Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Benin & Niger Island Dispute

BENIN-NIGER: International Court rules that main disputed island belongs to Niger not Benin
UN Office for the coordination of Humanitarian Rights

The disputed islands lie near the border crossing at Malanville

DAKAR, 12 Jul 2005 (IRIN) - The International Court of Justice (ICJ) gave its ruling in a border row between Benin and Niger on Tuesday, awarding the majority of 25 disputed islands in the Niger River, to Niger, including the largest one, which was at the heart of the dispute.

Niger was awarded 16 of the disputed islands along a 150 km stretch of the river where it forms the border between the two countries, including 60 square km Lete, the largest island, which had been the cause of sporadic border clashes.

The government in Niamey already receives taxes from the handful of people who live on Lete island. Most of them are livestock herders.

Benin and Niger, which are two of the world's poorest countries, have both claimed ownership of the 25 islands since they won independence from France in 1960.

The West African nations headed to the UN court in The Hague in 2002, promising to abide by its decision.

The panel of five judges which examined the case said in a four-to-one majority ruling that it had allocated 16 of the disputed islands to Niger, with the other nine falling to Benin.

It also delineated the boundaries between the two countries in the River Niger and the River Mekrou.

Tuesday's ruling is final and cannot be appealed.

Lete is situated close to the main border crossing between the two countries at Malanville, where the main highway from the port of Cotonou to the Niger capital Niamey crosses the River Niger on a bridge.

A series of clashes over Lete island the early 1960s left eight Niger nationals dead and the dispute has smouldered on since then.

It flared up again in 2000 when Benin began erecting a government administration building on the island. Niger sent soldiers to stop the construction work and Benin responded by temporarily blocking food shipments to its landlocked neighbour.

Both governments have both vowed to abide by the ICJ's decision.

In a broadcast to the nation on Monday night, Niger's Prime Minister Hama Amadou called on the population of his country to accept the court's verdict, whichever way the decision went.

"Defining a clear border between our two countries can only reinforce peace and good neighbourly relations," he said.

Reuters news agency quoted Benin's Foreign Minister Rogatien Biaou as saying after the ICJ verdict that his country still believed the border should have been on the far bank of the rivers, granting Benin possession of all the islands, but it would accept the ruling.

Iran and UAE Battle of Tiny Island

Iranian sensitivities over disputed island
BBC News Friday, 11 November 2005, 11:35 GMT
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4427778.stm

A British couple and an Australian yachtsman ran into trouble when they sailed towards a disputed island in the Strait of Hormuz, between Iran and the United Arab Emirates.

But why is the island so sensitive that it prompted Iranian authorities to hold them under armed guard for 13 days while they questioned them repeatedly?

Abu Musa is a small island, about 12 sq km, and seemed a good destination for Rupert and Linda Wise with Australian Paul Shulton as they took their yacht on its maiden voyage from Dubai.

After checking maps and asking some locals, they decided that the harbour and marina looked just the spot.

What the maps didn't appear to tell them was that Abu Musa is heavily fortified, populated by soldiers and the cause of tension between Iran and UAE.

As two gun boats approached and 10 men surrounded them they must have wondered what they had sailed into.

Tanker traffic

Abu Musa, with neighbouring Greater and Lesser Tunbs, are strategically important in the Gulf as one-fifth of the world's oil supply passes by them.

Iran seized the Greater and Lesser Tunbs in 1971 and annexed Abu Musa in 1992 and has been in dispute with the UAE since.

The Iranians are very, very sensitive about anything that comes close to the island

David Hartwell Jane's Country Risk
Britons tell of ordeal

The UK's Foreign Office said "relations with Iran have been soured by the dispute".

And in the "war of the tankers" during the 1980s, Iran fired missiles at Iraq's tankers from there.

"It's a boiling strategic issue because it's key for tanker traffic," said Middle East editor for Jane's Country Risk David Hartwell.

"The Iranians are very, very sensitive about anything that comes close to the island."

Unwelcome intervention

The UAE has no presence on the island but sees custody of it as a sovereign issue.

It has offered to allow the International Court at the Hague to settle the dispute.

Iran, however, has made it clear it does not welcome intervention by any outside body.

That presumably applies to errant sailors.

No charge

Mr Hartwell said: "Given that they were British, that they were sailing towards a sensitive island, given the pressure that Iran is under at the moment, regarding the nuclear issue and Iraq - then they are going to react pretty adversely."

The trio were released without any charge or even knowing why they had been apprehended.

Initial questioning by the officials focused on spying and the possibility that it was "a subtle probe" into ownership of the island, but they soon gave up on that tack, Mr Wise said.

But with the navy, judiciary, ministry of information and ministry of foreign affairs all involved, the Iranians were clearly being cautious about the unwelcome visitors.

ABOUT THE ISLAND

Abu Musa (called Abu Musa in Arabic by UAE and Jazireh-ye Abu Musa in Persian by Iran) has a population of around 600 people, and is situated at the mouth of the narrows of the Strait of Hormuz.

The largest of these three islands Abu Musa covers an area of 12 sq kms., with a diameter of 5 kms. It is roughly circular in shape. The highest elevation is about 110 meters, obtains toward the northern part of the Island at Halva peak (Jebel Halwa).

The mountains end as rocky cliffs or steep promontories at the north, while at the mouths of the valleys are sandy beaches at the south. Like the other islands in the Persian Gulf enjoys warm and humid climate. The annual precipitation is over 100 mm².

Abu Musa is notable for its golden, sandy beaches and for its authentic natural beauty. In the west and south-west is Abu Musa town, the capital of the island and its most important harbour. Fishing is the major industry on this island.

There are few significant resources on the islands apart from red oxide (coloring pigment) and oil, and only Abu Musa can accommodate large ships.

The History of Islands - Abu Musa

Abu Musa (called Abu Musa in Arabic by UAE and Jazireh-ye Abu Musa in Persian by Iran) is situated at the mouth of the narrows of the Strait of Hormuz.

Carried out studies show that in 1000 BC., Abu Musa island was administered by Iranians like other islands of Pars Sea (Persian Gulf) and was a part of Iranian territory.

Between the years (1165-1151 AH.) Pars Sea and Abu Musa were under the dominance of Elomates.

In Parthians (Arsacides) era and in the time of Mehrdad the First (138-171 BC.), Abu Musa was under the dominance of this Iranian dynasty.

In Sasanid time (another Iranian dynasty), these islands were a part of Iranian territory and in time of Omavian and Abas ian caliphate, ports and islands of the Persian Gulf were managed by their envoys.

In the year 323 AD., Emadoldole Daylami, occupied the ports and islands of the Persian Gulf including Abu Musa. In the reign of Al-Bouyeh, all ports and islands of the Persian Gulf annexed to their territory.

This island was under Kerman Saljoughian rule till 538 AH., and was managed by local government of Bani Ghaisa. Taymur Gurkan annexed the ports and islands of the Persian Gulf to his territory.

In 1147 AH., Karim Xane Zand ruled over the ports and islands of the Persian Gulf. Aqa Mohamad Xane Qajar ruled over all of these areas as well.

In the reign of Shah Abbas Safavid, Portuguese conquered Abu Musa island. Initially the Portuguese who came to the gulf in the late 15th century after Vasco da Gama's discovery of the route to India via the Cape of Good Hope.

In the late 18th century, with entrance of British naval force and her political citizens to the Persian Gulf in the pretext of expelling pirates, preventing slavery and safeguarding the sea routes to India, British Naval Force stopped Iranian military operations in Abu Musa.

In January 1968, Britain announced that it would withdraw all of its forces from east of Suez by the end of 1971. At that time the sheikhdom of Sharjah, now part of the United Arab Emirates (UAE) controlled Abu Musa.

Dueling Geographers May Decide Title To Disputed Island

An Oklahoma Indian tribe argues that geographic references in one hundred-year-old treaties give them title to a 677-acre Lake Erie island worth millions of dollars. The attorney for the Ottawa Tribe retained a geography professor to plot the U.S.-Canadian border through Lake Erie in the early 1800s.

Dr. Ute Dymon, a Kent State geography professor and cartographer says that by combining descriptions from the Fort Industry treaty in 1805 and the Treaty of Detroit of 1807 she has been able to plot the international border as it existed in the early 1800's. According to Dr. Dymon's research, this line placed North Bass Island in the hands of the British. By the terms of the 1805 treaty, the Ottawa and other tribes relinquished their lands to the United States. However, the tribe argues that since the island was not part of the U.S. at the time, that treaty did not affect North Bass Island.

The Toledo Blade explains further:

The Ottawa, however, now maintain that North Bass Island, also known as the Isle of St. George, was on the British side of the U.S.-Canadian border at the time of the 1805 treaty and was not affected by it.

The tribe claims it retained its rights when the U.S.-Canadian border was redrawn in 1822 with North Bass clearly south of the line.

Not surprisingly, having recently paid $17.4 million for 87% of the disputed island, the State of Ohio disputes the tribe's claim and suggests that the tribe has another motive. The Blade quotes Mark Anthony, spokesman for the Ohio Attorney General as saying, "Their claim is unfounded and unreasonable, which we will prove in court with the help of expert testimony. We suspect their claim is a shakedown ploy to bring casino gambling here, which a majority of Ohioans have twice rejected."

The trial may well come down to a duel of expert witnesses as not all geographers accept the tribe's claim. The Toldeo Blade quotes Morton E. O'Kelly, chairman of the department of geography at Ohio State University as drawing a different conclusion than the Ottawa Tribe:

"Based on a review of early maps, my experience and expertise as a geographer, and a careful examination of the proposed construction of the Land Claim, I conclude, and it is my opinion, that the island referred to as North Bass Island was not at any time divided by the international boundary and has always been considered part of the United States," he said.

Indonesia & East Timor Battle over Private Island

Fatu Sinai or Batek Island, East Timor
http://oecusse.com/fatusinai/index.htm#

The island of Fatu Sinai (sometimes known as Batek) is located approximately 5km off the coastline of Oecusse's Nitibe subdistrict and the Amfoang Utara subdistrict of Kupang Barat district in West Timor. It is approximately the size of a football field raised on a plateau some 50 m above sea level. Since 1999 Timor Leste and Indonesia have disputed ownership of the island.

Fatu Sinai/Batek is in fact the "Fatu Lulik" or traditional "adat" stone for the people who live on the Nitibe coastline in addition to those who live in sight of the island in Amfoang Utara, West Timor. Fatu Sinai/Batek is mythologically believed by the people of Oecusse Enclave to originate from Oesilo subdistrict in Oecusse's interior, while the people of Amfoang Utara originates from Nuaf Mutis in the interior of West Timor. It is in fact a shared asset between people of common ethnic background divided by an international border. To both groups it is much like what Jaco Island is to the people of Tutuala, Los Palos.

The Colonial Period
(Portuguese Timor and Timur Timor, Indonesia)

Colonial treaties between Portugal and The Netherlands in 1859, 1896, 1904 and 1914 determined the border between the eastern and western parts of Timor Island, including the Oecusse Enclave. In these primarily land border treaties the only reference to the island off Nitibe (Timor Leste / Portuguese Timor) and Amfoang Utara (Indonesia / Dutch East Indies) is in the 1904 agreement in which the island is referred to as Pulau Batek, and in the in the treaty map the border splits the island in half between Timor Leste / Portuguese Timor and Indonesia / Dutch East Indies.

Between 1914 and 1999 there were no disputes regarding Fatu Sinai/Batek for a number of reasons not the least of which is that it was not perceived to be of any significance to parties in Jakarta or Dili; and, secondly, it was part of Indonesia from 1975 to 1999.

Fatu Sinai/Batek was a "forgotten island" by the colonial powers.

Since 1999

Fatu Sinai/Batek island has only become an issue since Timor Leste's liberation in 1999. In early drafts of the 2001 Oecusse Enclave Constitutional Commission report (based on a series of community consultations) Fatu Sinai/Batek was defined as part of the Oecusse Enclave and Timor Leste's national territory. However, the Constitution of Timor Leste as promulgated in March 2002 did not include Fatu Sinai/Batek in it definition of national territory.

In the second half of 2002 the Indonesian Government apparently constructed a small lighthouse on Fatu Sinai/Batek. On 14 December 2003 the TNI conducted what it described as a military exercise "in its territory" on Fatu Sinai/Batek when a warship, helicopter and jet shelled and bombed the island for several hours—seriously intimidating the people in Citrana, Nitibe.


The Jakarta Post Tuesday, January 20, 2004

TNI to Send Troops to Disputed Island of Batek

Yemris Fointuna, The Jakarta Post, Kupang, East Nusa Tenggara

The Indonesian Military (TNI) says it will soon deploy troops to the disputed island of Batek, which is close to East Nusa Tenggara province and East Timor.

Wirasakti military commander Col. Moeswarno Moesanip, who is responsible for military affairs in East Nusa Tenggara, claimed the stationing of troops on the island was aimed at preventing the island being used for illegal activities, such as people trafficking or smuggling.

"Batek island is part of Indonesian territory, so we have to guard it. We plan to send around a combined unit of 10 to 15 personnel from the Navy, Army and police," he told The Jakarta Post on Monday.

Nevertheless, he could not give a definite date when the troops would be sent to Batek, saying the TNI had yet to complete the development of various facilities there, including accommodation for the troops.

The issue of Batek Island, near Kupang regency in East Nusa Tenggara, became a hot potato after the East Timor government claimed that it was part of Oecusi, the new nation's enclave in West Timor.

Responding to the claim, the Indonesian government said East Timor had never controlled the island and that the national red-and-white flag had been raised there since December 2002.

The dispute heated up further recently after East Timor's Minister of Foreign Affairs Ramos Horta criticized the TNI for holding military exercises on the disputed island at the end of last year.

