St. Kitts: The Little Island with Everything, Including Monkeys

With an old British fort, a volcano covered in rainforest, pristine beaches and great food, why go anywhere else?

Text and photos by Todd Morrill

A tale of two oceans:  from St. Kitts' narrow mountain ridge, you can
see the Caribbean on the left and the Atlantic on the right.

     This piece is based on a press trip I took in April 2011 sponsored by the St. Kitts Marriott Resort & Spa.

I’m in the front seat of an old black Range Rover on my way to climb Mt. Liamuiga, the highest peak on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts.

O’Neill, my guide, is driving—on the left side of the road, since the island was once British—and we’re listening to an old cassette of gospel reggae music, played so many times the voices have become eerily distorted.  That doesn’t seem to bother O’Neill, who is singing along and hitting the high notes as we speed through sugar cane fields with fantastic views of the ocean.

According to occasional signs, the speed limit on the narrow road that circles the island is 20 miles per hour, but O’Neill is easily going three times that, slowing down a bit—and honking his horn plenty—as we enter the various villages along the route, with their stone churches, breadfruit trees and brightly painted houses. 

O'Neill's Range Rover at the base of Mt. Liamuiga.

Some Caribbean islands are known primarily for their beaches, others for their cuisine, and still others for their historic sites or eco-tourism opportunities.

     But tiny St. Kitts—only 10 miles wide and 30 miles long--combines all the best qualities of the Caribbean in one compact package.  Here, in addition to relaxing on world-class beaches, you can explore an 18^th-century fort, hike an extinct volcano and feast at restaurants that are on their way to making the island a mandatory stop for foodies.  Accommodations on the island have recently improved, as well, with a $3 million face-lift at the St. Kitts Marriott, the island's only full-service resort.

     Oh—and St. Kitts also has monkeys—allegedly in greater numbers than humans—although in my case, they proved elusive.

Locals claim monkeys can be found everywhere on St.Kitts--
including on the golf courses--but I never saw one.

     Originally christened St. Christopher by Columbus in 1493, St. Kitts—and its sister island, Nevis—now make up the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis, a country that gained independence from Great Britain in 1983.

     The French and the English both settled St. Kitts in the early 1600s, establishing sugar plantations with African slaves to work them.  Because the sugar industry proved highly profitable, the two countries later spent more than a century fighting over the island, which changed hands several times before the British finally won out in 1783. 

     Today, this British heritage lives on in the island’s bright red phone booths, Anglican churches and signs with spellings like “Tyre Repair.”

     But there’s nothing British about the view—or the smell—from my balcony at the Marriott, which overlooks Frigate Bay.  Pastel houses cascade down green mountains to the turquoise Caribbean, which laps at pale pink beaches.  Bougainvillea, jasmine and other exotic flowers grow everywhere, filling the air with tropical perfume.

View from my room at the St. Kitts Marriott Resort on Frigate Bay. 

Frigate Bay.

     After a morning swim and walk along the beach, I’m off to explore Brimstone Hill, the massive fortress the British built between 1690 and 1790 to protect the island from the French.

     On my way, I pass through the capital city of Basseterre with its benignly neglected Georgian buildings.  A bright green Victorian clock stands inside the central roundabout, called the Circus, where wealthy plantation owners once came to promenade.

     When I arrive at Brimstone Hill Fortress, the actual construction of which was carried out by slaves, I immediately see why it was known as the Gibraltar of the Caribbean—perched on a limestone cliff, 800 feet above the water, the structure is highly intimidating.

Cannon at Brimstone Hill.

     But that didn’t stop the French from attacking the fortress several times, with a final assault in 1782.  In that battle, the thousand British forces stationed in the fortress fought off eight thousand French soldiers for a month before surrendering the island.  Ironically, a year later, the Treaty of Versailles gave St. Kitts back to the British.

Brimstone Hill changed hands several times during the 18th century.

Interior courtyard of Brimstone Hill Fortress.

     Brimstone Hill is now a national park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as well a photographer’s dream.  With backdrops of jungle-covered mountains, the Caribbean and several other islands, you can’t take a bad picture.  Part of the complex is in ruins, which adds to the mystique, allowing for shots through crumbling stone doorways and lichen-covered windows.

At Brimstone Hill, ferns grow on a stone arch overlooking the Caribbean.

One of many tunnels at Brimstone Hill.

     After taking hundreds of pictures at Brimstone Hill, I drive to Cockleshell Bay at the southernmost tip of the island, which is home to Reggae Beach.  Here I find a volleyball game in progress, equestrians guiding their mounts through the waves and a host of personal watercraft.  The beach’s mascot—Wilbur the Giant Pig, who must weight at least a ton—is taking a nap on the sand.

Reggae Beach:   pull up a surfboard and stay a spell.

