Photo art by Anika Tizliarishvili
When we went in search of Maya Cove Cottages and Yacht Club the taxi dropped us off at the base of a steep driveway leading uphill through flowering flame trees.
The long climb up the driveway was my first clue that when the advertisement said, ‘Imagine stepping outside your own cottage directly onto a pristine Caribbean beach,’ the key word was ‘imagine.’
At the top of the hill we followed arrows, ‘Bar, Restaurant, Registration’ and when we arrived, we were greeted by, again to quote the ad, ‘our highly trained professional staff.’ Her name was Marcie, we learned later she was 20, born on Tortola, she lived down the hill, and she was using a broom to casually move dust around in front of a long bar. “Mr. Harry, there be people here.”
“I’ll be down in two ticks.”
Debbie and I wandered to the edge of the patio bar and were stunned by the view.
“Greetings and salutations,” Harry called as he descended the stairs from above the bar. He appeared quite old but with a merry spring in his step, perhaps in his late 70’s, snow-white, disheveled hair, black rimmed glasses, and so skinny that the white silk shirt hung on him like a scarecrow. His face lit up when he saw Debbie. “Just the tonic I need first thing in the morning!” We sat down at his beautifully carved desk across from the bar. “What’s your name?”
“Bob.”
“Oh, I doubt that. What does your mother call you?”
“Bobby.”
“Bobby it is, then. And you?”
“Debbie.”
And so began a friendship which still warms my heart.
Harry explained that he had ten cottages which he preferred to rent out on a long-term basis, but only to people he liked.
“One can’t be too careful! From time to time I have made the mistake of letting a cottage to the type of demanding guest that will have me running around like the Head Bat-Snatcher in Buckingham Palace. No more! With one foot in the grave and my finances where I am rolling in it, I choose to be picky. But you two look sensible enough. How long do you contemplate staying?”
”A year. We would both like to write.”
Harry’s smile lit up “I myself am a poet, a bit of a master with the old pen and parchment if I say so myself. How much money do you have?”
“About $2,000.”
“Oh my. You do realize that only Tortola locals are permitted to work on this island? But not to worry, I am certain we can cobble something together. How about one hundred dollars?”
“A night?“
“A month. As I said, in my dotage I choose to surround myself with people who interest me, and the guestbook is embarrassingly short of writers at the moment. Do you need time to think on it?”
Debbie and I looked at each other. “Not at all.”
“Wonderful. Marcia, can you show these two youngsters the Frangipani cottage please.”
“Mr. Harry, can’t you see I be busy? I finishing sweeping.”
“Please suspend sweeping and I will mention your exception stamina with the broom and dust tray in my next dispatch to Headquarters. Off with you two, follow Marcia to your new home, Frangipani!”
Frangipani flower, used in Hawaii to make leis.
Maya Cove Cottages and Yacht Club turned out to be less than advertised and more than could be imagined.
We followed Marcia along a pathway of cracked concrete which cautioned against the ad’s suggestion of “barefoot luxury.”
From a distance “Frangipani” looked bleak.
The wording of the ad came back flooding back to me as we stepped inside.
“All our accommodations have a living room, kitchen, master bedroom, full bathroom and more.” It was all true, and all crammed into the single room.
“Interiors are composed of crisp, clean lines, layers of texture, organic forms and natural materials such as wood and stone.” The walls were raw concrete blocks, with a roof of bare, unpeeled wooden beams upon which rested ancient corrugated cement roof panels. Lizards scrambled upside down on the ceiling, creating a steady drizzle of fine dust which, I learned later, was probably asbestos.
I don’t have pictures of the inside of our cottage, but I do have my drawing.
These are my pen & ink and watercolor of flowers outside our cottage.
Rather than be disappointed, Debbie and I decided we had found the perfect place to begin our yearlong adventure in the Caribbean, especially when we woke to this view every morning.
Maya Cove from the air. I found these photos of Maya Cove from above, taken from a postcard sold by West Indies Yacht Charters.
If we zoom in to the bottom right corner we can see a series of white roofs which were the cottages at Harrys, some are single cottages and are few are three side by side. Frangipani was the single on the right hand side.
Out for Justice 