Based on data from the Kupang administration, the island, which is uninhabited, is part of Oepoli village in North Amfoang subdistrict. It is located near international waters.

Due to its strategic location, fishermen from both Indonesia and East Timor often rest on the island.

Indonesia's Ministry of Transportation and Communication erected a beacon on the island that benefits fishermen from both countries.

Moesanif, however, said the island has no any economic value because most of it is made of coral.

Indonesia, a country of more than 13,000 islands, had to relinquish its claim over Sipadan and Ligitan islands last year after the International Court of Justice ruled in favor of neighboring Malaysia.

The dispute between Indonesia and Malaysia over the two islands came to the fore in 1969 when both countries started initial talks on delineating their common borders.

In 1989, the leaders of both countries started diplomatic efforts to settle the issue and in 1996 turned to international arbitration.

Despite the fact it was disputed territory the TNI did not forewarn Timor Leste it would carry out this exercise. The Government of Timor Leste and the United Nations were particularly silent in reaction and did not speak publicly on the matter until it was reported in the Australian press several weeks later on 12 January 2004. On 5 February 2004 Col. Moesanip, the KOREM commander in Kupang, was reported by Antara News Agency as stating that the exercise was conducted to demonstrate Indonesia's sovereignty over Fatu Sinai/Batek and that if Timor Leste should choose to resist then Indonesia would consider deploying soldiers to the island.

Indonesian warship blasts island
HERALD SUN
Mark Dodd and Ian McPhedran
January 12, 2004

In a dramatic show of military muscle, an
Indonesian warship has blasted a contested island
near East Timor with gunfire and a missile just
weeks after peacekeepers left the area.
A UN military report dated December 14, 2003,
and seen by the says a camouflaged helicopter
bearing Indonesian markings fired a missile into
the disputed outcrop, known locally as Fatu
Sinai, before a warship pounded the tiny uninhabited
island with heavy gunfire.
The classified report says the shelling was witnessed
by more than 150 terrified villagers living
in Baoknana village on the Oecussi enclave, a
pocket of East Timorese territory on the north
coast of Indonesian West Timor.
Security analysts say the show of force marks
Jakarta's determination to stamp its sovereignty
on the disputed island it calls Pulau Batek.
The outcrop lies just 5km off East Timor's coastline
at the western tip of the enclave.
Since September 2000, the UN and East Timor
Government have been negotiating with
Indonesia over matters relating to border demarcation.
A senior UN security analyst familiar with
Oecussi said the shelling was a show of strength.
“The Indonesian side has not fulfilled any of its
commitments and within 60 days of the withdrawal
of UN troops the Indonesian military flexed its
muscles with this display,” the analyst said.

A spokesman for Foreign Affairs Minister
Alexander Downer said the Government was
aware of the incident, but regarded it as a matter
between Indonesia and East Timor.
“We are pleased that the unresolved issues are
being handled in constructive discussions
between the two countries concerned,” the
spokesman said.
Indonesia and East Timor are discussing land
border issues, but maritime borders have not yet
been raised.
The December incident underscores the vulnerability
of East Timor's ill-defined maritime borders.
East Timor seceded from Indonesia after a
bloody UN-brokered ballot in 1999 that saw a
massive majority of the population vote in favour
of independence.
The brash display of gunboat diplomacy raises
fresh concerns over the timing of a planned withdrawal
of Australian peacekeepers maintaining
security along East Timor's main frontier with
Indonesia.
East Timorese witnesses interviewed by UN
observers said about noon on December 14 an
Indonesian warship carrying a camouflaged helicopter
approached the island, stopping within
100m of its southern tip.
The helicopter then took off and the warship
withdrew to a new position facing the island but
about 200m offshore.

The helicopter fired what is believed to be a missile
that exploded on impact, creating a pall of
smoke.
Then the warship sailed to within 400m northeast
of the outcrop and fired 13 rounds of high
explosive from what the UN said was a 40mm
cannon.
Two hours later an Indonesian jet fighter believed
to be a US-built F-16 flew over the island at just
200m.
Witnesses said that during the two-hour incident
the people of Baoknana were terrified, with some
fleeing into the hills.
“People could smell smoke and fumes from the
gunfire and were very concerned about possible
poisoning from the gases,” the report said.

While the report does not identify the type of
warship involved, Indonesia has three classes of
frigate capable of carrying an armed helicopter.
The most likely culprit was one of six ex-Dutch
built frigates based on the British Leander class.
According to diplomats, several motives could lie
behind the display of firepower, but Jakarta's
determination not to lose any more territory is
the most likely explanation.
Indonesia has built four houses on the disputed
island to accommodate lighthouse workers,
according to West Timor military commander
Colonel M. Moesanip.
Col. Moesanip confirmed the navy exercise was
carried out to assert sovereignty on the island.

Burmese troops occupy disputed island

BANGKOK, (UPI)

Burmese troops are reported to have built two watchtowers and are digging bunkers on a disputed island along the ill- defined border between Burma and Thailand.

The island, located in the Moei River that divides northern Thailand from Burma, has been the subject of a long-running dispute between the two neighbors.

Major Chirawat Wongpiyanarong, secretary to the Local Thai Border Committee, is quoted by the Bangkok Post as saying the construction of the fortifications by the Burmese army violates a bilateral agreement to withdraw troops from the disputed island.

The island, covering 79 acres (200 rai), was created in 1994-1995 when the Moei River changed course during flooding.

During negotiations with the Burmese, Thai officials suggested that the border be demarcated with the use of aerial photos but the Burmese did not reply to the suggestion.

About 20 Thai families who settled near the disputed area are reported to have fled because they feared being shot by the newly arrived Burmese troops.

During last week's parliamentary censure debate against Thai Prime Minister Chavalit Yongchaiyudh, members of the opposition accused the premier of agreeing to cede the land to Burma in return for the opening of a so-called Friendship Bridge linking Burma with the northern Thai province of Tak.

Greece, Turkey circle island each says is theirs

CNN News, January 30, 1996

ATHENS, Greece (CNN) -- Greek and Turkish naval forces shadowed each other in the eastern Aegean Sea Tuesday, as conflicting claims intensified between the governments over an unpopulated 10-acre islet.

The two countries called on each other to pull back rival warships around the disputed territory.

In Ankara, the Greek ambassador was summoned to the foreign ministry where Turkey called "for the immediate withdrawal of Greek ships" from around the tiny rock island.

In Athens, Defense Minister Gerassimos Arsenis said, "We do not want escalation of the crisis. If the other side is sincere and also wants de-escalation, it should remove its (military) presence from the area, from our waters, from our airspace."

There were reports that the entire Greek fleet was ordered to sail toward the Dodecanese island chain in the eastern Aegean, where the islet is located. But, the Defense Ministry press office would only say that some ships were in the area. Air force jets were ready to take off within two minutes, if necessary, military sources said.

Arsenis said a Turkish frigate and helicopter had violated Greek air and sea space early Tuesday around the islet, which Greece calls Imia and Turkey calls Kardak. Greek forces warned the frigate to turn back, Arsenis said. No warning shots were fired.

"The islet of Imia is Greek and it is the responsibility of the armed forces to defend Greek territory, and they are in a position to defend it," Arsenis said.

On Monday, Greek Premier Costas Simitis warned Turkey that Greece would not tolerate questioning of its sovereign rights. Turkish Prime Minister Tansu Ciller responded similarly, demanding that Greek forces be withdrawn and that the Greek flag be taken down from the island.

"Turkey will by no means give up its sovereignty rights," Ciller said. "It is part of Turkey's territory. . . . We will put our full decisiveness behind it."

The crisis between the two NATO allies appears to be their worst since 1987 when they nearly went to war after Turkey tried to send an oil-drilling ship into disputed waters in the Aegean.

In 1974, the two sides narrowly escaped another clash after Turkey invaded and occupied the northern part of Cyprus, an independent Mediterranean island populated by people of Turkish and Greek descent.

The islet is made up of two barren rocks spanning 10 acres. The conflicting claims emerged late last month after a Turkish ship ran aground near the islet and refused assistance from the Greek coast guard, saying it was on Turkish territory.

The Turkish government backed the ship's claim that the island was Turkish. The Greeks promptly gave notice that the island was theirs.

The low-level dispute remained a diplomatic one for nearly a month. But last Wednesday, a private Greek television station, Antenna TV, reported on the situation, giving rise to news stories in the Greek media about Turkish commandos invading Greece.

Turkey has called for a dialogue to settle the issue, and the broader question of air and sea rights. Greece says there is nothing to discuss and that the islet belongs to it under a 1947 convention in which Italy ceded the Dodecanese islands to Greece. Italy had taken them from Turkey under an agreement in 1932.

The islet is about 12 miles from the Greek island of Kalimnos and nearly four miles off the Turkish coast.

The Minqueiers & Ecrehos Islands Case

Note: Here again we have two nations acting like spoiled children. It reminds me of the Falkland islands, which Jose Luis Borges so succinctly described as like " a fight between two bald men over a comb".

That would be funny if it werent for the fact that 255 British and 635 Argentine soldiers lost their lives, over what Reagan called "that little ice-cold bunch of land down there."

I remember the Falklands vividly as it started the very day I joined the Army, and was finished before I completed my basic training!

Just a reminder of how stupid politicians can be.

Mr. Cheyenne Morrison


The Minquiers & Ecrehos Islands Case
Judgment of 17 November 1953
The International Court of Justice

The Minquiers and Ecrehos case was submitted to the Court by virtue of a Special Agreement concluded between the United Kingdom and France on December 29th, 1950. In a unanimous decision, the Court found that sovereignty over the islets and rocks of the Ecrehos and the Minquiers groups, in so far as these islets and rocks are capable of appropriation, belongs to the United Kingdom.

In its Judgment, the Court began by defining the task laid before it by the Parties. The two groups of islets in question lie between the British Channel Island of Jersey and the coast of France. The Ecrehos lie 3.9 sea miles from the former and 6.6 sea miles from the latter. The Minquiers group lie 9.8 sea miles from Jersey and 16.2 sea miles from the French mainland and 8 miles away from the Chausey islands which belong to France. Under the Special Agreement, the Court was asked to determine which of the Parties had produced the more convincing proof of title to these groups and any possibility of applying to them the status of terra nullius was set aside. In addition, the question of burden of proof was reserved: each Party therefore had to prove its alleged title and the facts upon which it relied. Finally, when the Special Agreement refers to islets and rocks, in so far as they are capable of appropriation, it must be considered that these terms relate to islets and rocks physically capable of appropriation. The Court did not have to determine in detail the facts relating to the particular units of the two groups.

The Court then examined the titles invoked by both Parties. The United Kingdom Government derives its title from the conquest of England by William Duke of Normandy in 1066. The union thus established between England and the Duchy of Normandy, including the Channel Islands, lasted until 1204, when Philip Augustus of France conquered continental Normandy. But, his attempts to occupy also the islands having been unsuccessful, the United Kingdom submitted the view that all of the Channel Islands, including the Ecrehos and the Minquiers, remained united with England and that this situation of fact was placed on a legal basis by subsequent treaties concluded between the two countries. The French Government contended for its part that, after 1204, the King of France held the Minquiers and the Ecrehos, together with some other islands close to the Continent and referred to the same mediæval treaties as those invoked by the United Kingdom.

The Court found that none of those treaties (Treaty of Paris of 1259, Treaty of Calais of 1360, Treaty of Troyes of 1420) specified which islands were held by the King of England or by the King of France. There are, however, other ancient documents which provide some indications as to the possession of the islets in dispute. The United Kingdom relied on them to show that the Channel Islands were considered as an entity and, since the more important islands were held by England, this country also possessed the groups in dispute. For the Court, there appears to be a strong presumption in favour of this view, without it being possible however, to draw any definitive conclusion as to the sovereignty over the groups, since this question must ultimately depend on the evidence which relates directly to possession.

For its part, the French Government saw a presumption in favour of French sovereignty in the feudal link between the King of France, overlord of the whole of Normandy, and the King of England,his vassal for these territories. In this connection, it relies on a Judgment of the Court of France of 1202, which condemned John Lackland to forfeit all the lands which he held in fee of the King of France, including the whole of Normandy. But the United Kingdom Government contends that the feudal title of the French Kings in respect of Normandy was only nominal. It denies that the Channel Islands were received in fee of the King of France by the Duke of Normandy, and contests the validity, and even the existence, of the judgment of 1202. Without solving these historical controversies, the Court considered it sufficient to state that the legal effects attached to the dismemberment of the Duchy of Normandy in 1204, when Normandy was occupied by the French, have been superseded by the numerous events which occurred in the following centuries. In the opinion of the Court, what is of decisive importance is not indirect presumptions based on matters in the Middle Ages, but the evidence which relates directly to the possession of the groups.

Before considering this evidence, the Court first examined certain questions concerning both groups. The French Government contended that a Convention on fishery, concluded in 1839, although it did not settle the question of sovereignty, affected however that question. It is said that the groups in dispute were included in the common fishery zone created by the Convention. It is said also that the conclusion of this Convention precludes the Parties from relying on subsequent acts involving a manifestation of sovereignty. The Court was unable to accept these contentions because the Convention dealt with the waters only, and not the common user of the territory of the islets. In the special circumstances of the case, and in view of the date at which a dispute really arose between the two Governments about these groups, the Court shall consider all the acts of the Parties, unless any measure was taken with a view to improving the legal position of the Party concerned.

The Court then examined the situation of each group. With regard to the Ecrehos in particular, and on the basis of various mediæval documents, it held the view that the King of England exercised his justice and levied his rights in these islets. Those documents also show that there was at that time a close relationship between the Ecrehos and Jersey.

