Finding Quiet in St. Thomas & St. John: Slow Travel, History, and Meaningful Caribbean Experiences
Cognitive Dissonance
A full moon casts long shadows across our Maine farm.
Christmas snow dampens every sound—except the crunch of my boots and the quiet rhythm of alpacas chewing their hay.
Evening chores.
Familiar routines.
Frozen moments in time.
There is beauty and peace in these final days of winter break.
Just days ago, there was warmth.
Moisture. Color. Life.
The sounds of birds, waves, frogs, insects, and wind moving through palm leaves.
The thrill of a new place.
The pull of possibility.
Living between home and travel—between pastures and palm trees—creates a deeper gratitude than experiencing either world alone. There is room to love both: the comfort and grounding of country routines, and the curiosity, island energy, and sense of discovery that travel brings.
When Travel Isn’t Perfect—and Why That Matters
Our Christmas trip to St. Thomas was not perfect.
I reluctantly booked an Airbnb, and it turned out to be exactly what I imagined:
a tired, slightly messy condo
no housekeeping or front desk—we were fully on our own
rationing towels
a stunning blue Caribbean beach… inundated daily by cruise ship crowds
beach chairs available—for $15 a day
uncertainty around expensive cab rides to stores and restaurants
one panic moment after being dropped at a quiet resort restaurant, unsure if we’d find a ride home
(Lesson learned: if you ever feel uncomfortable getting out of the cab, don’t get out of the cab!)
But so it goes with every new adventure.
There are always things you love and things that aren’t your favorite. Moments you cherish—and experiences you know you’ll never repeat. Without trying something new, you never learn what truly sets your soul on fire.
Over time, we’ve learned to love every trip we take—not because they’re perfect, but because we adapt. We shape each destination around what matters most to us: quiet moments, warm water, nature, curiosity, connection, and creating space to feel grounded in the experience.
Here are three ways we adapted our St. Thomas vacation to suit my introverted, slow-travel style.
We Booked a Beach Cabana
Until this trip, I never understood why anyone would spend extra money on a beach or pool cabana for the day.
That changed quickly.
After a long winter-to-island travel day, my introverted soul craved stillness and space. Travel days are exhilarating—but draining. Leaving the farm in winter, driving to Boston, early alarms, airport security, lines, cramped planes… it all adds up. I always plan to have no plans on our first day at an island destination.
We walked down to Beach Buzz Café at Sapphire Beach for breakfast and coffee, hoping to get a feel for the day. Sapphire Beach is open to the public and surrounded by several condo complexes—ours perched at the top of the hill. As we sat there with our boozy coffees, cruise ship tour groups arrived in waves. Some even wore matching pirate outfits.
Not quite the vibe I was hoping for.
This was the first resort we’d visited where beach chairs weren’t included. Each chair was $15 per day. A cabana, however, was $275—and included shade, couches, a table, and two beach chairs in the sand. We chose one right next to the bar and restaurant and set up for the day.
And just like that, the trip shifted.
We floated in the ocean, soaked in the sun, ate lunch in the shade, and had space to process the abrupt change to our senses. It was the perfect way to ease into island time—quiet, comfortable, and exactly what we needed.
We Rented a Boat in St. John
St. Thomas is lovely—but St. John is a dream.
While we slept each night in our condo on St. Thomas, three of our six full days were spent on the open waters and beaches of St. John. The Virgin Islands National Park covers over half the island, preserving beaches, coral reefs, mountains, hiking trails, and historic ruins—making it an ideal destination for introverts, nature lovers and slow Caribbean travelers.
We intentionally stayed in Red Hook, St. Thomas, for easy access to the ferry system. A short 20 minute ride across the bay costs only $8.15 and brings you to the tourist town of Cruz Bay. The ferries run conveniently every hour to half hour so there is never a worry about missing your boat.
From town, taxi buses can take you to any of the famous beaches across the island, each with its own charm and personality.
Wanting to make the most of our limited time, we rented a small zodiac from Wharfside Watersports. It gave us the freedom to explore the coastline before committing to any particular beach. With shade, space for the three of us, and the ability to handle the swells from the day’s winds, it was perfect.
Viewing an island from the water changes everything. On every Caribbean trip, we prioritize time on the ocean—usually booking a catamaran tour boat—to understand the coastline, marine life, and rhythm of the place.
What made this trip to St. John unique was that we were on our own to explore. No agenda, no itinerary, no other tourists, just open space. We were free to come and go in our own time frame, and able to visit places, such as Lovango island, that are only accessible by boat. What’s more, it naturally compelled us to be fully present and aware of our surroundings. Navigating with GPS, watching the rainstorm approach and being observant of changing ocean conditions required the 3 of us to be more mindful and to work as a team.
We were not just along for the ride this time—instead, free to follow our own curiosity and natural instincts.
We Hiked the Sugar Plantation Ruins at Cinnamon Bay
My favorite thing to do on any Caribbean vacation is sit on the beach, swim in warm blue water, and watch the waves. It is the only time I can do nothing and feel like I am doing everything.
But I can’t do only that.
If every vacation is spent solely on the beach, destinations begin to blur together. They stop leaving a lasting imprint.
That’s why we always seek one experience that anchors the trip—something that connects us more deeply to the place. On this vacation, that moment came while hiking the Cinnamon Bay Plantation Ruins on St. John.
The shaded 0.5 mile trail winds through forest and stone remnants of a Danish sugar plantation established in 1717. The sunlight filters through the tropical plants that are slowly reclaiming the stone structures. Haunting and peaceful, the path felt like a passage into another time. Although we were steps away from one of the most famous beaches in the world, we passed only a handful of other tourists while we slowly hiked the trail. The space was ours to absorb.
The forest and ruins felt inviting, the quiet intentional, as if it had secrets it wanted desperately to share. A small group of deer appeared near the family cemetery, calmly guiding us forward. We followed them, reading the historical and ecological trail markers and absorbing a past we could never fully comprehend.
When another family arrived, the spell gently broke. The pull of the ocean returned, and we made our way back to the beach—grateful for the stillness we had been offered.
It felt like a gift.
“…and I watched boats sail, in and out of Cinnamon Bay.” ~ Kenny Chesney
A Quiet Shift
The experiences that stay with us longest are rarely the loudest. They are the ones that ask us to slow down, adapt, and pay attention.
Travel doesn’t need to be perfect to be meaningful. It needs space—for curiosity, for discomfort, for reverence, and for quiet moments that invite us to listen.
As I return to winter chores under moonlight, I carry those moments with me. Between pastures and palm trees, between home and away, I’m reminded that presence—not perfection—is what truly changes us.
Cinnamon Bay Beach, St. John