Estate Douzey
Estate Douzey is on the Northside of St. Thomas, above the Peace Corps camp in Estate Mandahl. A long dirt driveway leads up to the top of a hill, where sits a rambling stone and concrete house that has incredible views of the Virgin Islands. From the front porch, you look north out across the Atlantic Ocean. Directly below the hillside plunged 900 feet to Mandahl Bay and the man-made lagoon dredged by a long-disappeared developer leaving a wild bay and stone breakwater that protected the beach from pounding waves.
Mandahl Bay became a great beach place to hangout after the developers left, and there was a fabulous festival there two years in a row complete with live bands, food, drinks and dancing in the beach sand. It was legendary, but that is another tale from the Virgin Islands.
To the east you look across Pillsbury Sound towards St. John and a string of islands leading to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. To the west is a stunning view of Magen’s Bay, with Inner and Outer Brass islands in the distance. To the south, the bulk of the island of St. Thomas stretches east and west, dotted here and there with homes.
The building hads an apartment in the lower level where the owner, Mr. Douzant lived with his Aunty. “Doozey” as he was affectionately referred to, was almost as old as God, and drove to town once a week or so in his ancient and rusty Chevy pickup. Aunty was known simply as Aunty because she WAS older than God, and only mumbled through her toothless grin when she actually made an appearance. Aunty’s favorite pastime was doing a rain dance with a few of the chickens they wandering about below the house. Doozey called everyone he met “Tom,” and smiled happily most of the time. He must be mellow to ignore the blaring of Led Zeppelin and such from the stereo upstairs. Perhaps it’s what he was smoking from that patch down the hill that kept him smiling!
The upper level of Estate Douzey was a large three-bedroom, two-bathroom home with an expansive living room and huge eat-in kitchen. The verandah on the north face of the house is covered, with steps leading down to the parking area below. Cactus gardens and a few plants struggling for life on the arid windy hilltop surround the east and south facing verandahs. What makes this place great is not the house, but the location. The views and the breezes, the constant and steady trade winds cooling you down on warm tropical days. Built of stone and concrete, with terrazzo floors and a sturdy roof, Estate Douzey also seems well equipped to survive any hurricane.
I lived in that house for two years with family friends, and after that family moved, my parents rented the house and stayed there several years. It was a wonderful home for the family during the 1970s in the US Virgin Islands.
Meeting Three Hippies
One hot afternoon I was lounging at Estate Douzey, the happiest person in the world, with a day off and some stash to smoke. Everyone else had gone out, Justine and Lew drinking at some bar on a beach somewhere; Julian out with his friends. The Moody Blues were blasting from the stereo at almost top volume as I enjoyed the view from the gallery.
My peace was shattered by the sound of a large vehicle coming up our very bumpy dirt drive. In a cloud of dust, the Secret Harbour Resort van lurched to a halt at the foot of the front steps, scattering the landlord’s chickens in a squawking explosion of feathers. Apparently my friend Julian was home, with his friends. The driver was Phil, the passengers Alana Lee, Rafe and Julian.
They clambered up the steps to the porch, gasping at our great view, and fell into the porch chairs.
It seems Phil had been working on the island for six months as Secret Harbour’s van driver. His girlfriend Lee was a native Thomian with pirate blood in her ancestry. Rafe was born on St. John, where his family has a large chunk of property to preserve.
As Rafe proceeded to load bong hits at the bar in the living room, Julian introduced me to Phil and Lee. The stereo was playing the Moody Blues’ “In Search of the Lost Chord,” as I learned that Phil and Lee shared an apartment at the foot of Bluebeard’s Hill, overlooking the harbor of Charlotte Amalie. Lee’s dad was locally noted as the Director of Civil Defense for the Virgin Islands, and for constructing a huge headstone for himself in Western Cemetery in Demerrara Estate years before he died.
Far out and solid, Rafe had some killer smoke! Real marijuana he grew there in the islands. We were all getting quite toasted, sipping our beverages and enjoying the view when the blaring of a tiny little Japanese car horn jolted us back to the now. Justine and Lew had obviously returned home, just in time for sunset cocktails, and wanted to get by the Secret Harbour van and park their Mazda. We hustled Phil out to move his van, and prepared for the onslaught. The air reeked of pot, everyone was giggling insanely, and now Julian’s parents were home!
Justine stamped her little feet up the stairs to the front porch, muttering loudly “sounds like a bloody party to me!” Being extremely cool, she recognized a good time was at hand and wondered aloud where the joint was! The Queen was there to entertain and to be pampered. Lew headed straight for the bar and demanded to know why no one had the decency to fill the ice bucket for drinks!
While we sorted out all the confusion, the sun set over Magen’s Bay, and it was time for the guests to leave. However, Phil and Lee somehow convinced Justine to lend them a large cookpot to make a huge batch of spaghetti in for their upcoming party. Of course, Justine wasn’t going to lend it without an invitation to the party! Once she had that, the pot was loaned, and they went on their merry way. Then we settled into our normal evening routine, watching Justine and Lew drink themselves into a stupor while we read books and listened to music.
It wasn't until 1980 that I had a television. Life changed after that!
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