Living: The Still Pristine Caribbean

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Anguilla: Three-Pedal Languor. On Anguilla, a rich man runs a "machine-go"; humbler folk own "three-pedals." Translation: the rich man's car has automatic drive; the poor man's, stick shift. There are few machine-goes on the island. Anguilla (pop. 6,000), so christened by the Spaniards because it is shaped like an eel, is one of the few Caribbean islands that have been occupied by the same power since it was first settled by the British in 1650. The 35-sq.-mi. coral-limestone atoll is a crown colony; in fact, it was occupied all over again by British paratroops and bobbies in March 1969, making headlines around the world. The bloodless invasion, dubbed the Bay of Piglets, was nominally triggered by the islanders' refusal to accept a British-sponsored proposal for independence in association with the economically more advanced islands of St. Kitts and Nevis. In 1971 the Eel That Squealed was once again accepted by Westminster as a separate dependency.

The second British coming turned out well. Royal Engineers improved the roads and installed a telephone system. Though the island now is staking its future on tourism, a proposal for a 150-room hotel was turned down flat because Anguillans liked neither the design nor its sponsors.

Three smaller hotels and a health spa are now abuilding, however. It is one of the few islands on which cricket is not the No. 1 sport; Anguilla's passion is a special kind of sailboat racing. The undecked, gaily striped hulls, built solely for the August regattas and manned by six men each, do not have keels; instead, ballast of iron and rocks is shifted around inboard.

Anguilla (pronounced Ong-wil-luh) has 30 talc-sand beaches and gentle waters. There are two tennis courts and two more on the way. A growing number of yachts are available for bareboat charter. The Wallblake House, a handsomely rebuilt 18th century structure, is being converted into a museum that may contain some relics of the Carib* Indians. Night life extends to conversation, backgammon and sea-lulled sleep. There are only two hotels, with a total of 30 rooms. Rendezvous Bay, presided over by the patriarchal Jeremiah Gumbs, faces onto a crescent beach; Cul de Sac is straight out of a Waugh novel (Evelyn or Alec). Its scattered villas and a main building were put up two decades ago by Ruth Goodnow, a Boston heiress who, as captain of a 99-ft. schooner, had earlier been known as the toughest cargo skipper in the Caribbean. Mrs. Goodnow boasts that she has never charged a guest for a drink.

St. Barts: Saint-Tropez West. Roadside signs proclaim that NUDISME EST FORMELLEMENT INTERDIT. The signs are frequently swiped by souvenir hunters, but are largely ignored anyway. Along miles of empty beaches and coves where swimmers informally cavort in the altogether, topless bathers are almost as common as the Australian-built Mini-Mokes that are the principal form of transportation.

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