From the beginning of the nineteenth century, the connection became closer again, because of the growing importance of oyster fishery. The Court attached probative value to various acts relating to the exercise by Jersey of jurisdiction and local administration and to legislation, such as criminal proceedings concerning the Ecrehos, the levying of taxes on habitable houses or huts built in the islets since 1889, the registration in Jersey of contracts dealing with real estate on the Ecrehos.

The French Government invoked the fact that in 1646 the States of Jersey prohibited fishing at the Ecrehos and the Chausey and restricted visits to the Ecrehos in 1692. It mentioned also diplomatic exchanges between the two Governments, in the beginning of the nineteenth century, to which were attached charts on which part of the Ecrehos at least was marked outside Jersey waters and treated as res nullius. In a note to the Foreign Office of December 15th, 1886, the French Government claimed for the first time sovereignty over the Ecrehos.

Appraising the relative strength of the opposing claims in the light of these facts, the Court found that sovereignty over the Ecrehos belonged to the United Kingdom.

With regard to the Minquiers, the Court noted that in 1615, 1616, 1617 and 1692, the Manorial court of the fief of Noirmont in Jersey exercised its jurisdiction in the case of wrecks found at the Minquiers, because of the territorial character of that jurisdiction.

Other evidence concerning the end of the eighteenth century, the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries concerned inquests on corpses found at the Minquiers, the erection on the islets of habitable houses or huts by persons from Jersey who paid property taxes on that account, the registration in Jersey of contracts of sale relating to real property in the Minquiers. These various facts show that Jersey authorities have, in several ways, exercised ordinary local administration in respect of the Minquiers during a long period of time and that, for a considerable part of the nineteenth century and the twentieth century, British authorities have exercised State functions in respect of this group.

The French Government alleged certain facts. It contended that the Minquiers were a dependency of the Chausey islands, granted by the Duke of Normandy to the Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel in 1022. In 1784 a correspondence between French authorities concerned an application for a concession in respect of the Minquiers made by a French national. The Court held the view that this correspondence did not disclose anything which could support the present French claim to sovereignty, but that it revealed certain fears of creating difficulties with the English Crown. The French Government further contended that, since 1861, it has assumed the sole charge of the lighting and buoying of the Minquiers, without having encountered any objection from the United Kingdom. The Court said that the buoys placed by the French Government at the Minquiers were placed outside the reefs of the groups and purported to aid navigation to and from French ports and protect shipping against the dangerous reefs of the Minquiers. The French Government also relied on various official visits to the Minquiers and the erection in 1939 of a house on one of the islets with a subsidy from the Mayor of Granville, in continental Normandy.

The Court did not find that the facts invoked by the French Government were sufficient to show that France has a valid title to the Minquiers. As to the above-mentioned facts from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in particular, such acts could hardly be considered as sufficient evidence of the intention of that Government to act as sovereign over the islets. Nor were those acts of such a character that they could be considered as involving a manifestation of State authority in respect of the islets.

In such circumstances, and having regard to the view expressed above with regard to the evidence produced by the United Kingdom Government, the Court was of opinion that the sovereignty over the Minquiers belongs to the United Kingdom.

The Pig War of San Juan Island

Note: This the hilarious (but stupid and dangerous) war between the United States and Canada over San Juan Island. It all began with a fight over a pig!

Mr. Cheyenne Morrison


Published March 8th, 2004 in Life
http://www.michaelhanscom.com

In the early 1800’s, as settlers moved westward across America, a dispute arose between the Americans and the British over ownership of the Oregon Country, land covering much of today’s Pacific Northwest, stretching from Oregon through Washington and up into British Columbia and parts of Idaho and Wyoming. While the territory had been declared to be in joint possession of the two governments, as more and more settlers moved in, the British claimed that land ceded to them in previous treaties and through the work of the Hudson’s Bay Company was being encroached upon.

After a few years of slightly strained tensions, in 1846 the Oregon Treaty peacefully resolved the dispute, setting the 49th parallel as the upper boundary of the United States. As the 49th parallel cuts directly through Vancouver Island when extended westward, it was determined that the boundary line would extend “to the middle of the channel which separates the continent from Vancouver’s Island; and thence southerly through the middle of the said channel, and of Fuca’s straits to the Pacific Ocean.” Unfortunately, that wording proved to be unclear enough to set the stage for another conflict.

The difficulty lay in that there were two straits running southward through the islands — Haro Strait and Rosario Strait. As each country wanted the most advantageous boundary line, each claimed that the boundary ran through whichever strait would grant them the islands, with the British running the boundary line through Rosario Strait and the Americans, Haro Strait.

Over the next few years, both the British and the Americans started utilizing San Juan Island, with each group assuming that the other group was there illegally. By 1859, the British Hudson’s Bay Company had both a salmon-curing station and a sheep ranch operating on the island, and the Americans had about eighteen settlers living there also. Tempers were short, but things didn’t come to a head until June of 1859.

On June 15 of that year, American settler Lyman Cutlar discovered a pig rutting through his garden. He shot and killed the pig — which belonged to his neighbor, an Irishman employed by the Hudson’s Bay Company. When Cutlar offered to pay for the pig, his neighbor claimed that the pig was a champion breeder and demanded $100 for the loss. Considering this high price to be unreasonable, Cutlar refused to pay. British authorities, already considering Cutlar and the rest of the settlers to be illegal squatters, threatened to arrest him. The American settlers, none to happy about these British who refused to leave their island, petitioned for U.S. military protection. On July 27th, a 66-man company of the 9th U.S. infantry, commanded by Cpt. George E. Pickett, landed on the southern tip of the island and set up camp.

The British governor of British Columbia’s Crown Colony, angered by the arrival of U.S. troops. answered by sending in his own forces — three British warships commanded by Cpt. Geoffrey Hornby — with instructions to remove Pickett from San Juan Island, but to avoid any actual hostilities if at all possible.

Over the next few months, each side continued to send in reinforcements, until by the end of August, “461 Americans, protected by 14 cannons and an earthen redoubt, were opposed by three British warships mounting 70 guns and carrying 2,140 men, including bluejackets (sailors), Royal Marines, artillerymen and sappers.”

Incidentally, the construction of the redoubt at the top of a hill in the American camp to let the cannon oversee the water approaches to the island was supervised by engineer Henry Martyn Robert. Later in his military career, Robert discovered a fascination with parliamentary procedure, and went on to author Robert’s Rules of Order.

Thankfully, throughout all of this territorial saber-rattling, saner heads prevailed, refusing to “involve two great nations in a war over a squabble about a pig,” in the words of British Rear Admiral Robert L. Baynes. Eventually, U.S. President James Buchanan dispatched General Winfield Scott to resolve the affair. Scott was able to broker a treaty, with each country reducing their forces — a single company of U.S. troops, and a single British warship — allowing the island to continue under joint occupation until a more formal resolution could be reached.

This situation continued for the next twelve years, making the Pig War the longest single military conflict on U.S. soil — even if the only casualty was a hungry pig. Eventually, during the signing of the Treaty of Washington between Britain and the United States, Kaiser Wilhelm I of Germany was asked to arbitrate in the matter of the San Juan Islands. He referred the matter to a commission, and after a year of deliberation, the commission ruled in favor of the United States on October 21st, 1872. British troops withdrew from San Juan Island within the month, and the last of the U.S. troops left by mid-1874.

United States Disputed Private Islands

For many years the Unites States excercised the "Guano Act" to claim over 100 islands around the world. The majority of these island disputes were settled, but Navassa island still remains disputed between the United States and Haiti.

The Guano Islands Act was federal legislation passed by the U.S. Congress on August 18, 1856 which enables citizens of the U.S. to take possession of islands containing guano deposits. The islands can be located anywhere, so long as they are not occupied and not within the jurisdiction of other governments. It also empowered the President of the United States to use the military to protect such interests.

Whenever any citizen of the United States discovers a deposit of guano on any island, rock, or key, not within the lawful jurisdiction of any other Government, and not occupied by the citizens of any other Government, and takes peaceable possession thereof, and occupies the same, such island, rock, or key may, at the discretion of the President, be considered as appertaining to the United States. (first section of Guano Islands Act)
The Guano Islands Act is currently embodied in federal statutes as U.S. Code, Title 48, Chapter 8, Sections 1411–1419

More than 100 islands were eventually claimed. Some of those remaining under U.S. control are Baker Island, Jarvis Island, Howland Island, Kingman Reef, Johnston Atoll, Palmyra Atoll and Midway Atoll. Others are no longer considered U.S. Territory. Possession of Navassa Island is currently disputed with Haiti. An even more complicated case deals with Serranilla Bank and the Bajo Nuevo Bank, where multiple countries claim ownership. In 1971, the U.S. and Honduras signed a treaty recognizing Honduran sovereignty over the Swan Islands.

Unites States Office of Insular Affairs
www.doi.gov/oia/

In the twentieth century the United States has disputed with other nations the status of certain islands or atolls. Five (5) were in the Caribbean; twenty-five (25), in the Pacific. For purposes of discussion, one may divide these thirty (30) islands or atolls into seven groups.

(1) The status of the islands of Canton (Kanton), Enderbury, Hull (Orona), Birnie, Gardner (Nikumaroro), Phoenix (Rawaki), Sydney (Manra), McKean, Christmas (Kiritimati), Caroline, Starbuck, Malden, Flint and Vostok: On September 20, 1979, representatives of the United States and Kiribati met in Tarawa Atoll in the northern district of the Gilbert Islands. There they signed a treaty of friendship on behalf of their two nations, an agreement which many refer to as the Treaty of Tarawa of 1979. Under that treaty the United States recognized Kiribati's sovereignty over these fourteen islands. This treaty entered into force on September 23, 1983.
(2) The status of the United States' claim to certain atolls in the northern Cook Islands, Danger (Pukapuka), Manahiki, Penrhyn and Rakahanga: On June 11, 1980, the United States and the Cook Islands signed in Rarotonga a treaty of friendship to delimit maritime boundaries. By the terms of this treaty the United States renounced its claim to these four atolls and acknowledged the sovereignty of the Cook Islands over them. This treaty entered into force on September 8, 1983. Since August 4, 1965, the Cook Islands have been a state in free association with New Zealand. This relationship resembles very closely that which the Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia have enjoyed with the United States since October 21, 1986,and November 3, 1986, respectively.

(3) The status of the United States' claim to certain atolls in the Union (Tokelau) Islands, Atafu, Fafaofu and Nukunono: On December 2, 1980, the United States and New Zealand signed in Atafu Atoll itself a treaty to delimit the maritime boundary between the United States and Tokelau, a New Zealand territory. As a result of this treaty, the United States relinquished its claim to these three atolls and acknowledged New Zealand's sovereignty over them on Tokelau's behalf. This treaty entered into force on September 3, 1983.

(4) The status of the United States' claim to certain atolls in the Ellice Islands, Funafuti, Nukefetau, Nukulaelae and Nurakita (Niulakita): On February 7, 1979, diplomats representing the United States and Tuvalu met in Funafuti Atoll itself and signed a treaty of friendship. By this treaty the United States ended its claim to these four atolls. This treaty entered into force on September 23, 1983.

(5) The United States' claim to Quita Sueno Bank, Roncador Cay and Serrana Bank: To the north of Panama and east of Nicaragua, this cluster of islands was the subject of a treaty which the United States and Colombia signed in Bogota on September 8, 1972. Under its terms the United States has recognized Colombia's sovereignty over these islands. This treaty entered into force on September 17, 1981.

(6) The United States' former sovereignty over the Swan Islands: In relative isolation, the Swan Islands lie in the western Caribbean, ninety-five miles north of the coast of Honduras and three hundred twenty miles west of Jamaica. They consist of Great Swan and Little Swan Islands, of which neither has any dimension of more than about two miles. In 1863 the area was certified as islands appertaining to the United States under the Guano Islands Act of August 18, 1856 (Title 48, U.S. Code, sections 1411-19), and guano operations were carried on there for many years.
The United States' later interests in the Swan Islands involved agricultural production in coconut plantations and aids to navigation and communications, resulting in continued United States occupation and use of the islands. In San Pedro Sula, Honduras, on November 22,1971, American and Honduran representatives signed a treaty by which the United States recognized Honduras' long-standing claim to sovereignty over the Swan Islands. The treaty entered into force on September 1, 1972.

(7) The United States' former administration of the Corn Islands: Made up of Great Corn and Little Corn Islands, the Corn Islands lie about thirty miles off the coast of Nicaragua. They never were a U.S. insular area, that is, under the sovereignty of the United States, but were leased from Nicaragua for a period of ninety-nine years under the Convention of Washington, D.C., of August 5, 1914. The terms of the lease made the Corn Islands subject exclusively to American laws and administration. However, with the United States' acquiescence, the Government of Nicaragua directed the islands' local administration. The United States' right to the actual or potential use of the islands remained unimpaired until April 25, 1971, when the lease was officially terminated and the Convention of Managua of July 14, 1970, entered into force.

