Posted by: travadmin on Mar 17, 2003 – 08:25 PM
exoticlocations Article by By Steve Blount
Taking six subteenagers to an island with no television, no telephone and no other guests may sound like an extreme form of masochism or the preamble to a story that ends with a nervous breakdown. We simply hoped for the best.
”Isnt chamomile a kind of tea people drink when they want to sleep?”
”Its Kamalame — kuh-mall-uh-mee. Its a kind of a tree.”
”And when you say theres no TV, do you mean they dont have TV sets or that we just wont be able to watch it a lot?”
”I mean there are no TV sets.”
I sensed consternation in the silence that followed.
To be clinically accurate, some of Kamalame Cays 11 villas do have TV sets, but theyre not connected to anything except a VCR. We were headed for a place that was, blissfully, beyond the reach of CNNs sophomoric sound bites and, more important, outside the orbit of Cartoon Network. Electronically impervious to the homogenizing hum of the global infotainment octopus, Kamalame is a private island off Andros.
When the idea of a two-family rendezvous first surfaced, logistics was a major issue, especially since we wanted someplace private, someplace the children could run free without worry, someplace we could get a pack of kids to without going crazy ourselves. Someplace like Kamalame. Add in the convenience of a charter — one that leaves when we want and flies directly to Andros — and moving all those little people became simple. We left our house in Florida at 8:30. Now its 11:30, and were sprawled on chaise lounges in a shady tiki, sipping cold ones.
There may be better ways to travel than by chartered air, but none spring to mind.
Out front, a thin, white wisp of breakers borders the deep-blue swash underscoring the horizon; between us and that distant reef are acres of khaki-colored flats, the tan sand overlaid with a thin blanket of pale, Coke-bottle-green water from ankle to no more than knee deep. To the left, the beach stretches away miles to the north; to our right is a narrow inlet and beyond the cut, more sand stretching away to the south. Populating this expansive vista are exactly 12 souls, the adults watching as the staff set up a casual lunch — fresh lobster salad and fruit — while the kids patrol the shallows, collecting a fortune in large, white sand dollars.
The island, 3 miles long by a hundred yards wide, is owned by Brian Hew and his wife, Jennifer, whove spent the past six years building the perfect retreat. The only way to access Kamalame is by ferry –a barge that Hew also uses to carry his tractors back and forth from the mainland. The earthmoving equipment plays a major role in Hews plan. When he bought the cay, it was thick with casuarinas, the scruffy pines that cover much of Andros. Theyre notoriously poor at holding onto sand, especially in a storm. They also rob the understory of sunlight, preventing the growth of smaller plants that will hold the sand. So Hew cleared the casuarinas, putting in irrigation pipes and filling in with literally thousands of coconut palms, bougainvillea and other tropicals.
The one road on the island is a sand path — just wide enough for the golf cart we were issued on arrival — that runs from the dock up to the great house and on to a string of villas, each invisible from the road and from each other, the whole affair overhung with arching palms.
Most of the villas are two-bedroom structures, open and airy. From the island side, steps lead up to a shallow porch and double French doors. These open into a large living room, perhaps 18 by 25 feet, with a second set of French doors leading to a wide, hammock-slung porch that looks out over a grassy yard, a faint footpath winding through a hedgerow of bougainvillea and palms to the beach just beyond. The bedrooms, one to the right and one to the left, are spacious, with en-suite baths featuring step-up Jacuzzi tubs. The furnishings are ample and antiquey; large bureaus, basket-strewn tables and bookshelves everywhere bearing the most amazing variety of volumes. The ceilings go all the way to the high-pitched roofs, and fans quietly thump the plump air.
Dinners, taken in the Great House, are superb — lobster thermidor, fried snapper, steak, fresh-baked bread at every meal — and all are seasoned with the most attentive service Ive ever received. Chris and M.J. run their dining room with quiet precision, ensuring that you feel instantly at home. Only, I dont recall anyone at my house bringing me things before I actually ask for them.
And what did the kids find to do, other than chow down on lobster? While the adults were off flogging the resorts fabled flats in search of bonefish, the sand dollars provided hours of entertainment. Snorkeling in the islands famous blue holes was, we were informed, ”awesome.” Ably supervised by Kamalames divemaster, Colin, it was as if Disneys Little Mermaid had come to life, with brilliant parrotfish and graceful gray angels swirling in the slightly gauzy plume of fresh water bubbling up from the shallow oceanic spring. There was a kayak trip through the mangroves behind the island, where white ibis stalked snails and schools of baby pufferfish skittered away from our paddles. But their favorite diversion? It wasnt playing Super Mario on their Game Boys or the Friday night showing of Jurassic Park on the VCR. All of these were overshadowed by the hour spent swinging Tarzan-style from a rope tied up high in a casuarina overhanging the shallow inlet. Watching the boys eagerly scramble up the bank to take their turn flying out over the water, Im thinking we may have to start calling these the ”in” islands.
Note: http://www.caribbeantravelmag.com/CTL_Main/1,3690,2-1-1-2342-166-100,00/