimore visited 68 countries, many of those as a ship's cook for the British Navy. He also supervised a kitchen serving researchers in Antarctica during what he swears were "the best two years of my life." He even conducts occasional Antarctica slide shows for customers who might be feeling a bit too hot-hot-hot.

The past 26 years haven't been so bad for Cullimore either, because he has become an enthusiastic Virgin Islands booster. "In the Caribbean, we're in an ideal situation," he told Tobin and me after we had finished succulent lobster sandwiches. "We're a stable region with stable governments. The currency is the same, the language is the same. And, actually, Americans aren't that far from home — three or four hours on a plane.

"It's a great region of the world for tourism. And I think we're going to benefit from the exchange rate and the lack of destinations available this year."

On the TV above the bar, CNN broadcast the latest news of the tsunami devastation and the war in Iraq. But Cullimore's remarks came more in the spirit of thankfulness for the gentle nature of his own home than any gloating about reduced competition for the tourist dollar.

"There's very little crime here and no discrimination of any kind," he said. "The kids are looked after. When I'm out in my truck, I pick up kids all the time and take them to school. There's no concern about that here. Everyone knows that children are our greatest asset." He gestured toward the television set and all the bad news coming out of it. "Just think of it — at least 50,000 children gone. It's such a tragedy."

Tobin, 33, stands 6 feet 9 inches and weighs 300 pounds. He said he hopes little acts of kindness will help him get over the sense of guilt at having so easily avoided the world's trouble spots. "I have never been to the States," he said. "I have stayed here all my life."

I chose to stay at the Sugar Mill resort on Apple Bay, where a succession of beaches line Tortola's north shore and vacationers enjoy a pleasant view of neighboring Jost Van Dyke.

At the Sugar Mill, there's no shortage of guilt-inducing luxuries. On a Monday evening, owners Jinx and Jeff Morgan threw a poolside cocktail party for the guests. The Morgans contribute to food publications, including Bon Appetit, so it was no surprise that the canapes proved to be exquisite little pastries filled with cream cheese and salmon or delicate shrimp.

The following morning I visited the remains of a 365-year-old rum distillery, and it turned out to be more practical than romantic. Freighters deliver supplies in massive containers. And cruise ships bring passengers looking for a good time.

While European cruisers milled about the shops and vendors' tents near the cruise ship dock, I walked several blocks — dodging traffic at every intersection — until I found the Joseph Reynolds O'Neal Botanic Gardens.

Although its neighbors include the main police station and a car dealership, the gardens shut out most of the Road Town hubbub, and I had the four acres nearly all to myself. The only other visitors were a couple who explored the grounds while their son played with a Game Boy on a bench near the entrance.

Except for the faint rattle of giant ferns and some crowing from the ubiquitous BVI roosters in nearby yards, I found in the botanic gardens the peace and solitude that other parts of Tortola offer in abundance.

At Apple Bay, for instance, I could stroll down the hill from my room, cross the road and find a peaceful pie-slice-shaped beach and an ocean lagoon protected by a natural reef from the pounding waves. Because the Sugar Mill property once was part of the Appleby plantation, the bay got the Apple designation.

Other popular beach names also refrain from flights of imagination. Long Bay is a mile long. Cane Garden Bay and Brewers Bay probably refer to the sugar and rum production of yore, although rum is distilled, not brewed.

So I could get a better look at bays and beaches, Tobin drove me up to another mountain peak and a restaurant/observation deck called Skyworld. From there, I could see quite a few other Virgin Islands, big and small, U.S. and British. When the passing clouds cleared for a moment, the little lumps of volcano-formed land appeared to be patches of green suspended in the air: Water and sky matched perfectly.

Far below, anchored in Road Bay, I could make out the Queen Mary 2, which is far too large for the Tortola cruise dock. The ship probably floated higher in the water than usual at the time, because scores of QM2 passengers, wearing green or red identification stickers, queued up at the Skyworld bar for a complimentary beverage. They scoped the view from the sky deck or posed for pictures with a man and his donkey. So did I, until...

"Let's go," Tobin urged, and we moved on to less crowded sites — past brightly tinted houses stuck improbably on steep hillsides. A long, brilliant mural graced a wall along one road. "It shows the way people here lived — all the way back to the slave days," he said, "and it celebrates our emancipation."

Before that emancipation happened, early in the 19th century, the islands had first been settled by natives who were ousted in turn by the fierce Caribs. The Caribs were on hand in 1493, when Christopher Columbus came upon the islands and named them Santa Ursula y las Once Mil Virgenes. They reminded him of the story of St. Ursula and the 11,000 virgins.

By the late 16th century, Spanish invaders gained full control of Tortola. Later came pirate bands and buccaneers. In the 17th century, the brigands were no match for determined English planters. Their cane harvesting and rum-distilling enterprises prospered for more than 100 years, but rapidly declined after slavery was abolished.

As the van drew close to Road Town, Tobin announced, "That is the end of the tour. Did you enjoy it? Really? I won't be happy if you didn't enjoy it."

I assured him I did enjoy the tour. I paid the $80 ($20 extra for driving me all the way back to Apple Bay) and wished him well.

That evening, just before dark, I remembered I hadn't yet visited Bomba's Surfside Shack. I decided to go there for happy hour and take some pictures before the light was gone. It was a live-band night, which happens every Wednesday and Sunday evening and anytime there's a full moon. But my long trip home would be starting at 6 the next morning, so I couldn't stay for that.

Instead, I would have a drink and do a little photography. Bomba's Surfside Shack is a Caribbean legend, truly a shack that's apparently held together by old license plates, graffiti-covered surf boards, ancient toilet seats, tattered business cards and crudely lettered signboards. "It looks as if everything that ever washed ashore has stuck to it," one Sugar Mill guest remarked.

Bomba's isn't that far from the Sugar Mill, maybe half a mile. I hobbled along the road on my bad hip, skirting puddles, cow cakes and a couple of barking dogs.

No sidewalks were evident, and in certain places, even the shoulder disappeared.

A horn honked behind me, and I cringed — afraid the vehicle might catch my elbow as it sped past. The large van passed without taking my arm with it. Then it stopped and backed up. It was Tobin. He waved an arm and insisted I ride with him for the few hundred yards I had left.

"Going to Bomba's?" he asked. I smiled and nodded. "Good choice," Tobin said. He stopped in front, we brushed knuckles and he drove off, probably to pick up another friend.

By: Twincities