U.S. Haiti Claim Island Ownership
By Michael Norton Associated Press Writer
Thursday, September 10, 1998

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) --

Mountains of bird droppings glistening on the rocks caught Captain Peter Duncan's eye. Inspired, he claimed the stony outcrop off Haiti for the United States. That was 141 years ago, when ``guano,'' as the droppings are politely called, was a popular fertilizer. Guano mining has stopped, but a low-level dispute has simmered ever since. Now, the quest for biodiversity has made the uninhabited island of Navassa, declared by U.S. scientists to be ``a marvel of biological treasures,'' fashionable again. An expedition, organized by the Center for Marine Conservation in Washington, last month announced the discovery of unique animal and plant species on the two-square-mile island. That sparked a response from Haiti, which has claimed the ``Isle de Navase,'' 40 miles off its southwestern peninsula, since its independence from France in 1804. Prominent Haitian scientists immediately formed the Navassa Island Defense Group. '`Navassa island belongs to Haiti. It is only fair that Haitian scientists be included in discovery expeditions,'' said oceanographer Ernst Wilson, a group member. The scientists plan an expedition this month to the island. Haiti's Ministry of Environment also announced an expedition. Haitian sensibilities were further injured by reports that Interior Secretary Bruce Babbitt had warned that the U.S. Coast Guard would shoot at any boats approaching the island. Babbitt actually said that as a joke during a news conference in Washington, where the discoveries were announced. His lighthearted threat was aimed at possible U.S. ecotourists or divers eager to explore Navassa's flourishing Coral Reefs. Christopher Columbus discovered the island in 1504. But interest came after phosphate- and nitrate-rich bird droppings were prized as fertilizer and used to make gunpowder in the 19th century.

In 1856, Congress passed the U.S. Guano Act, which allowed any uninhabited, guano-rich island to be claimed as a U.S. territory. Captain Duncan did just that a year later, during the reign of Emperor Faustin Soulouque. He sent an expedition to Navassa in 1858 to inform the guano-mining company that he objected to the U.S. claim. Haiti sent an official protest to Washington, which supported the U.S. company. In 1956, a resolution proposing that Haiti's claim to Navassa be respected was presented to the U.S. Congress. That went nowhere, but Haiti was undeterred. In 1989, the former military government dispatched radio amateurs there in an army helicopter. They planted a Haitian flag in the ground and erected a pillar asserting Haitian sovereignty. Then, for a couple of hours, they broadcast messages from``Radio Free Navassa.''On Sept. 8, the Navassa Island Defense Group wrote to U.S.

Ambassador Timothy Michel Carney, inquiring on what grounds the United States claimed Navassa. Meanwhile, the U.S. scientists plan more visits to the disputed island. Their two-week expedition last month, the first by scientists in three decades, yielded the discovery of 250 animal and plants species. They found 15 endemic species, including two lizards, Cyclura nigerrima and Leicocephlus erimitus, previously thought to be extinct. ``We never dreamed that on a single visit the team would so greatly increase our knowledge of the number of species,'' said Roger McManus, president of the center. ``Uninhabited islands like Navassa are the very best chance we have to understand and protect the diversity of life in the Caribbean.''

RECENT EVENTS

On August 29, 1996, the U.S. Coast Guard decommissioned the automatic navigational beacon on Navassa and notified the State Department that it no longer wanted to administer the island. Since the early 1990s, Global Positioning Satellites have made the light unnecessary to guide large cargo ships around Navassa.

An inter-agency task force transferred Navassa to the U.S. Department of the Interior. By Secretary's Order No. 3205 of January 16, 1997, the Office of Insular Affairs in the Interior Department assumed interim responsibility for the island.

A scientific expedition organized by the Ocean Conservancy in Washington DC visited Navassa from July 23 to August 5, 1998, with the support of the Interior Department. Subsequent visits have confirmed the island's unique value as a Caribbean ecosystem virtually untouched by the twentieth century.

These visits have included a 1999 visit by the U.S. Geological Survey and a 1999 mapping mission conducted by NASA's planetary geodynamics research program.

On December 3, 1999, the Secretary of the Interior signed Secretary's Order No. 3210, delegating Navassa to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service as a National Wildlife Refuge. The twelve mile nautical zone around the island is a protected National Ocean Wilderness. The island and its surrounding waters are now closed to visitors.

Navassa Island: History

The recorded history of Navassa Island (originally called Navaza in Spanish) began in 1504 when Christopher Columbus, stranded on Jamaica, sent some crew members to Hispaniola by canoe for help. The canoes ran into the island on the way but it didn't have any water. Mariners avoided the place for the next 350 years.

Navassa's history resumed in 1857 when Peter Duncan, an American sea captain, landed and claimed the island for the United States under the Guano Act. The U.S. Congress had passed this act the year before, declaring that any unclaimed and uninhabited island anywhere in the world that possessed guano, ie. bird droppings in various stages of petrification, was U.S. territory if an American citizen claimed it first. The purpose of the Act was to protect U.S. claims to uninhabited guano islands. Navassa had one million tons of guano and became the third island to be acquired under this law. Haiti protested the annexation and claimed the island, which lies forty miles west of its southern peninsula, but the U.S. rejected the Haitian claim.

Guano phosphate was a superior organic fertilizer that became a mainstay of American agriculture in the mid-19th century. Duncan transferred his discoverer's rights to his employer, an American guano trader in Jamaica, who sold them to the just-formed Navassa Phosphate Company in Baltimore. After an interruption for the U.S. Civil War, the Company built larger mining facilities on Navassa with barrack housing for 140 African-American contract laborers from Maryland, houses for white supervisors, a blacksmith shop, warehouses, and a church. Mining began in 1865. The workers dug out the guano by dynamite and pick-axe and hauled it in rail cars to the landing point at Lulu Bay, where it was sacked and lowered onto boats for transfer to the Company barque, the S.S. Romance. Railway tracks eventually extended inland.

Hauling guano by muscle-power in the fierce tropical heat with harsh rules enforced by abusive white supervisors eventually provoked a rebellion on the island in 1889. Five supervisors died in the fighting. A U.S. warship returned eighteen of the workers to Baltimore for three separate trials on murder charges. An African-American fraternal society, the Order of Galilean Fisherman, raised money to defend the miners in federal court, and the defense rested its case on the contention that the men acted in self-defense or in the heat of passion and that in any case the United States did not have proper jurisdiction over the island. The cases went as one to the U.S. Supreme Court in October 1890, which ruled the Guano Act constitutional, and three of the miners were scheduled for execution in the spring of 1891. A grass-roots petition drive by black churches around the country, also signed by white jurors from the three trials, reached President Benjamin Harrison, however, who commuted the sentences to imprisonment.

Guano mining resumed on Navassa but at a much reduced level. The Spanish-American War of 1898 forced the Phosphate Company to evacuate the island and file for bankruptcy, and the new owners abandoned the place to the boobey birds after 1901.

Navassa became significant again with the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914. Shipping between the American eastern seaboard and the Canal goes through the passage between Cuba and Haiti. Navassa, which had always been a hazard to navigation, needed a lighthouse. The U.S. Lighthouse Service built a 162 foot tower on the island in 1917, 395 feet above sea level. A keeper and two assistants were assigned to live there until the U.S. Lighthouse Service installed an automatic beacon in 1929. After absorbing the Lighthouse Service in 1939, the U.S. Coast Guard serviced the light twice each year. The U.S. Navy set up an observation post for the duration of World War II. The island has not been inhabited since then.

A scientific expedition from Harvard University studied the land and marine life of the island in 1930. Since World War II, amateur radio operators have landed frequently to broadcast from the territory, which is accorded "country" status by the International Radio Relay Union. Fishermen, mainly from Haiti, fish the waters around Navassa.

On August 29, 1996, the U.S. Coast Guard dismantled the light on Navassa. An inter-agency task force headed by the U.S. Department of State transferred the island to the U.S. Department of the Interior. By Secretary's Order No. 3205 of January 16, 1997, the Interior Department assumed control of the island and placed the island under its Office of Insular Affairs. A 1998 scientific expedition led by the Center for Marine Conservation in Washington DC described Navassa as a unique preserve of Caribbean biodiversity. The island's land and offshore ecosystems have survived the twentieth century virtually untouched. The island will be studied by annual scientific expeditions for the next decade at least.

By Secretary's Order No. 3210 of December 3, 1999, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service assumed administrative responsibility for Navassa, which became a National Wildlife Refuge Overlay. The Office of Insular Affairs retains authority for the island's political affairs and judicial authority is exercised directly by the nearest U.S. Circuit Court. Access to Navassa is hazardous and visitors need permission from the Fish and Wildlife Office in Puerto Rico in order to enter its territorial waters or land.

Japan & Korea Battle over Private Islands

Asia is a particular hotspot for rival countries claiming small islands, Japan claims islands disputed by Russia (The Kuriles), Korea (Dokdo) and various others. Most notably the islands known as the Spratly Paracel islands are claimed by virtually ecery country in Asia, and as they have valuable oil deposit in their shallow waters this dispute provides one of the most unstable situations in the world. Although a status quo agreement has been reached by all parties, the dispute could turn violent again in the near future.

Mr. Cheyenne Morrison

BBC News Monday, 14 March, 2005, 14:03 GMT
S Korean fury over island dispute
By Charles Scanlon
BBC News, Seoul

The row has inflamed old wounds over colonial history

Two South Korean demonstrators have each cut off a finger in protest against Japan's claim to a disputed cluster of islands.

Other demonstrators burned Japanese flags and scuffled with police.

South Koreans have reacted with fury as Japan has stepped up its claim to the uninhabited rocks, known as Dokdo in Korean and Takeshima in Japanese.

Seoul says it considers sovereignty over the islands more important than good relations with Japan.

South Korea and Japan had planned to celebrate 40 years of diplomatic relations this year. The governments wanted to emphasise their strong economic links and warming cultural ties.

But the goodwill has been swept aside in a furious Korean reaction to renewed Japanese claims to the disputed islands.

Protesters outside the Japanese embassy showed the depth of their feelings. An elderly woman sliced off her finger with a pair of garden shears and a middle-aged man followed suit using a meat cleaver.

The Japanese ambassador is currently in Tokyo briefing his government on the mood in Korea.

He helped provoke the outcry by claiming publicly last month that the islands are legally and historically Japanese.

South Korean marine police are stationed on the uninhabited outcrops, which are located midway between the two countries.

The Territorial Dispute Over Dokdo Islands
www.geocities.com/mlovmo/page4.html

Dokdo consists of two tiny rocky islets surrounded by 33 smaller rocks. The Dokdo islets are located about 215 kilometers off the eastern border of Korea and 90 kilometers east of South Korea's Ullung Island. The islets are an administative part of Ullung Island, North Kyongsang province, under the control of the Department of Ocean and Fisheries. Dokdo is also 157 kilometers northwest of Japan's Oki Islands. Its exact position is 37° 14' 45" N and 131° 52' 30" E. Of the two Islets that make up Dokdo, Suhdo (the West islet) is a steep-sided rock about 100 meters high, while Dongdo (the East islet) is 174 meters high. The approximate total surface area of Dokdo is 0.186 square kilometers (56 acres).

Both rocks, about 200 meters distant, are the remains of an ancient volcanic crater and are a refuge for Petrels and black-tailed gulls and several, partly endemic plants.
The government of the Republic of Korea (South Korea) designated Dokdo 'Natural Monument No. 336' in 1982. The government generally does not allow private individuals to visit the island, but as of early 2005, the Korean government is expected to further lift restrictions on civillian visits to the islets.

The first historical references to the island were cited in Korean documents, which make reference to them as a part of an independent island state known as "Usankuk" (Ullung Island) which was incorporated into the Korean Shilla Dynasty in 512 AD. Dokdo was first registered on charts in Europe after a French expedition under the leadership of Jean F.G. Perouse travelled to the East Sea/Sea of Japan in May of 1787, naming Ullung Island as "Dagelet", for a French astrologer, and Dokdo as "Boussole", after the name of one of the ships on the expedition. It was not until 1849, when French whale-hunters gave the name of their ship to the islets, that Dokdo began to be called "Liancourt Rocks". Other names have been ascribed to Dokdo ("Manalai and Olivutsa Rocks" by a Russian warship in 1854, and "Hornet Rocks" by the British, after one of their ships, the Hornet in 1855) but the name "Liancourt Rocks" is the only one of these names that is commonly seen on (usually older) English-language maps and sea charts published since 1910. The island was known to Koreans as "Kajido" (Sealion Island), "Sambongdo" (Three-Rock Island) and "Sokdo". Since at least 1881, the island has been called Dokdo by Koreans, meaning "Lonely Island" or "Rock Island", depending on the Sino-Korean character that one uses for the word, "Dok". Since at least 1905, the islets have been known by the Japanese name "Takeshima", but were previously known to Japanese as "Matsushima" or the "Rykano" islets.

Rival claims

Both Japan and Korea lay claim to Dokdo, and both claim a long historical and geographical connection with the islets.

The Japanese Claim

The Japanese assert that they had incorporated Dokdo, an island that they considered to be a terra nullius, into the Japanese Empire on February 22, 1905 when the Govenor of Shimane prefecture proclaimed the islets to be under the jurisdiction of the Oki Islands branch office of the Shimane prefectural government under the name "Takeshima", cited in Shimane prefectural proclamation number 40 of that year. This action by the Japanese government came about when, in September 1904, a Japanese fisherman from Okinoshima (Oki Island) named Yozaburo Nakai requested to be given exclusive rights to fish and hunt sealions in the area of Dokdo (Nakai later recounted that he initially believed the island to be Korean territory, and attempted to submit a request to the Government of Korea, but was dissuaded of this idea by the Japanese Fisheries Bureau Director, Maki Bokushin [...learn more]). The fisherman also asked that he be given a ten-year lease of the island for sea lion hunting. Officials in the Japanese Government took Nakai´s request one step further and appealed to the government for the formal incorporation of the island. After having declared Dokdo (Takeshima) as a part of Imperial Japan in February 1905, Japanese officials entered the island´s name in the State Land Register for Okinokuni, District 4 on May 17th of that year.

Who Was Nakai Yozaburo?

On June 5th, Yozaburo Nakai´s request came through when he and three others were given permission by the Shimane prefectural government to hunt sea lions at Dokdo. In the year that followed, the prefectural government posted a territorial sign and conducted inspections and surveys of Dokdo. On April 24, 1939, a decision to incorporate the island under the jurisdiction of Goka Village was made by the Goka Village Assembly on Oki Island, Shimane Prefecture. Imperial Japan had also made use of Dokdo in a military capacity, when they named the islets "Maizaru" Naval Station on August 17, 1940, restricting the island to purely military uses.

