http://www.nytimes.com/2014/11/09/travel/culebra-a-quiet-corner-of-the-caribbean.html 2014-11-06 19:29:23 Culebra, a Quiet Corner of the Caribbean On a visit to this low-key island near Puerto Rico, you could find yourself sharing a spectacular beach with a few people, or with no one at all. === I was paddling along in my kayak, floating over a coral reef on which purple and yellow sea fans waved lazily in the current, when something broke the surface ahead of me. A snorkeler? No, it was a hawksbill turtle, which seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see it, though not as delighted. The turtle gulped some air, flexed its fin feet, as graceful in the water as the brown pelicans passing nearby were in the air, and effortlessly angled through the green water toward the sea grass 10 feet below. I was floating off As off-the-beaten-track as it seems, I found the island the easy way: In search of a place to belatedly celebrate our daughter’s 30th birthday, I idly went to Google for “best beaches” and discovered several top-10 lists that included Playa Flamenco on Culebra, which I had never heard of on a few earlier trips to the Caribbean. It was easy to get to: a direct flight to San Juan, followed by a quick trip by ferry or small plane out to the island. Its reputation among travelers looking for a quiet escape seemed to be growing, with additional flights added this year. It was relatively undeveloped, because of its modest size and because tourism gained a toehold only after local protests ended its use as a weapons testing ground by the United States Navy in 1975. Some historians believe Columbus stopped by Culebra on his second voyage in 1493, and local lore says it was long a hide-out for pirates preying on the Caribbean trade. In 1909, President Theodore Roosevelt created the With a few clicks, we found a list of two- and three-bedroom houses for rent for about $200 a day, though strict controls on development near the beaches meant few were close to the water. We chose one in the hilly interior that boasted a view of Culebrita, an uninhabited island just to the east topped by an old lighthouse, and St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands beyond. It sat atop a rise amid tamarind and acacia trees, in a surprisingly arid landscape, with a deck that offered spectacular stars on clear nights. We had been warned that we would need to rent a fairly rugged car to get around — even to climb the dirt driveway to the house — so the real estate agents suggested Jerry Beaubien of The rusty Jeep we rented proved its mettle on the island’s roads, on which we quickly memorized the locations of the most daunting potholes, and especially on the roads to the beaches, which could be astonishingly steep and, on unpaved stretches, impressively rutted. But the payoff of our journey was evident once we set foot on those beaches. Justifiably famous is Playa Flamenco, a curving mile of white sand and turquoise water that draws the biggest crowds and has the only commercial development: a half-dozen kiosks selling mango smoothies, rice-and-beans burritos and all manner of seafood, from conch salad to skewers of shark. One island resident called it “compromised,” since vanloads of day-trippers come over on the ferry, but even Flamenco is unspoiled by East Coast seashore standards. We tried a new beach, sometimes two, each day. Zoni Beach, on the windy north side, was great for wave-jumping in the white-sand shallows, then retreating to the shade of bushes and small trees to read. Playa Larga, also on the windward side, had bathtub-like sandy depressions in the shallow shelf of an old reef. Tamarindo and Melones had fantastic snorkeling, and we quickly learned the best patches for turtle watching, gazing at the electric blues and yellows of tropical fish, and exploring otherworldly forests of coral resembling giant brains and reindeer antlers. Several shops on the island’s only town (known on maps as Dewey for a long-gone naval commander, a name that appears rarely used) rent snorkel gear and stable ocean kayaks for reasonable rates. The hilly terrain offered striking views of the island’s large sheltered bay and the ocean around every turn, flawed only by the dozens of signs that oddly informed us in Spanish that we were entering or leaving the tsunami danger zone. No tsunami has done any damage in Culebra in modern history; it looked as if an enterprising sign-sales­man had captured the government’s attention. We stopped in at the little Culebra history museum, open only on weekends, and ended up spending well over an hour, watching a documentary in which old-timers recalled the days before electricity, the annual invasions of as many as 7,000 sailors (on an island whose permanent population even today is about 2,000), munitions accidents that maimed and killed islanders, and the successful campaign to oust the Navy. The residual effects persist more than four decades later; while we were there, a Navy team closed Flamenco for a day while it disarmed a bomb that had surfaced from the sand. (Culebra may be the only spot on American territory where the occasional car displays a “Nixon” bumper sticker, in gratitude for President Richard M. Nixon’s decision to end the annual military shelling.) No one will visit Culebra for the night life, but a half-dozen restaurants scattered around the little town offered excellent seafood and Puerto Rican specialties. Dinghy Dock had tables right on the water, with herds of three-foot tarpon lingering dockside for fish heads tossed from customers, and beautiful fishing bats swooping at the water after dusk. The lobster risotto at On our last day, the wind died down enough to let us paddle rented kayaks a mile or so through choppy seas to Cayo Luis Peña, a hilly little island to the southwest that is part of the wildlife refuge. Following the advice of Ken Ellis of the