We passed through the front gate into a lovely lawn and garden, secluded from the outside world by trees and large bushes. Looking to our left, we saw a stately ranch house, its doors thrown open in welcome. Soothing music wafted out of the doorway to gently caress our ears. We followed it inside into a spacious tiled living room, beautifully furnished and punctuated with interesting bric-a-brac of the exotic-but-tasteful variety.

Cynthia Belden, Avalon’s owner, stepped forward to welcome us. For her, Avalon’s recent opening had been the culmination of 10 years of study in alternative medicine, and you could sense her pride and enthusiasm for what she’d created: a place where people could come to unwind, recharge, and get back in touch with themselves. To that end, Avalon offers a full menu of spa services and alternative therapies. Alongside traditional spa treatments—facials, manicures, pedicures, body wraps—there’s massage, aromatherapy, reflexology, Reiki healing, and a rotating menu of special classes, talks, and workshops.

An instructor showed up to teach us the Five Tibetan Rites, a series of yoga-esque stretches and exercises used by Tibetan monks. They turned out to be surprisingly challenging—those monks sure are in good shape! We finished off with some breathing exercises. Ahh…

Yawning and stretching, we sat down to a healthy buffet breakfast. The pièce de résistance was chlorophyll juice—something I’d never heard of, or indeed imagined. Cynthia explained that people these days eat mostly "dead food"—food whose nutrients have all gone out of it while it gets packaged and sits on grocery-store shelves. This was "live food," a juice made fresh from wild grasses picked just that morning.

Wait. Back up here. Did you just say… grasses? Well, yes—and although the juice was a frightening shade of green and smelled uncannily like a freshly mown lawn, it tasted surprisingly good, sweetened and flavored till it was not unlike apple juice. Live food. OK, I can dig it.

Finally, Cynthia led us on a tour of the stunning house and grounds. We were led past a lovely tiled swimming pool; beautiful gardens; massage, meditation, and reading rooms; and seven gorgeous bedrooms, each furnished in a unique, exotic style. Some of the bedrooms also featured knockout tiled bathrooms and showers.

Avalon’s specialty is all-inclusive retreat packages, but it also functions as a hotel/guesthouse, event/party space, and rental villa. The best news here is that the rates are surprisingly affordable, falling squarely in the "budget" category for the Caribbean—room rates start at just $75 per night. For a place like this, that’s a bargain too amazing to pass up—and that’s why I know I’ll be back!

Of course, all this is not to say that Mount Victory is a mere clone of Maho. The basic idea may be similar, but the atmosphere is very different. For one thing, Mount Victory is still quite small, with only a handful of tent-cabins. And unlike the tent-cabins at Maho, which are all built on essentially the same simple design, each of Mount Victory’s five habitations is a unique and beautiful work of art. Each is made from a different kind of native wood (salvaged, of course). And each has its own character and its own distinctive touches: one has a spiral staircase leading up to a second-floor sleeping area; another has a tree growing through it; and there’s even one that’s built into the ruins of an old schoolhouse. There are also sites available for tent camping, with access to all the camp’s shared facilities (yay, clean bathrooms and hot showers!).

Mount Victory is tucked away in the mountains and built around a small, eco-friendly farm, which gives it a wonderfully out-of-the-way, down-home feel. Not that you’ll lack for things to do—there are plenty of trails nearby for hiking or horseback riding, and plenty of interesting ruins in the vicinity to explore. And the beaches and attractions of St. Croix are just a drive away.

In fact, for such a seemingly out-of-the-way place, Mount Victory is certainly a hot gathering spot. Why? Well, the camp’s central pavilion just happens to incorporate an awesome jungle bar. Plenty of locals come to hang out here, so if you’re the type of traveler who likes to meet people and mingle with folks from the area, you’ll find plenty of opportunities. You can hardly avoid it, in fact, since the jungle bar is also the dining area (serving authentic Caribbean food made by local cooks)! As if that weren’t enough, Mount Victory also plays host to live music performances. So even if you decide to stay elsewhere, you should stop by just to hang out, sample the food, and catch a concert.

If your tropical-getaway nightmare is a high-rise hotel on a crowded resort strip, then Mount Victory should be a dream come true—a place where you’ll be secluded, yet comfortable, close to nature, and immersed in local life. It may not be the Caribbean’s first eco-resort, but it’s certainly one of a kind.

Could one little 176-acre island really be all that? Well, that was what I was about to find out, as my tour boat followed St. Croix’s northeast shoreline towards the islet and anchored a few yards out from the beach. Gazing at the white strip of sand in front of me and the tangle of trees behind it, I had to admit that Buck Island looked remarkably virginal and undiscovered for a wildly popular tourist destination. And as I waded ashore, accompanied by frissons of wonder and excitement, I was forced to acknowledge that this beach was a strong contender for the best I’d encountered on my trip. By the time I jumped into the cool, clear water for a swim, I’d given up all thought of resistance. I was on a day-trip to heaven and I might as well make the most of it.

And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, we were ushered back into the boat and taken to Buck Island’s reef, near the start of the underwater snorkeling trail the National Park Service had installed there.