With Japan´s defeat in the Pacific War in 1945, the victorious Allied Powers renounced the Japanese claim to Dokdo. Under U.S. military occupation (1945-1952), the highest governmental authority in Japan was the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP), which delimited Japanese administrative territory. SCAP´s first major opinion concerning the territory of postwar Japan was cited in an instruction SCAP gave to the Government of Occupied Japan. The order, SCAPIN (SCAP instruction) #677 of January 29, 1946 specifically outlined Japanese territory and stated that the islands disputed between Japan and Korea- Utsuryo Island (Ullungdo), Liancourt Rocks (Dokdo), and Quelpart Island (Chejudo) were to be excluded from Japan's administrative authority. However, to SCAPIN 677 was added this caveat: "nothing in this directive shall be construed as an indication of Allied policy relating to the ultimate determination of the minor islands referred to in Article 8 of the Potsdam Declaration." Dokdo´s exclusion from Japan remained SCAP policy throughout the occupation, (another instruction, SCAPIN 1033 of June 22, 1946, prohibited Japanese nationals from approaching within 12 miles of Dokdo). With Dokdo´s territorial status yet to be determined by a peace treaty between Japan and the allied powers, U.S. authorities in Japan decided to use the island as a bombing range.

In June 1947, the Japanese Foreign Ministry appealed to the U.S. occupation authorities over Japan's claim to sovereignty over both Ullungdo and Dokdo in a treatise entitled, "Minor Islands in the Sea of Japan", hoping to influence U.S. opinion in any future deliberations concerning the island that would take place in the upcoming peace treaty negotiations. The Japanese ministers denied Korea's ownership on the grounds that "no Korean name exists for the island" and that Dokdo "is not shown on the maps made in Korea". The Japanese document also argued that the settlers on the island had just arrived recently and that the island´s development was "still in an incipient stage", and because of this, it was not within the Korean government´s ability to develop the island.

The Japanese efforts to regain Dokdo during the negotiations of the peace treaty eventually failed. Although the 1952 San Francisco Peace Treaty between Japan and the former allied powers settled sovereignty over the islands of Ullungdo, Kommundo, and Chejudo (all to Korea), the ownership of Dokdo was not settled in the treaty.

The reasons for the omission of Dokdo´s sovereignty from the treaty are many. One important reason why Dokdo´s sovereignty was left unanswered by the peace treaty was that the president of the Republic of Korea (ROK), Yi Seung-man (Syngman Rhee) did not effectively focus his government´s attention on the ownership of Dokdo when negotiating with U.S. authorities over Korea´s territorial concerns. The Korean president instead focused on an unrealistic demand for Korean sovereignty over Tsushima Island (as a form of war reparations from Japan, an idea which the drafters of the treaty never seriously entertained). Much of his attention was also focused on suppressing domestic political rivals than with maintaining his country´s territory. In fact, the Rhee government never bothered to produce a scholarly, well-documented study of the Korean historical record on Dokdo that could offer the American drafters of the peace treaty an alternative to the Japanese Foreign Ministry´s monograph, "Minor Islands in the Sea of Japan". The ROK only produced a thorough study on Dokdo in the Summer of 1953, long after the San Francisco Peace Treaty had gone into effect.

Even after the peace treaty was signed and talks on the normalization of relations between the ROK and Japan were underway, the Korean demand for recognition of their country´s sovereignty over Dokdo continued. This was particularly the case after the Korean president announced the establishment of a territorial line (sometimes called the Rhee-Line, or Peace Line) in the East Sea/Sea of Japan on January 18, 1952, that encompassed Dokdo on Korea´s side of this line. Another development that heightened the Dokdo issue in the minds of the Korean public was when a bombing incident at Dokdo on September 15, 1952 had raised awareness in Korea over the impending fate of the island. The growing demand from Korea placed U.S. authorities in the region in the undesirable situation in which the U.S. would have had to pick sides in a territorial dispute between Korea and Japan, whose cooperation with the U.S. and each other, was important to U.S. strategic designs. The documentary record shows that the Americans increasingly attempted to distance themselves from the dispute.

U.S. Diplomatic and Military History of Dokdo (1945-1952)

What the American Military Occupation of Japan and Korea might mean for the sovereignty of Dokdo


Dr. Pyun Yung-tai, Foreign Minister of the Republic of Korea from 1951-1955.


The only ROK high-official that tried to effectively campaign for Korea´s claim to Dokdo before the peace treaty went into effect was the Foreign Minister, Pyun Yung-tai, who argued for Korean ownership of the islets based largely on allied policies and the decisions made by SCAP immediately after the Pacific War. If it hadn´t been for Dr. Pyun´s efforts, Korea´s stand on Dokdo might never have been understood by influential U.S. officials, since other Korean arguments for sovereignty over the island were neither clear nor consistent during this period. Unfortunately for Korea, the American authorities who made the decisions to exclude Japanese sovereignty over Dokdo at the beginning of the occupation (the SCAP Headquarters Government Section), were not the same Americans involved in drafting the territorial sovereignty provisions in the San Francisco Peace Treaty. Instead, American judgements on these issues were largely governed by those in the Diplomatic Section of SCAP, led by a great American friend of the Japanese Foreign Ministry, William Sebald. As Acting Political Advisor in Japan (essentially General MacArthur´s acting "Foreign Minister"), Sebald´s long involvement in Japan and strong personal connections with Japanese officials influenced his opinions towards the ownership of Dokdo, evident in his communications to the US State Department. In the end, however, the ownership of Dokdo was considered too contentious to handle, and it was left out of the final draft of the peace treaty. Thus, the failure of the San Francisco Peace Treaty to resolve the legal ownership of Dokdo is a major reason why the rivalry over the island continues between Japan and Korea.

Years later in 1966, the Japanese Foreign Ministry produced an extensive study on the history of the island. This study, Takeshima no rekishi chirigakuteki kenkyu (An Historical and Geographical Study of Takeshima), was authored by a Foreign Ministry researcher by the name of Kawakami Kenzo. The Foreign Ministry of Japan has since used Kawakami´s research as the Government of Japan´s basis for its claim to sovereignty over Dokdo. Kawakami attempted to show that Koreans were not aware of the existence of the island. He asserted that the island that Koreans cite in their Choson Dynasty (1392-1910) documents as Dokdo simply does not exist. He also states that Dokdo is not visible from Ullungdo and that Koreans did not have adequate navigation skills (until the late 1800s, when Japanese people taught the Koreans proper sea navigation) to reach Dokdo by boat, and therefore Koreans could not possibly have been aware of the island. This is a very interesting assertion, since Koreans travelled by boat from all points on Korea´s east coast to Ullung Island, but (according to Kawakami) somehow could not make the much shorter trip from Ullungdo to Dokdo.

Based on the above precedents, Japan still declares Dokdo to be within its territorial boundaries. The Japanese still consider their 1905 incorporation of Dokdo into the Japanese territorial sphere as legally binding. They also believe that previous opinions of occupation authorities were made null and void by the 1952 peace treaty. Since 1954, the government of Japan has been inviting the Koreans to take the issue before the International Court of Justice. The Koreans have consistently refused, stating that Dokdo is not a disputed territory, but simply Korean territory.

To this day Dokdo is on Japanese registers as a part of Goka Village, Oki-gun, Shimane Prefecture. The Japanese government has even allowed their citizens to declare themselves residents of the islets.

Why won't the Koreans agree to take the Dokdo issue before the International Court of Justice?

The Korean Claim

The Koreans, however, lay their claim to Dokdo based on earlier and more numerous precedents than Japan. They point to the document that named it as a territory that was first incorporated into the Korean Shilla Dynasty in 512 AD. They also point to various government and military reports, policy decisions, land surveys, and maps that were drawn in later centuries that do, in fact, show Dokdo (in its accurate geographic position) to be Korean territory. Some of these documents were even published in Japan: Japanese cartographer Dabuchi Tomohiko cited Dokdo as Korean territory in "Kankoku Shinchishi (New Geography of Korea), Teikoku Encyclopedia Number 134", published in September 1905; six months after the islets were "incorporated" into Shimane Prefecture. In a survey of Korea that was requested by the Colonial Government, Ihohara Fumiichi referred to Dokdo as belonging to Korea. In a 1930 article, Japanese scholar Hibata Sekko mentioned that Dokdo belonged to Kangwon Province, Korea. The Japanese Navy had also cited Dokdo as an appended island to Ullungdo, and Korean territory, in its 1923 publication, "Chosen Engan Suiroshi" (Korean Coastal Straits), as did Japanese maps published in 1872, 1877, and 1936.

Mapping Confusion regarding Dokdo

Koreans also complain that the Japanese took advantage of Korea's political weakness vis-a-vis Japan in 1905, when the islets were registered as a part of Shimane prefecture, Japan. Koreans rightfully argue that Korea had not been able to effectively protest the Japanese action at the time because Japan had had already taken control of the foreign affairs of Korea via the Protectorate Treaty of 1905, also known as the "Eulsa Treaty" or the "Second Japan-Korea Agreement". (The ratification of the treaty itself had been forced on Korea by the Japanese delegation to the treaty "negotiations" led by Ito Hirobumi and General Hasegawa Gonnosuke, with no signatures given by either the King or the Prime Minister of Korea.) The Korean side also points out that the Japanese did not inform the Korean Government of their claim until 1906, and then only indirectly. Upon learning of Japan´s decision, Korean officials in 1906, at both local and national levels, did in fact recognize and document the Japanese action as a violation of Korean sovereignty. However, due to the loss their nation´s independence and foreign affairs capability, no action was taken. Currently, the Japanese Foreign Ministry website states that it was not necessary for Japan to inform other countries of this territorial acquisition, although international precedents and the majority view of scholars consider notification is indeed necessary. The Japanese themselves evidently thought that notification was necessary when it acquired the Bonin (Ogasawa) Islands in the Pacific: Then Japan contacted Great Britain and the U.S. several times, which were only remotely involved in them, and it notified 12 European countries of its establishment of control over these islands. So why didn´t Japan provide notification in the case of Dokdo?

To bolster their claim to Dokdo, Koreans also point to the opinions SCAP rendered on no less than three occasions during the occupation that excluded Dokdo from Japanese control.

Koreans have also pointed out the falsehoods in the Japanese Foreign Ministry-sponsored 1966 study by Kawakami Kenzo. Kawakami´s disparagement of Korean Choson Dynasty documentation has been shown to be baseless. Futhermore, the claim that Dokdo was not (is not) visible to Korean eyes on Ullungdo is also a falsehood, since Dokdo is visible at a height of 120 meters or higher in elevation from Ullungdo, an island with a maximum elevation of 985 meters.

Japanese have also made claims that Japan´s "effective management" of Dokdo had been in place as early as the 17th Century, when the Japanese merchant families Otani and Murakawa obtained permission from the Japanese Government to travel to Ullungdo. Not only was Japan´s "effective management" of Dokdo highly improbable at this time (the merchant families were interested in exploiting Ullungdo, not Dokdo), it also creates a contradiction in the Japanese claim. In 1905, the Japanese recognized the islets as a terra nullius, and therefore ownerless (never having been managed) before that time. These contradictory Japanese claims under international law have never been fully addressed by official or unofficial sources in Japan (learn more..). Probably as a result of this contradiction, the Japanese Foreign Ministry Website no longer mentions the fact that Japan incorporated Dokdo as a terra nullius. The change in the wording of the Foreign Ministry´s webpage reflects the official shift in Japan´s claim from "acquisition by prior occupation" to a claim that Dokdo was an "inherent territory".

Yet another problematic issue for the Japanese claim to Dokdo, particularly Japan´s 1905 ´incorporation´, is the existence of a land survey conducted by Korean authorities in 1900, known as Korean Government Imperial Ordinance No. 41 (Article 2), which stipulated that the Ullungdo-kun office was to have jurisdiction over Sokdo (Dokdo). This Korean Government order was promulgated on October 25, 1900; over four whole years before Japan sequestered the island as a terra nullius. Japanese critics of this ordinance assert that the island named in the document, Sokdo (in Sino-Korean characters), is not Dokdo, but refers to the island Kwanumdo; an island that is almost penninsular in appearance and in the far Northeastern corner of Ullungdo. The evidence by which they conclude that Sokdo is Kwanumdo has never been explained. It is difficult to believe that Sokdo is Kwanumdo, based on Kwanumdo´s history, appearance and topography, and as "Dokdo" and "Sokdo" essentially mean the same thing: "rock island". As the text of the ordinance was written in Sino-Korean (Chinese) characters, the name appears as "Sok", and not the dialectal pure Korean, "Dok" (See similar dialectal transformations).

Spain & Morocco battle over Parsley Island

The Scotsman Sat 13 Jul 2002
Spain sends gunboats to disputed island
GILES TREMLETT

SPAIN sent gunboats yesterday to the north coast of Morocco and demanded Moroccan troops withdraw after "invading" a tiny island claimed by both countries.

The timing of the incident would not have been lost on the Spanish foreign ministry or the Foreign Office, coming at the same time as Britain’s offer to share sovereignty over Gibraltar with Spain.

Three Spanish patrol boats and at least one Moroccan vessel were patrolling the Spanish North African enclave of Ceuta yesterday as the two prepared for a diplomatic battle over the barren, unpopulated and strategically unimportant islet of Perejil, which is known as the "dead woman" because of its shape when seen from the mainland.

Up to a dozen Moroccan troops who landed on the island on Thursday were still there yesterday, flying red and green Moroccan flags. A Moroccan spokesman said they were watching for terrorists and people traffickers in the nearby Strait of Gibraltar.

