When I came to St. Croix, I expected nice beaches and such. I did not expect to have a bacon-infused pork burger complete with cole slaw, Jim Beam barbecue sauce, and jalapeño cream cheese that would send me into a tasty coma. That certainly happened, though. No question. Eat@CaneBay was a magical restaurant. But there are so many others. Rowdy Joe's. Pier 69. Off the Wall. The list goes on.
The food has been a slap in the face, but like a good slap in the face, especially everything involving Mahi Mahi. They should send every line cook in every "seafood" restaurant in America that can't get Mahi Mahi right here for training. Because fucking up Mahi Mahi here is clearly forbidden. It may even be punishable by death. But it hasn't been all food shots, amazeball burgers, and spectacular beaches.
There were also ghost crabs. They're everywhere on these beaches, fighting each other to the death over fragments of coconut. I formed a special bond with one that I named Gertrude. Don't joke, man. What Gertie and I had was real. She taught me important life lessons as I watched her shovel a tunnel through the sand one thimble-full bit of sand at a time. It was a grim testament of what we can all accomplish with some determination. Until high tide, that is.
Then, of course, there's Point Udall, the easternmost point in the U.S. Going there is a long drive across the island, but worth it for the sweeping views (looks sort of like a tropical version of Scotland) and the island cacti. Surprisingly large numbers of island cacti.