One of our tour guides led us on the trail—and I swear, my mouth would have dropped open in amazement if it hadn’t been fully occupied with breathing Darth Vader–style through my snorkel mouthpiece. I’d spent the past week snorkeling some pretty well-regarded reefs, but this one left them all behind. The "trail" was nothing more than a series of plastic-enclosed signs mounted on the seabed below us, but it led us through a wondrous three-dimensional labyrinth of coral that left me wondering if I was still on planet Earth.

When we were set free to snorkel on our own, I peeled off from the group and lost myself in solitary wonder, snorkeling along the reef as far as I could without losing sight of the boat, then turning back and doing it again. The sea life was unbelievably abundant. I spotted every creature I’d seen so far on my trip and plenty that I hadn’t. Grabbing my underwater camera, I compulsively snapped photo after photo (none of them came out, of course). My muscles grew tired, but I kept going; I wasn’t about to waste a minute of my time here. I didn’t stop until I heard the signal to return to the boat.

So pay attention to what I’m about to say, because it might be the last time you’ll ever hear me say it: Follow the crowd. Don’t miss Buck Island.

My first thought upon meeting Lumumba was that he wasn’t quite like anyone I’d ever seen before. Rangy, spry, and vaguely Rastafarian, he seemed ageless—but I can tell he looks a lot younger than however old he is, I thought, as we embarked on a long ramble through a gorgeous landscape of forests, hills, fields, and colonial ruins.

Lumumba was constantly stopping us along the way to point out the interesting qualities of various innocuous-looking plants and trees. He showed a commanding knowledge of biology, botany, ecology, and, most fascinating of all, Caribbean bush medicine—which seems to have its own cure for everything short of cancer. This plant made remarkably strong rope; that one cured yeast infections. This grass would single-handedly keep you alive if you got lost in the wild; that tree produced natural air-conditioning that would keep you cool if you sat under its boughs.

"Now this," he said, pulling some anonymous plant out of the ground to expose its white roots, "is congo root. You make an elixir out of it by soaking it in rum. This is a master root. It’s good for all sorts of things, but people call it ‘Mama Juana’ because after a man drinks it, he says, ‘Mama, I wanna.’" Lumumba grinned. "It’s good for back spasms because it thins the blood and improves circulation… but it also helps put some lead in your pencil!"

Lumumba also invited us to sample all sorts of edibles we encountered along the way, ranging from the familiar (mango, passionfruit) to the downright bizarre (an enormous seed filled with a powder that smelled disgusting but tasted delicious). And then there were the many colonial ruins we passed, with Lumumba displaying an equally endless knowledge of local history as he told us about each of them.

And so it went, as we struggled up hill and down dale, kept going only by the gorgeous scenery and Lumumba’s running commentary of intriguing trivia. Ambling effortlessly along ahead of us, he kept us riveted the entire time, showing a love of St. Croix and its native flora and fauna that we couldn’t help but share by the end. An unfamiliar sense of wonder stole over me as I thought of the bounty of nature, and all of a sudden my cushy life back in New York seemed artificial, unreal—even ridiculous. I don’t know if I’m going to pick up stakes and move to St. Croix, but I know I’ll be back—and when I am, you can bet I’ll be calling up Ay-Ay Ecotours for another go.

And at least I had professional guidance this time. This wasn’t just an aimless kayaking trip—it was an honest-to-goodness tour of the bay, courtesy of the good people at Anchor Dive Center. And, thankfully, the dive center was situated on the banks of a still, quiet inlet, where we could pile into our kayaks (five of them in all) with relative ease before paddling our way out towards the open water of the bay.

Our guide, Mike, was a very jolly fellow. Calling us to a halt, he explained that he would be shouting out questions periodically. Correct answers would get us "rum points," which would go towards the noble cause of getting us wasted once we got back. (For the kiddies, it was "soda points.") With such an incentive, the competition was brisk as we struggled to answer his questions on the history and ecology of the area.

The history part turned out to be more interesting than I would have guessed: not only is Salt River Bay the only documented site where Christopher Columbus landed on U.S. soil (and here I’d thought there was no justification at all for his status as an American hero!); it’s also the site of the first-ever skirmish between Native Americans and Europeans, in 1493.

As we continued out into the bay, Mike pointed out other interesting sights, such as a scattering of damaged boats that had been moldering here ever since their owners abandoned them in the wake of Hurricane Hugo in 1989. I couldn’t believe they were still sitting there after 15 years.

Then we paddled into another quiet lagoon surrounded by mangrove trees. Mike explained that these trees were integral to the bay’s ecosystem because their roots, which extended into the water, gave juvenile fish a protected environment in which to mature. We paddled around the edges of the lagoon admiring the flora and fauna—some of our more exciting finds were an iguana and a jellyfish. The jellyfish was a non-stinging kind, so Mike actually picked it up out of the water so that we could all touch it (eww, slimy!).

But for me, the best part of the whole tour was that my kayaking nightmare wasn’t repeated—Salt River Bay turned out to be wonderfully calm and protected. That makes this bay a good choice for children and novice kayakers—and the tour guides at Anchor Dive Center ensure a good time for everyone else!