The outcrop, controlled by Spain since the 17th century, is a half mile wide and just a few hundred yards from the coast. It is three miles from Ceuta, one of two Spanish enclaves on Morocco’s northern coast.

Spain also controls three other rocky islands in the area. Mariano Rajoy, Spain’s deputy prime minister, said security had been stepped up at Spain’s possessions in the zone after Moroccan forces were seen near other islands.

In a note to the Moroccan Embassy in Madrid, Spain called for an end to the Perejil occupation and adherence to a 1991 friendship agreement.

"We have heard nothing back and the soldiers are still there," a foreign ministry spokesman told The Scotsman.

Mr Rajoy said the occupation was "a hostile act" and warned Morocco to take into account that it was the biggest recipient of Spanish foreign aid and a major trading partner.

Mr Rajoy also pointed out that approximately 200,000 Moroccans live in Spain and that this summer some 1.5 million Moroccans would cross the country to make the yearly trek home for holidays from Europe.

The dispute dates back to the 1950s, when France and Spain gave up territory they controlled under a protectorate arrangement. Under a 1956 deal, Spain kept the enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla, but Morocco strongly disputes Spanish control over several islands.

The Moroccan foreign ministry official said Perejil "was liberated in 1956 at the end of the Spanish protectorate".

Spain and Morocco are opposite each other at the western gateway to the Mediterranean.

Relations have been raw for some time - Rabat unexpectedly withdrew its ambassador to Madrid in October and has yet to give an official reason.

Spain believes Morocco is peeved over Spain’s insistence that a long-delayed United Nations-backed self-determination referendum should be held on the Western Sahara, a territory formerly controlled by Spain but annexed by Morocco in the mid-1970s.

The two countries have also been involved in disputes over fishing and illegal immigration to Spain.

Spain, which yesterday received EU backing, admits that while it has controlled Perejil for several hundred years, the rock has not been legally documented as Spanish in recent decades.


The Scotsman Tue 16 Jul 2002
Spanish gunboats sail after invasion of Parsley
Foreign Staff

SPAIN and Morocco stepped up their war of words yesterday over the tiny Mediterranean island of Parsley.

The Spanish prime minister, in his first comments on the affair, said his government would not accept Morocco’s "occupation" of the rocky outcrop, barely the size of a football pitch. Morocco’s foreign minister, issued a statement, however, insisting that the island "has always been an integral part of Moroccan territory".

The dispute over the uninhabited island, known as Perejil, or parsley, to the Spaniards and Leila to Moroccans, began on Thursday when a dozen Moroccan troops made camp there, raising their country’s flag.

Their official mission was to set up a surveillance post to fight immigrant smuggling, drug trafficking and terrorism.

Less than 200 yards from the Moroccan coast, the islet is used by locals to graze their goats.

Spain has responded by dispatching several warships to patrol close to two much larger Spanish enclaves perched on the Moroccan coast, the cities of Ceuta and Melilla. It appears intent on sending a strong signal that its possession of the two cities is not to be challenged - particularly as Britain moves to make concessions to Spain on Gibraltar. Spain does not claim full sovereignty over Perejil, but its rule over Ceuta and Melilla is "undisputed and indisputable", said the foreign minister, Ana Palacio.

The confrontation has its roots in the end of the colonial era, when France and Spain relinquished their North African possessions. Under a 1956 treaty, Spain kept Ceuta and Melilla, which it had governed for centuries. But Morocco strongly disputes Spanish control over several rocky islands along its Mediterranean coast, including Leila.

Relations between the governments in Madrid and Rabat have soured in recent months over bitter disagreements over immigration and fishing rights. Morocco has been irritated by Spain’s backing for a United Nations-backed independence referendum for the people of Western Sahara, a territory annexed by Morocco when Spain pulled out in 1976. Morocco recalled its ambassador from Madrid in October without any explanation.

But while the language in the row has been reminiscent of the Falklands - or even the dispute between Spain and Britain over Gibraltar - both sides have insisted all will be settled diplomatically. Moroccan newspapers reported yesterday that the number of troops on the island had fallen back to three - and the government insisted they were "police", not soldiers.

The Spanish prime minister, José María Aznar, told parliament in his annual state of the nation address yesterday that Spain "will not accept a fait accompli".

"It is essential to return to the status quo before the occupation of the island. We will make all possible diplomatic efforts to restore the rule of international law," he said.

The Moroccan foreign minister, Mohamed Benaissa, making his first official comments, also stressed the desire to use diplomatic channels. But he insisted: "Morocco will not for the time being withdraw the observation post from the island Leila."

Mr Benaissa said the deployment was part of the "fight in the Strait of Gibraltar against, in particular, drug trafficking, illegal immigration and other illegal activities", an apparent reference to terrorism. The men on the island were involved in a "simple surveillance operation", he said.

Morocco arrested three Saudi Arabians in May, accusing them of belonging to the al-Qaeda terrorist network and engineering a plot to attack United States and British warships.

While Spain has laid claim to the spot on the map for the past three centuries, "history is full of acts" showing that the island belongs to Morocco, Mr Benaissa’s office added. "Morocco is for a serene and calm dialogue to avoid the militarisation of the region."

The European Union has backed Spain in the dispute.

Portugal seized Ceuta in 1415 and Spain sent a large fleet to occupy Melilla in 1497. Spain inherited Ceuta after King Sebastian of Portugal was killed in 1578.

Madrid considers the enclaves, with a combined population of more than 130,000, as integral parts of Spain. Ceuta is administered by the province of Cadiz and Melilla by Malaga.

Khalid Alioua, editor-in-chief of the Moroccan al-Ittihad al-Ishtiraki newspaper, questioned yesterday why Spain "remains opposed to any discussion on the future of Ceuta and Melilla ... and [insists] on the continuing colonisation".

The newspaper is considered the mouthpiece of Prime Minister Abderrahmane El Youssoufi’s Socialist Union of Popular Forces, Morocco’s ruling party since 1998.


The Scotsman Thu 18 Jul 2002
Rabat defiant after Spain recaptures disputed isle
Giles Tremlett in Madrid

SPAIN yesterday captured six sleepy Moroccan soldiers and regained control of the tiny, disputed island of Perejil after sending its special forces on a bloodless dawn assault of the rocky outcrop in the Straits of Gibraltar.

The crack team of 28 men dropped on to the rock, which lies just 200 metres from the Moroccan coast, from three helicopters and, megaphones in hand, persuaded the six Moroccans to give up their arms.

The captured soldiers were taken to the nearby Spanish north African enclave of Ceuta and were later handed over to Moroccan authorities.

Spanish troops, meanwhile, tore down the two Moroccan flags that had flown over the otherwise uninhabited islet since last Thursday. Yesterday, two red and gold Spanish flags could be seen fluttering in the strong Atlantic breeze and more than a dozen Spanish troops had taken up defensive positions around the islet.

"Spain was attacked by force in a very sensitive part of its geography," the Spanish defence minister, Federico Trillo, explained. "We are talking about a clear case of legitimate defence."

The importance of the tiny island extends far beyond its 300 by 500 yards. Perejil is only four miles from Spain’s North African enclave of Ceuta, which has been long coveted by Rabat.

Recent talks between Britain and Spain on the future of Gibraltar have prompted comparisons from the Moroccan capital, Rabat, which would like to absorb Ceuta and its sister enclave, Melilla.

"Morocco has always said unofficially, that when Britain and Spain settled Gibraltar, Morocco would settle the enclaves," said George Joffe, one of Britain’s leading experts on North Africa.

Spain’s foreign minister, Ana Palacio, said it intended to remove its troops as soon as possible, but insisted on a return to the status quo before Morocco’s five-day occupation, when neither side had actively pressed a claim over an island whose Spanish name refers to the wild parsley, or perejil, that grows between the rocks.

"Spain has no interest in keeping a military presence on Perejil, but wishes to return without delay to the situation before 11 July when Morocco

occupied the island," she said.

While the government of Prime Minister José María Aznar puffed up its chest with pride over the first Spanish military victory for decades, Morocco began insisting on an "immediate and unconditional withdrawal" from the island they call Leila.

"The kingdom of Morocco protests with force against this unjustified aggression, at the moment when Morocco and Spain were trying to resolve this crisis by diplomatic means," said a statement issued in Rabat by the official news agency MAP. "The island is an integral part of Moroccan territory."

Spain recalled its ambassador late on Tuesday, but, despite a military build-up since Morocco took over the island, few people had expected an assault on the island.

Spanish-Moroccan relations have been under increasing strain since Morocco recalled its ambassador to Spain in October over differences tied mainly to illegal immigration, a fishing accord with the European Union and the issue of the Western Sahara.

However, sources said Spanish press criticism of the pace of reforms that King Mohammed VI, 37, promised when he took the throne three years ago, was partly to blame.

Spain has insisted that a long-delayed UN-sponsored referendum should be held on the Western Sahara, a territory south of Morocco formerly controlled by Spain but annexed by Rabat in the mid 1970s.

Since becoming an independent nation in 1956 following a Spanish protectorate over part of the country, Morocco has frequently pressed for Spain to turn over control of Ceuta and another enclave it rules on the North African coast. Morocco says Perejil has formed part of its territory since then and while Spain has stopped short of claiming sovereignty it has consistently demanded a return to the "status quo".

The European Commission president, Romano Prodi, said yesterday the EU, which absorbs three quarters of Morocco’s exports, could mediate. Brussels, he said, "attaches great importance to relations between the EU and Morocco".

Morocco as the largest recipient of Spanish foreign aid, and trade between the two countries has risen rapidly to $2 billion a year.

NATO officials said the alliance was "pleased the status quo ante has been restored" and also pleased there had been no injuries.

Spain claims the island has belonged to it since 1668, but there has been no Spanish presence there for 40 years.

The island’s caves have reportedly been used by gangs to smuggle immigrants across the Strait of Gibraltar into Spain.

Spain withdraws from disputed island after U.S. mediation



Special to World Tribune.com
MIDDLE EAST NEWSLINE
Sunday, July 21, 2002
Morocco and Spain appear to have ended their military standoff over a disputed Mediterranean.

Officials from both countries said Spain withdrew its troops from the island it calls Perejil, located 200 meters from the North African coast. The withdrawal was completed by early Sunday in wake of a U.S.-sponsored mediation effort.

Morocco's Foreign Ministry declared that the island dispute has ended. A ministry spokesman said Spain withdrew its 75 troops from Leila as a result of U.S. mediation.

"The Spanish government has withdrawn its forces from the Moroccan islet called Leila, as a result of successful contacts with his majesty King Mohammed VI," the official MAP news agency quoted the spokesman as saying. The U.S. effort was directed by Secretary of State Colin Powell. Powell held at least 14 telephone calls with Spanish and Moroccan leaders on Friday and Saturday, including three calls to Morocco's King Mohammed.

The island crisis began on July 11 when Morocco sent a military delegation of 12 soldiers to take over the uninhabited island. Six days later, Spanish troops, transported by helicopters and backed by warships, captured Perejil and detained the Moroccan soldiers.

On Friday, Morocco agreed to a Spanish offer to withdraw from the island in exchange for Rabat's guarantee not to recapture Perejil. Details of the accord were drafted by the United States.

"The United States welcomes the understanding reached by Morocco and Spain over the island, following consultations by the United States with each side," Powell said on Saturday. "In accordance with this understanding, the two sides have agreed to restore the situation regarding the island that existed prior to July 2002."

Officials said neither Morocco nor Spain has abandoned claims to Perejil. On Monday, Spanish Foreign Minister Ana Palacio will meet her Moroccan counterpart Mohammed Ben Issa in Rabat.

The Battle for Hans Island

The island is barren and steep-sided. No-one lives there. No-one except scientific parties ever have. The question one is inclined to ask is not, "Who owns it?" but rather, "Who would want it?" But this island is different from other interruptions in the surface of the Arctic sea. This is Hans Island, two square kilometers of rock situated at 80° 49' N and 66° 26' W, smack-dab in the middle of Kennedy Channel, mid-way between Ellesmere Island and Greenland. It has become the focus of a bizarre border dispute between Canada and Denmark, an issue that has simmered for three decades and finally boiled over in 2005.

In 1984 Kenn Harper, a historian from Iqaluit, Nunavut, wrote an article about Hans Island, which was published in the local newspaper Hainang, in Qaanaaq (Thule) in north-western Greenland. This article was picked up by a Danish newspaper in Copenhagen, and by CBC Radio in Canada, which gave Hans Island its first fleeting publicity.[citation needed]

This article was sparked because of a chance encounter on the ice near Resolute, Nunavut, in the Canadian Arctic in the fall of 1983. According to Kenn Harper he met a man wearing a hat with bold letters around the side of the hat, saying "HANS ISLAND, N.W.T.". This man was a scientist with Dome Petroleum who had just spent the summer on the island doing ice research. Dome Petroleum did research on and around the island in the years 1980 to 1983.

Oil companies build artificial islands in the sea on which to position their drilling rigs. Hans Island was apparently the perfect setting to test such artificial islands' strength to withstand the force of being hit by large floes of multi-year ice.[citation needed]

Simultaneously the Danish and Canadian governments were in the process of signing a cooperation agreement in relation to the Marine Environment in Nares Strait. The agreement was signed and put into force on August 26, 1983. (The treaty was extended even further in 1991.)

The Agreement aims at developing further bilateral cooperation in respect of the protection of the marine environment of the waters lying between Canada and Greenland and of its living resourses, particularly with respect to preparedness measures as a contingency against pollution incidents resulting from offshore hydrocarbon exploration or exploitation (Annex A) and from shipping activities (Annex B) that may affect the marine environment of these waters.

