Eureka! - The Coconut Chronicles: Two Guys, One Caribbean Dream House - page 35

Directly below, and tumbling down into the middle distance, lay a patchwork of small
properties—tiny family farms, smooth lawns, the occasional swimming pool. Further down
stood the small town of Isabel and beyond that miles of cerulean water. To the left, and in
the far distance, rose the high jade-colored hills of the big island. To the far right was Cul-
ebra. A wide swatch of crystal blue sky stretched between. The effect was stunning.
The first property Armando showed us had goat pens on three sides (goats, it would
appear, were the mascot of this precinct of the island), and the shrubs out front had been
brutally hacked down almost to ground level. The house itself had a melancholy abandoned
air. The porch boasted a rusty washing machine and the front door creaked open like a
coffin lid in a Roger Corman film.
At first glance, the interior was surprisingly light and airy with pleasant views from the
living and dining rooms. But we quickly realized that it would cost several times the asking
price to make the place even remotely habitable.
No, thank you.
House number two (number five if one counted the dumps from the previous day) was
actually the nicest we'd seen so far, although in truth this wasn't saying much.
“I don't know how you'll feel about this,” Armando began as he steered his massive
SUV through the narrow lanes of Isabel, “but lots of owners tell me that in-town properties
are highly rentable because people don't like paying money to rent a car, and if they're in
town they don't have to.”
This had a ring of truth to it, although I couldn't imagine coming to this island and not
arranging for some mode of transportation to get to the series of gorgeous beaches circum-
scribing it, most of which are on the old Navy base at least fifteen minutes from town.
The house was just off the town square. Perched high above the street and fronted with
a broad porch sporting a crisply painted concrete balustrade, it had potential. The rooms
were small but sunny, and the view from the roof terrace was striking.
But Michael didn't want to live in town.
“Too noisy,” he said, over Armando's polite protests. “We live on one of the busiest
streets in D.C., and we'd like something a little more out of the way for our dream home.”
“Okay, guys,” Armando said, ready to write us off. “Can you be more specific about
what you're really looking for?”
“That's easy,” I blurted out. “We want something nice .”
He laughed.
“Great, give me an extra $100,000 and you've got it,” he said.
I'm sure it was meant as a joke but it didn't strike us as particularly funny.
“I think we'll just call it a day,” I said.
He shrugged and led us back to the car. It seemed we'd read him wrong after all. Like
so many of his fellow islanders, he didn't seem to care if he made the deal or not.
“Let's take a short cut,” he said, serenely oblivious to our moods.