If you read my fairly comprehensive blog post on my St. Croix trip, you’ve already met the friendly bartender, Jameson, who gave us some great recommendations. One of the places he told us to check out was an abandoned resort called the Clover… something. Clover Crest? Cloverfield? I don’t remember, and I could find no mention of it online, which led us to assume the resort was probably abandoned before the internet became prevalent… I’m guessing the 70s.
“Yeah,” Jameson said. “It’s this old resort with a clover shaped pool out front. I’ve been up there a bunch of times. There’s an epic view from the roof; I’ve watched meteor showers and done all kinds of things from there.”
Ok Jameson, I don’t doubt that.
Really, I don’t.
I just wish you were a little better at giving directions.
“Drive past Estate Mount Washington Plantation until the road splits into a Y, then go left until you see two boulders. At that point, leave your Jeep and walk down the path until you reach the resort.”
To be honest, the directions sounded pretty idiot-proof, so our last morning on the island rolled around, and we headed out to find the resort. We were also hoping to find some large stone Roman style bathtubs that monks had carved down by the sea in the 1600s. A group of American expats told me about the monk baths when I was walking along the beach one day, and they were supposedly in the same area of the island as the deserted resort. (Jameson told us these people were friends of his, so I should’ve known their directions would also suck.)
We drove down the main road through Frederiksted and continued along the shore. When we reached the gravel road that led to Estate Mount Washington, we turned down it, and tried to follow Jameson’s directions. However, we were met by gates, no trespassing signs, steep hills to private homes, and security cameras. There were no boulders in sight.
After talking for awhile, with a few of us pushing to drive past the no trespassing signs and a few wanting to be cautious, we decided to play it safe and go search for the monk baths. These proved to be no easier to find. I had been told to drive down the road, past Estate Mount Washington, until I saw a chain-link fence and barbed wire in front of a Manor on the right. The monk baths would be down a little path to the left of the road.
We stopped a few times and walked down paths to the ocean, and we even thought we found them. I hopped into the water at one point, avoiding sea urchin-covered rocks, thinking I was in a little alcove carved by monks. (At some point during the Monk Bath search, Katey called the resort where we’d met Jameson, to ask him for better directions to the abandoned resort. Neither Katey nor I had quite given up on finding it, and we were getting desperate. Alas, he was not working, and could not be reached, and/or he doesn’t come to the phone when random American girls call.)
Finally, we said “Maybe we found the monk baths,” gave up, and headed back toward Frederiksted. Some of us jumped off the pier, which gave us the little rush we were hoping to get from exploring a spooky, abandoned resort. Then we headed on to the beach at Sandy Point, which is exactly how I imagine Caribbean beaches.
Soon, Katey and I decided to go back into town to find lunch. After enjoying raspberry mojitos, Red Stripes, ceviche, and crab cakes at Rhythm’s, Katey turned to me. “Wanna go look for the monk baths again?” she asked with a sly smile.
Katey and I were the two from the group who had been pushing to find the resort and monk baths earlier in the day, so maybe it was fate that brought us back into the town for lunch. Or maybe we were just the hungriest. Or maybe we both subconsciously knew, when we drove into town, that it wouldn’t be our only destination.
Soon we were headed back down the bumpy, pot-hole filled road, hoping we were going in the right direction. This time, we went further. The road turned to dirt, getting bumpier and emptier. We drove and drove, finally coming to a Y in the road.
“Wait a second… was that a Y?” Katey asked.
“It can’t be!” I said. “This isn’t the right road.”
Before I even finished speaking, we rounded a corner and were confronted with *wait for it* two boulders.
We both lost it. A fork in the road… two boulders… this sounded strangely familiar.
We had found what we’d given up looking for!
We parked the Jeep and rushed along the path through the boulders. Pushing our way through hanging vines and some unfortunate burn hazel-like plants that had both our legs burning and itching, we followed the path out into a clearing.
There were the buildings.
There was the clover-shaped pool!
We rushed around, as excited as two 5-year-olds on Christmas morning. The place was also spooky, and we were a little freaked out a time or two, especially when we saw unhinged jail doors at the end of long hallways, and as we took the path up behind the buildings to climb out onto the roof.
The rooms lie empty. The countless memories and events they once held are now forgotten.
I’d love to know the history of the resort, or even the full name. Who owned it? What kinds of people stayed there? Worked there? Were there honeymoons and weddings and bachelorette weekends held between these walls? When they built the clover-shaped pool, did they imagine it would one day be filled with muck, trees, and algae?
Perhaps a hurricane came along and did irreparable damage to the resort, or maybe it was just too far out in the wilderness for the leisure traveler.
It’s spine-tingling to see the bones, but only have the ability to guess at the life the bones once held.
The view from the roof was worth the creepiness.
Before we left, Katey bravely ventured into one of the out-buildings. I was on the porch outside, peering down into a random hole that seemed to lead to a dark abyss. (If it was a horror movie, I would’ve fallen into the hole and hurt my ankle, then, one of the jail doors would have clanged shut, trapping Katey. I would have tried to hobble to the Jeep to get help, but when I’d arrive, the tires would have been slashed. Lucky for us, life isn’t a horror movie.)
Suddenly, as Katey was exploring the interior, she started screaming. I peeked in the window to see her running for shelter. She had disturbed a nest of birds or bats (her worst fear), and they weren’t happy about it. We left without further ado, and went a little further down the road in search of the monk baths before giving up and going back to the others.
That evening, we came back with Lindsay and Jess. After we reached the Y and turned left, we saw something on the side of the road. Something big. Something gross. Something that could probably squish a grown woman to death. Something that supposedly did not live on this island.
A massive boa constrictor!!!!!!! (Or similar snake. I think it looks like a boa constrictor but I’m not a Herpetologist.)
I googled it. St. Croix (supposedly) only has two kinds of snakes, and they’re both tiny and harmless.
This? Less so.
Luckily, he was dead. We told ourselves perhaps it was someone’s escaped pet, but what are the chances we would find the one escaped enormous snake on the island? We moved onward into the jungle, a little more cautious and nervous than before.
Without a doubt, the resort was creepier this time, as the light of day was beginning to wane. (Also, the snake was fresh on our minds as we ventured onward.)
There were plenty of beer cans strewn about, and graffiti and zombie apocalypse warnings covered the walls. We were clearly not the first people to discover the abandoned resort.
On our way out to the resort for the second time, I’d noticed a tree with an orange “M” and an arrow. “Could that be pointing to the monk baths?” I wondered.
As we drove back to town, I kept a lookout for the M, and when I finally saw it again, we stopped, climbed down onto the beach, and finally saw long rectangular baths carved into the stone, complete with steps leading down into them. There were also some other ruins and what we’re fairly sure was an ocean toilet.
Finally, as the sun sunk down beneath the waves, we found everything we set out to find that morning.
We went to bed on our last night in St. Croix feeling content that we had seen as much of the island as we could. We explored, we jumped off piers, we swam, we hiked, we kayaked, we found some wildlife, we danced to Despacito in the Jeep, and we truly lived.
Thanks for the tips, Jameson. We owe you one.