One of the items also discussed was the possibility of establishing a reciprocal arrangement for processing applications to conduct research on and around Hans Island. This was never signed, however Canadian John Munro, at that time minister for Northern Affairs and Development and Danish Tom Høyem, at that time Minister for Greenland, agreed, in common interest, to avoiding acts that might prejudice future negotiations.

However unknown to the politicians Dome Petroleum was already doing research on the island. According to Kenn Harper, the Canadian Department of External Affairs conducting these negotiations with the Danes might not even have been aware that Dome Petroleum was already doing research on the Island. Kenn Harper claims that in 1984, a senior official of Energy Mines and Resources, Canada, wrote him saying: "To my knowledge the Department of Energy, Mines & Resources did not confer with the Department of External Affairs over the use of the island by Dome Petroleum."

When Kenn Harper’s article of 1984, mentioning Dome Petroleum and Hans Island, found its way to the Danish newspapers, it is not difficult to see why Tom Høyem in 1984 chartered a helicopter from Greenland and went to Hans Island. It might indeed have been something so simple as a misunderstanding and breach in communications.

It is said that Tom Høyem planted the Danish flag on the Island and left a little message saying "Velkommen til den danske ø" (English: Welcome to the Danish Island). It is also said he left a bottle of cognac.

The dispute hits the news

The dispute suddenly came to popular attention through Canadian press stories during late March 2004. Within days, it spread to other newspapers worldwide. Shortly after Internet newsgroups, weblogs and forums began to start new threads and entries on the subject. Subjects like "Canada being invaded" and "Denmark massing troops on Canadian territory" could frequently be found.[citation needed]

The issue came to light on March 25, 2004, when Adrian Humphreys of the Canadian National Post newspaper wrote an article entitled, "Five-year plan to 'put footprints in the snow' and assert northern sovereignty". Humphreys made a brief mention of the dispute over Hans Island, and that the Danes had sent warships to the island.

While Canada wanted to assert sovereignty of its northern territories for a variety of reasons unrelated to this dispute, Hans Island soon became the focus of the debate, and was presented as the main reason for this new Canadian policy.

The Arctic sea region has long been a subject of dispute. In this matter, Canada, Denmark, Russia and Norway all share a common interest because they regard parts of the Arctic seas as "national waters". The United States and most European Union countries, on the other hand, officially regard the region as international waters.

Hans Island, 3 May 2004
by Kelly Falkner, Canadian Archipelago Throughflow Study.

Further items in the Canadian media led to the issue being picked up by international news organizations.

The Canadian federal government's 2004 budget was introduced on March 23, 2004, two days before the issue gained widespread attention. It proposed minimal increases to spending on national defence. The issue of Hans Island was raised in the Canadian Parliament by opposition foreign affairs critic Stockwell Day to highlight the government's failure to provide more funding for the military.

A new article by Adrian Humphreys on March 30, 2004, also in the National Post, entitled, "Danes summon envoy over Arctic fight — the solution of the dispute is not going to be military'", drew even more attention to the issue. The article claimed that Brian Herman, Canada’s only diplomat in Denmark (ambassador Alfonso Gagliano having been recently recalled as a result of an unrelated Canadian scandal), was called before the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs, to comment about his country's intentions in the dispute, which had, according to the article, recently been inflamed by Danish sailors occupying Hans Island.

On March 31, 2004, the Danish and Canadian governments denied that Herman or any other Canadian official was summoned to the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Both governments stated that the dispute was a long-standing issue, and that nothing had changed in the matter.

The last time Danish seamen visited the island had been on August 1, 2003, but this information was not brought to the public's attention during the discussion. Comments posted on internet newsgroups and forums suggested that Danish seamen had just landed on the Island, despite the fact that this had occurred seven months before.

A Canadian military exercise, named "Narwhal 04", inflamed the issue further. Some saw this as a response to the Danish flag planting. However this exercise had been in the planning stage since September 2003, and it took place around Pangnirtung, Baffin Island, 2000 km south of Hans Island. The Canadian military denied that the exercise had anything to do with the Danish-Canadian territorial dispute. The exercise took place on August 9 to August 30, 2004, involving about 160 soldiers from the army, various aircraft, helicopters and one frigate, HMCS Montréal. About 600 Canadian Armed Forces personnel were involved in total.

In March, 2005, the Conservative Party of Canada became the first political party in the country to advocate the need for Canada to establish its sovereignty over the Arctic, after party delegates voted almost unanimously in favour of a motion on the topic, following an impassioned speech from a youth delegate that cited the Danish encroachment on Hans Island as "constituted nothing short of an invasion of Canada".

A new development came to light after Canadian Defence Minister Bill Graham visited the island on July 20, 2005. Peter Taksø-Jensen, the head of the International Law department at Denmark's foreign ministry, said the following in an interview with Reuters on July 25 in response to the event:

We consider Hans Island to be part of Danish territory and will therefore hand over a complaint about the Canadian minister's unannounced visit.

—Peter Taksø-Jensen, Danish Foreign Office

This is the first time a Danish government official has claimed the island is solely Danish territory and is not in dispute. The Danish government has also said that it plans to return to Hans Island in the near future to re-erect its flag. A reaction from the Canadian government is to be expected.

On August 18, 2005, Canadian frigate HMCS Fredericton left Halifax for an Arctic cruise. Canadian officials said the month-long patrol was unrelated to the Hans Island dispute. The Kingston class patrol vessels HMCS Glace Bay and HMCS Shawinigan are also scheduled to patrol the Arctic this year.

Satire

The apparent insignificance of the island in relation to the media storm surrounding it has led to the appearance of at least a couple of web sites hoping to make satirical hay of the situation. The so-called Hans Island Liberation Front[17] seeks to free the two lonely inhabitants from either Danish or Canadian domination. Radio Free Hans Island documents an apocryphal radio station said to be broadcasting from the chilly north. The website Free Hans Island[18] claims to present objective information about the Hans Island dispute, though the validity of this claim can be disputed.

On July 27, 2006 the Swedish radio show Morgonpasset of Sveriges Radio's channel P3 made a series of prank calls to the Danish and Canadian foreign ministries regarding the dispute.[19] The Danish foreign minister was reached by Måns Nilsson, one of the radio show hosts, who announced that Sweden was also making a claim to the island and that a bottle of banana liqueur had been buried on the island and that a statue of famous Swedish TV-personality Lennart Hyland was to be erected over the spot. A call was also made to the Canadian Foreign Ministry, where Nilsson with a fake Danish accent claimed to be "the Danish foreign minister" and a request was made to pass on a message to the Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs to cease the conflict and share the island equally with Denmark.

A Canadian university student, Cavan van Ulft, claiming to have visited Hans Island on August 13, 2006, claimed the island as an independent nation, the Principality of Tartupalu.

LINKS

Disputed Islands of the World

This excellent article provides a good overview of the many island disputes happening around the world, and as he points out most of the islands are tiny, barren pieces of rock uninhabited and mostly uninhabitable; yet tiny as they are these little islands create just as much "Islomania" amongst nations as they do amongst individuals.

This is the introduction to a series of post I will make about various disputed islands around the world.

Mr. Cheyenne Morrison

Two Tiny Rocks, Two Modest Solutions
Dr. Erdem Denk
Faculty of Political Science,
Ankara University

Introduction

Although several of them have now been settled through either diplomatic or judicial means, there are still many island disputes in different parts of the globe which occasionally heat up and cause serious tensions. The Senkaku/Diaouyu Islands dispute between Japan and China/Taiwan, the Paracel and Spratly Islands disputes between China, Vietnam and other South East Asia States, the Kurile Islands/Northern Territories dispute between Russia and Japan, the Tokdo/Takeshima Islands dispute between Korea and Japan, the Abu Musa and Tunb Islands dispute between Iran and UAE, the Sipadan and Ligitan Islands dispute between Malaysia and Indonesia, the Perejil/Leila Rocks dispute between Spain and Morocco, and finally the Kardak/Imia Rocks dispute between Turkey and Greece are the most widely known ones.[1] The present study will briefly examine the last one, i.e., the Kardak/Imia Rocks dispute, in the context of general characteristics of island disputes and then endeavour to make two modest suggestions regarding the status of these rocks bearing in mind, and in the context of, the general state of bilateral relations of Turkey and Greece.

The Kardak/Imia Rocks Dispute[2]

The Kardak/Imia Rocks have become a matter of dispute between Turkey and Greece as a result of a sea accident occurred in December 1995 just off these rocks and led to a series of mutual diplomatic correspondences particularly throughout January 1996. It would not be an exaggeration to argue that both of the parties have not only raised their claims in these correspondences but also configured their respective arguments. This is a simple result of the fact that these two tiny rocks, just like other similar disputed islands as will stressed below, hitherto virtually unknown to anyone presumably except local fishermen and sailors, let alone diplomats of any of these two countries. So, both Turkish and Greek diplomats put serious efforts in order to demonstrate the legal basis of their sovereignty claims.

In this context, Greece argued that the “Imia Rocks” were first ceded to Italy by Turkey in the 1923 Laussanne Treaty and this was confirmed later on by an “agreement” dated 28 December 1932 done consistent with a previous treaty and a letter exchange both done on 4 January 1932. Accordingly, Italy, in turn, ceded them to Greece by the Paris Peace Treaty in 1947. Turkey, on the other hand, argued that the “Kardak Rocks” had never been ceded by Turkey which means that they were, and are, still part of Turkey as the successor State of the Ottomon Empire which, as Greece also (implicitly) agrees, had an undisputed title on these rocks up until to the Laussanne Treaty. In terms of the legal arguments of the parties, there are a couple of key points that should be underlined. But, before proceeding anymore, it must be noted at the outset that that, although this point is explicitly referred to mainly by Turkey, formulation of the arguments of both parties suggests that the parties (implicitly) agree at least on the fact that the Kardak/Imia Rocks are only one of the dozens of islands/rocks (“geographic formations”) that share identical legal status (un)regulated by the very same international instruments.

Regarding the key points of the legal arguments of the parties, first of all, the exact scope of the expressions “dependent” and “adjacent” employed in the Lausanne and Paris Peace Treaties, respectively, with regard to islets to be ceded together with expressly listed main islands in the Dodecannese region is under special scrutiny of both of the parties. The main disagreement is whether these presumably interchangeable expressions cover the Kardak/Imia Rocks in particular and other “geographic formations” which share the same status in general. Interestingly enough, both parties argue that the “relative” distances of these rocks to their respective nearest undisputed islands/coasts are to be looked at in order to interpret these very expressions. This common approach is evidently ill founded, simply because being “dependent” or “adjacent” does not refer to, or recall, “relativity” at all. It simply indicates that some islets, whatever they may be, are seen as “dependent” or “adjacent” to some islands expressly listed. So, other factors such as geographical and/or historical connections, economical ties, security considerations, administrative regulations etc. must be taken into account in working out what the expressions “dependent” or “adjacent” means exactly and which islets are/can be covered by them.

Second, the legal existence/validity of the 28 December 1932 document signed between Turkey and Italy is also a very important and decisive discussion point between the parties. Indeed, since this document apparently shows the Kardak/Imia Rocks on the Italian side, taking into account it as a legally binding agreement would mean that these rocks were ceded to Italy, or then deemed to be on the Italian side, which would in turn mean that Greece has taken them over by the 1947 Paris Peace Treaty. Turkey, however, challenges the legal validity of this document saying that the requisite legal procedures for the ratification of this document were not fulfilled particularly by Turkey which shows that it did not give (and has not so far) its consent to such a cession.

Finally, it must be boldly underlined that there are many other “geographic formations” in the region which have identically the same status with the Kardak/Imia Rocks. Indeed, almost the only point regarding this particular dispute on which both Turkey and Greece (implicitly) agree is the fact that international instruments supposed to (un)regulate the status of these two rocks in fact relate to dozens of others. So, any settlement would not only determine the “owner” of the Kardak/Imia Rocks but also clarify the status of many others.

Having briefly analysed the legal arguments of the parties, the importance of the Kardak/Imia Rocks may now be studied in the context of general characteristics of island disputes.

Basic Characteristics of Island Disputes

A closer look at island disputes in different parts of the world suggests that such disputes have some basic common characteristics.[3] First and foremost, almost all disputed islands/rocks are considerably small in size and, quite unsurprisingly, uninhabited. It is not possible to spot them even on regional maps used for daily purposes and they are (or “were”) virtually unknown to wider public. This itself demonstrates once basic fact (which has apparently changed in time as they are disputed now): these islands/rocks were of virtually no value at all at the time of the adoption of international instruments regulating/determining the sovereignty of islands and/or coasts in their regions. Indeed, they must have been deemed to be such insignificant that, or to put it more correctly, they must have not attracted any attention whatsoever that, their status was not referred to at all in potentially relevant international instruments. It follows that, since their status had not been explicitly addressed in such instruments, a dispute about their exact status has been “inevitable” as they have become “important” for the parties in time. Parties to such disputes therefore, unavoidably, put their full efforts in interpreting allegedly relevant general/vague provisions and/or expressions employed in potentially relevant instruments.

It then goes without saying that these islands/rocks have gained importance and have been noticed (if not “discovered”) as a result of other factors to a great extent independent from their own values. Indeed, most of the disputes (except -at least- the Kardak/Imia Rocks) referred to at the outset have come to the agenda as a result of various technical explorations and research reports suggesting that there might be oil reserves beneath these regions. So, determining maritime jurisdiction areas in these regions has suddenly gained immense importance for the coastal States concerned which in turn brought, inter alia, the ownership of these islands into the agenda. As is well known, notwithstanding the discussion regarding whether uninhabited islands may have EEZs and continental shelves,[4] it is generally accepted at least in principal that they have territorial waters. It follows that, since the “owner” of such islands would expand its maritime jurisdiction areas and thus have a remarkable economic advantage, coastal States have even since been attributing considerable value to them.

