In other words, they are so uncrowded, private even, clean, clear, pristine, you feel as if you own them. Such a feeling is marvelous and, depending on your beach experience, unprecedented. Thanks US Navy for keeping people away for so long! Who knows how much longer this will be, Vieques is no secret, nor a difficult trip (from the East Coast). The W just built a spa, the real estate is not cheap, and yet, it still feels renegade and unbesmirched.
Bahía de la Chiva
© 2010 bridget batch
We bounced over the barely functional 4 wheel drive tracks and landed at Punto Arenas beach on the north side, Atlantic Oceanfront property. We then parked the car in a little pullout facing the water, but surrounded by the forest. That's how they do beach in Vieques, you get a private driveway that fits one car. The next one is way down, invisible around some bend. Walk 2 feet and the beach is yours. The water was gentle, sheltered by the island of Culebra just a couple miles away. I spread out my towel and removed my bikini top enjoying the freedom involved in having no one to offend.
The last point along Bahía de la Chiva (Blue Beach) won whatever contest we were conducting to name our favorite beach. It's on the Caribbean coast, at the end of the one road into the eastern side of the island, a National Wildlife Refuge that used to be littered with bombs. The clean-up effort continues and civilians can't access maybe half of the island. Some bunkers covered in greenery rot over on the western end, but the jungle is working to claim them and their roads. One does not think of the Navy while sitting on the beach.
Just one little vestige of the Naval occupation remains, well, two if you're count the dramatically high cancer rate. Near those bunkers, a radar installation is marked as a no-go zone on the map. Our discounted jeep from Martineau Car Rental overheated next to a bunker covered in flowering vines. Just don't do it, do not rent from Martineau, don't drive around abandoned roads in one of their cars, and don't drive up to US military stations hidden in the jungle.
But, after the Jeep cooled, Kevin, completely unfazed by the stench and pouring smoke, pressed on. Wandering the roads over barely inhabited hills as the sun set, he, of course, found the radar station. Before we even parked, the radar station also found us. An overlit pick-up was speeding over to the chain-link gate on the road. I didn't see any radar facility, both of us just put our hands up and jumped back into the Jeep. It started and Kevin peeled out, up another hill.
The sun had set now, but the sky was still blue, a few fireflies dotted the dusk and the jungle was loud. Nothing was out here but a paranoid security guard to the left, trees, vines and a lot of razor wire-covered fencing. At the top of the hill the car started pouring out smoke again so we got out and started photographing. I changed into a little black outfit to try and make a "Spirit" picture from my new project. The mosquitoes launched a full-scale assault and I muttered my gratitude to American sanitation and its successful banishment of malaria.
Someone had made a large stencil of some words in the road.
AQUI
NOS DA
LOS QUE
-OS
The last bit looked like "MOS" but the first letter or letters were worn off. I walked around and tried to figure out what it said, and why. Nothing human-made resided near us, except the razorwire. Dios seemed the obvious candidate. Six years of studying it and yet my Spanish is feeble. Despite the heat and mosquito bites I felt chilled. Mental institution leapt to mind.
Kevin walked over, "What does that say?"
"I don't know, I am trying to figure it out. I think it says "Here, what God gives us."
"Let's get the hell out of here. That car had better start."
I looked at him, "I am not going to argue with you!" And I threw the tripod into the car. I never do that. The poor car actually started.
more misadventures to come
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