Wilbur the Giant Pig takes a siesta at Reggae Beach.

     I head to adjacent Cockleshell beach for lunch at Spice Mill, the design of which is based on indigenous Caribbean architecture.  Here, beneath a thatched roof and chandeliers made of woven crayfish traps, every table has a perfectly framed view of Nevis, an island dominated by a deep green mountain rising abruptly from the Caribbean just two miles from the St. Kitts coast.

Tables with a view:  Spice Mill restaurant at Cockleshell Beach.

     Spice Mill is one of several newer eateries on St. Kitts that specialize in pairing fresh local ingredients with traditional Caribbean herbs and spices grown on site.  The restaurant’s menu changes every few days, depending on the fresh seafood and produce available, but typical items include conch fritters, fried tilapia with grilled lemon and more elaborate dishes like truffle pumpkin risotto with wild crab. 

     Owner Roger Brisbane tells me that along with innovative new restaurants, the addition of a cooking school on St. Kitts is helping to develop new talent and refine the island’s cuisine. 

     “It’s getting to the point where it needs to be to attract the food people,” he says.  “It’s not yet St. Martin or Barbados, but it’s on its way.”

     As I bite into my perfectly grilled mahi mahi—caught by local fisherman just hours earlier and served with a tangy pineapple salsa—I have to agree.

Grilled Mahi Mahi with pineapple salsa, a Spice Mill specialty.

Après-eat:  covered chaise longue on Cockleshell Beach.

     The next day, I’m hiking the steep rainforest trail that climbs 4,000 feet to the top of Mt. Liamuiga.  Islanders once referred to the volcano as Mount Misery because of its frequent eruptions, but since its last blast came more than 300 years ago, I’m not worried about being consumed by lava. My problem is trying to keep up with the 60-something O’Neill, whose 20-something strength and stamina are running this 40-something into the ground.

O'Neill takes it easy at the top of Mt. Liamuiga.

As we hike, O’Neill stops occasionally (thank goodness, because I need the rest) to point out items of interest, like trees with hollow trunks designed to catch rainwater, clumps of giant mushrooms and half-eaten mangos left behind by monkeys.  The French, he says, brought the monkeys to St. Kitts centuries ago, and they now outnumber the island’s human inhabitants.

     According to O’Neill, the monkeys are not afraid of humans, and therefore get first pick of the island’s fruit.  He tells of a time he and some friends stood and watched a group of the sly simians attack a guava orchard.  “We be about a stone’s throw away,” he says, “and dem monkeys, dey eat all the guavas.”  Despite O’Neill’s insistence that the monkeys are everywhere, we don’t see any. 

As we reach the peak of Mt. Liamuiga, three hours after setting out, I’m panting.  But the views—an emerald crater a mile across and cane fields that roll down to the aquamarine sea—make every step worthwhile.

Mt. Liamuiga's mile-wide crater contains a lake.

That night—still stiff from the hike—I take a tour of Fairview Great House, a 300-year-old plantation home built for a French military officer who was also a great grandfather of British novelist Virginia Woolf.  The two-story wooden structure, which was recently renovated, has a formal parlor and dining area painted a historically correct deep red, as well as upstairs bedrooms with high ceilings and verandas that look out over the Caribbean.  The complex also includes a private chapel and a bathing room, where slaves once heated water for their masters using sun-warmed volcanic stones.

I wander through Fairview’s extensive botanical gardens, which an employee tells me are home to monkeys, but I don’t spot any.  I can only assume they’re avoiding me.   

I have dinner at Nirvana, set on a candle-lit terrace between Fairview Great House and its swimming pool.  Like Spice Mill, Nirvana uses fresh local ingredients, as well as herbs and spices grown in its kitchen gardens, as the base of its Creole fusion menu. 

            I try the Kittitian (rhymes with petition) lobster tail infused with fresh herbs, served with a sweet potato gratin.  The lobster is unlike any other I’ve tasted—exceptionally seasoned and sweeter and more tender than lobster from other areas.  The gratin is so creamy and full of flavor that I swear off regular potatoes forever. 

            As I eat, it suddenly starts to rain—a tremendous tropical downpour that makes me think the whole restaurant will be swept down to the ocean.  Staff members are unconcerned, however, and simply lower some vinyl blinds and carry on with their duties.  Ten minutes later, the storm is over.

The lights of Basseterre--St. Kitts' capital city--seen from a catamaran.

     On my last night in St. Kitts, I take a catamaran cruise from Basseterre along the west side of the island.  Reggae music is blasting on board, and crew members do their best to see that everyone dances. 

     As the sun sets over the Caribbean, I look at the lights of St. Kitts’ capital city and wish I had more time to explore it.  I also wish I could see more beaches, visit more plantation houses and sample more restaurants—but I’ll come again. 

     And when I do, maybe I’ll see the monkeys.