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These islands provide more than an escape hatch. They offer a discovery of different cultures. No casinos there, no high-rise hotels. But Lesser can be more. Few of the small Leewards have room for as many as 200 tourists. Few are ever visited by cruise ships. They are politically and socially tranquil, and virtually crime-free. As Belgian-born Bishop Antoine Demets said of Montserrat to TIME'S Georgia Harbison, "Here a family spirit reigns. All the mountains and valleys are of shoulder height."
The islands glitter with bright, swooping birds, whose local names are often as colorful as their plumage: the sugarbird or bananaquit; eight varieties of tern, one known as kill-'em-Polly; five endemic warblers, one called Betsey-kick-up or Mary-shake-well; the common stilt or crackpot soldier; the mangrove cuckoo or 4 o'clock bird; the magnificent frigate, and the brown pelican, with its beak holding more than its belican.
The blue-green seas are a delight for sailors, swimmers and snorkelers. Through submarine gardens of coral and undulating sea fern dart brilliant damselfish and trumpetfish, butterfly and angelfish. The waters teem with spiny lobster (langouste); with crab, shrimp and snapper, as well as bass and swordfish. Ashore, the islands are ablaze with hibiscus, bougainvillaea, begonia, poinciana, wild orchids, frangipani, red and orange flame trees, wild ginger. Mangoes, avocados, coconuts, papayas, limes and grapefruits flourish, along with such tropical staples as cassava, spinach-like calalu, calabaza (the West Indian pumpkin), the squash called christophene, and soursop, a fine fruit to squeeze into rum.
With such bounteous raw materials, a meal can be a discovery in itself. On Montserrat, dinner may include "goat water," a ragout of kid, or "mountain chicken," crisp, fried legs of bullfrog. A dish unique to Anguilla is a brochette marinated in pineapple juice and dark molasses; a Creole specialty of St. Barts is a casserole made with cassava, calalu and other tropical vegetables. Conch (pronounced conk) fritters and chowder are delicacies anywhere. The drinks are equally exotic. On Statia, a kind of tea called mauby is made from the bark of a tree; when mixed with rum, they say, it makes "an old man young and a young man younger." Sabans serve a rum-based liqueur called Spice that would sink a buccaneer.
The real spice of the islands is talk—and very good talk it can be. The lingua franca of the Lesser Antilles is English, though it is not always understood on St. Barts, where the blacks also speak Creole and villagers of Breton and Norman descent converse in varied patois. While Dutch is their official language, few Statians or Sabans ever use it. Many, however, do speak Papiamento, the merry island melange of Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, French, English and African dialects ("Bon tim ni un quenta ta coppé tras mi mucha muhé; bai hombre sushi, i lagele na paz. "Translation: "You have no business chasing my girl; go away, you nasty man, and leave her alone").