It must, however, be noted that the Kardak/Imia Rocks have a distinguishing character in this respect as they have come to the agenda accidentally in the full sense of the word and their (perceived) importance has relatively little to do with economic considerations/concerns. As noted above, there are dozens of “geographic formations” which share the same status with the Kardak/Imia Rocks and therefore a possible Greek sovereignty over (all of) them, coupled with a possible 12-miles Greek territorial sea in the Aegean Sea, would effectively bestow Greece the whole Aegean sea maritime areas and it would become virtually impossible for a Turkish ferry (let alone war ships) to navigate from Istanbul to Izmir without passing through Greek territorial seas. Furthermore, such a possibility would have implications as far as security perceptions of the parties are concerned. In short, the status of these two tiny rocks are of decisive importance actually in terms of maritime jurisdiction areas in the Aegean.

Be that as it may, turning back to the common characteristics of island disputes, it must be particularly stressed that the underlying political considerations of the parties have also considerably, if not decisively, affected the course of such disputes. Indeed, it should not be a coincidence that the general state of bilateral relations of the parties of almost all of the ongoing disputes referred to above is far from being “normal”. In other words, the island dispute in question is not the only dispute between the parties. Rather, they have many other “legal” and “political” disputes which overall lead to bitter relations in between them.

The situation is not different, and in fact particularly true, in the Kardak/Imia dispute. Indeed, notwithstanding the relative improvement achieved in recent years thanks to the so-called earthquake diplomacy, it is obvious that there are deep disagreements and even enmity between the parties. Historical perceptions, the Cyprus issue and the maritime disputes in the Aegean Sea are always shown as the causes, and indicators, of this rivalry. Nevertheless, one may even argue that there is, or at least used to be until recent years, a vicious circle and the general mood of bilateral relations is not only effected, or worsened, by such disputes, but it itself also added fuel to such disputes and worsened, if not characterised/caused, them. Indeed, particularly the Kardak/Imia dispute has been affected considerably from the general state of bilateral relations of Greece and Turkey right from the beginning.

So, needless to say, notwithstanding the fact that these disputes are obviously “legal” in character, they are highly politicised as well. Hence, it becomes almost impossible for the parties to settle such disputes at least in short the term and -arguably- for the present generation. This is not only because the parties, although genuinely to some extent, attribute too much importance to such islands, but particularly because any sort of détente becomes almost impossible in such circumstances. Any form of possible inter-governmental compromise (even its rumour) is much likely to attract serious public opposition as a “concession”, if not “betrayal”. Likewise, any possibility of third-party settlement, particularly including judicial settlement, is also approached quite cautiously as it unavoidably embodies the risk of total failure/“defeat”.

As a result, settling such “legal” disputes, therefore, seems quite impossible in the short term. So, the main aim/task of the present generations would arguably be limited with preparing a suitable climate in which the next generations may comfortably deal with such disputes and settle them

Two Modest Suggestions

It is therefore obvious that parties to such disputes should first endeavour to “normalise” their relations before dealing with highly politicised “legal” disputes such as island disputes. This is particularly true for Turkey and Greece which particularly need some more time in order to proceed with confidence building. In fact, it may easily be said that the two countries have achieved a lot in recent years in terms of establishing the foundations for a climate of good relations. Having said that, certainly there are still many things to be done in order to secure stable relations between the parties which will enable them (next generations?) to confidently work out an acceptable settlement for their highly politicised legal disputes. Indeed, Turkish-Greek relations are, however less fragile now, still far from being “normal” notwithstanding recent improvements. As has been suggested elsewhere, various (joint) efforts may well be made in areas of education, culture, economics, tourism and even politics. Apart from such general steps which would definitely contribute to rapprochement of the peoples of the parties, it would be argued that some symbolic steps may also be taken (by both or any of the parties) as far as specific maritime disputes in general and the Kardak/Imia dispute in particular are concerned. Such steps would not only show the good-will and sincere intentions of the parties (or the relevant party) for viable solutions, but also help creating a good climate of relations between the parties.

As stressed above, although the Kardak/Imia Rocks are only one of the disputed “geographic formations” in the region which share the same status, the destiny of the Kardak/Imia Rocks has much more importance than any other “geographic formation” in question. Indeed, one may even argue that the final decision (to be given either by a court or jointly by the parties) would to a great extent be affected by the possible status of these two tiny rocks. To put it another way, each party would to a great extent determine its respective tactics/policies/positions during the negotiations (either towards a final solution or a compromis) according to their possible implications with regard to these two rocks, which would make any progress quite slow, if not unlikely. Be that as it may, if any form of solution is reached at ever, the parties, and, more importantly, the wider public in each country, would simply look at the (eventual) status of these two rocks more than anything else. Having in mind the tension escalated considerably in early 1996 regarding their status, it would more or less be some sort of “concession”, if not “betrayal”, for the government which “lost” particularly these two tiny rocks.

Thus, in the context of the above-mentioned necessity for confidence building initiatives, it would be suggested that (both or any of) the parties may take a courageous step and declare that the Kardak/Imia Rocks should not to be seen as a disputed territory between the parties anymore and should simply be delineated as a sort of special joint/common territory (some sort of condominium). Since the Kardak/Imia Rocks are only one of the disputed “geographic formations” in the region as emphasised above, such a declaration should also stress that the status of other “geographic formations” that (originally) share the same status would not be affected from this action in any manner. So, Greece and Turkey may well keep negotiating the status of other “geographic formations”.

The parties may then erect some sort of peace monument or build some sort of tourist attractions on these rocks to the memory of their common history. Despite its symbolic nature, such a step would arguably not only have quite positive effects to the confidence building efforts between the parties, but also provide a very good and encouraging example for other similar disputes across the globe. Moreover, since the status of other “geographic formations” that share the same status would not be affected, the (would-be) owner of them would not “loose” anything by such a decision except the Kardak/Imia Rocks themselves the “real” value of which is far less than their symbolic meaning. Thus, in real terms, both parties would gain a lot not only because a group of rocks the “loss” of which would potentially cause serious headache for them vis-à-vis their own public would not be a “dispute” at all anymore, but also because such a symbolic step would have enormous contribution towards apparently desired good-relations between the parties. Finally, working out the status of other “geographic formations” would be much easier for the parties, as the wider public is arguably much less interested in their actual status (at least compared to that of the Kardak/Imia Rocks).

Alternatively, or in addition to this, since the main concern particularly for Turkey is the possible enlargement of maritime jurisdiction areas of Greece in case of a potential Greek ownership over such “geographic formations”, the parties, before engaging in any concrete negotiations (towards either settling their disputes in between themselves or preparing a compromis for judicial settlement), may declare in advance that such small “geographic formations” would not have any effect at all in determining respective maritime jurisdiction areas (particularly territorial seas) of the parties. Likewise, they may also agree and declare before commencing their negotiations that some sort of navigation corridors would be granted to Turkey and these “geographic formations” would be militarised irrespective of their (to be determined) status.[5] This would certainly ease the conduct of negotiations, and, more importantly, make settlement much more likely.

In short, the parties would not only get rid of one of their disputes which is of considerable symbolic value particularly for their peoples, but also have the chance to eliminate their relevant political and security-related concerns to a great extent. As a result, the “disputed islands” issue, which is supposed to be strictly “legal” in character, would take return its “ordinary” form. Furthermore, Turkey and Greece would have the chance to improve their relations further which would in turn make it much easier (at least for next generations) to settle their remaining legal and political disputes.

* Printed in II. National Aegean Islands Symposium, Idris Bostan ve Sertaç Hami Baseren (eds.), TUDAV, Istanbul, 2004, pp. 12-16.

[1] For detailed information about, inter alia, these islands and links to relevant articles, visit www.geocities.com/erdemdenk/islands.htm

[2] See Hüseyin Pazarci, “Différend Gréco-Turc sur le Statud de Certains Îlots et Rochers dans le Mer Egéé: Une Résponse a Mr. C. P. Economidés”, Extrait de la Revue Générale de Droit International Public, No 2, pp.353-378; Yüksel Inan & Sertaç H. Baseren, Status of Kardak Rocks-Kardak Kayaliklarinin Statüsü, Ankara, 1997; Constantin P. Economides, “Les Ilots D’Imia dans la Mer Egéé: Un Différend Créé par la Force” Extrait de la Revue Générale de Droit International Public, No 2, pp. 323-352; Krateros Ioannou, “A Tale of Two Islets” Thesis, Vol. 1, No 1, pp. 33-42; and Erdem Denk, “Disputed Islets and Rocks in the Aegean Sea”, The Turkish Yearbook of International Relations, No XXIX (1999), pp. 131-155.

[3] For detailed study, see Erdem Denk, Egemenligi Tartismali Adalar: Karsilastirmali Bir Çalisma (Kardak Kayaliklari ve Spratly ve Senkaku/Diaouyu Adalari Örnekleri) [Disputed Islands: A Comparative Analysis (Kardak Rocks, Spratly Islands and Senkaku/Diaouyu Islands Cases)], Ankara, Mülkiyeliler Birligi Vakfi, 1999, s. 196 vd.

[4] See Article 121/3, the 1982 UNCLOS.

[5] Latest news about the secret negotiations between the parties also suggest that the parties have already considered, and in principal agreed on, such an option.

For sale: one island, uninhabited

Elizabeth Island Owner hopes land will remain in natural state
By David Desjardins, The Boston Globe November 26, 2006

ARLINGTON -- The listing for sale of a 2-acre island in the middle of Spy Pond has residents and officials buzzing about what will happen to one of the town's few remaining pieces of unspoiled open space .

A haven for waterfowl and a destination for canoers, Elizabeth Island has been owned for 45 years by Elaine Sacco , whose home sits roughly 100 feet away on the shore of Spy Pond. Sacco has taken care of the island all that time, rowing over to it periodically and removing trash there, but she says it is time for someone else to take over stewardship. Griffin Properties is marketing the island for Sacco, with a listing price of $999,000.

"My first choice is to keep it natural, and I think it's going to happen, but I'm not going to give it away," said Sacco. "I'm getting along in years, and I could use the money. I don't want the responsibility anymore. I'm getting too old to row over there and haul away trash from the island."

What uses any prospective buyer could make of the island are unclear. Sacco said her deed to the land states that two houses may be built on the island. William Hartford , a salesman for Griffin, said, "We've had all sorts of inquiries about different uses for the island," from putting up tennis courts to constructing a house with a helipad.

However, according to Kevin O'Brien , the town's director of planning, development options are limited. "It's residentially zoned, but it doesn't meet the criteria for a residence." He said town zoning bylaws require residences to have 60 feet of frontage on a street to allow service by utility and emergency vehicles.

The listing for the property says it "offers a myriad of possibilities," but also notes that the land is being sold "as is" and that the "buyer is responsible for all due diligence matters." The island has no connection to town water and sewer and to electricity.

"I don't think that anyone would pay $999,000 for it," O'Brien said, "but nobody should."

Brian Rehrig , treasurer of the Arlington Land Trust , said Elizabeth Island has long been considered environmentally important; roughly 15 years ago, he said, the MDC's (Metropolitan District Commission, a predecessor of the Department of Conservation and Recreation) prioritized list of parcels for acquisition for conservation ranked the island third among several hundred properties.

He said the land trust has been negotiating with Sacco to try to keep the island undeveloped.

"She's made it clear that her preference is to see the island preserved in its natural state," Rehrig said. "She and her family feel that it is an important natural resource that is important visually and environmentally."

There is "zero" likelihood, Rehrig said, that the town would pay the asking price, but he thinks the land trust could broker an agreement that would keep the island as is and still satisfy Sacco. "There are tools available from nonprofits like the land trust that might help her sell the property in ways that are tax-advantaged, and we are exploring those options with her and her attorney." Such a deal, he said, might include a payment to Sacco from a combination of state, private, and town funding sources.

"She's testing the waters by listing her property," Rehrig said. "I applaud her for doing that, because it will help her, the town, and the state get a realistic picture of the land's value."

Over the past 21 years, the island has been used as a launching ground for fireworks displays held during Town Day each fall; the town pays Sacco for that use.

The island is not known to ever have had a permanent settlement, according to Arlington historian Richard A. Duffy, but was used sporadically for camping in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Also, Duffy wrote in an e-mail, "In 1810, the local West Cambridge [as Arlington was then named] militia joined with then-neighboring Watertown's militia to hold for military training purposes what was then called a 'sham war.' " Elizabeth Island was designated as the supposed site of a hostile American Indian village, Duffy said, and "those on the militia side of the exercise were reported to have attacked Elizabeth Island with rounds of 'cannonade' and to make a 'naval' attack to burn the wigwams and send the 'Indians' fleeing by canoe."

News of the island's potential sale inspired a range of responses on the Arlington e-mail list, a popular forum used by residents to discuss anything from town politics to restaurant reviews.

"Now there's a unique opportunity for the right person or organization," wrote Alan Jones , referring to the real estate listing. "Wouldn't it be nice if some conservation group could buy it?"

Another resident, Judith Hicks , said she didn't want the town to try to buy the island, at least at the listing price. "It would be great for the Town of Arlington to remember it has schools, roads, evidently sidewalks to fix," wrote Hicks. "$999,000 could make a dent somewhere in all of that."

Other residents speculated as to possible uses for the island : Wind turbines erected there could generate energy for the town, for example. One resident humorously suggested it could be used as a locale for the popular "Survivor" television series.


Elizabeth Island is up for sale
By Jennifer Mann/ Staff Writer
www.townonline.com

After more than 40 years of preservation and upkeep, Elaine Sacco faces a dilemma of how to rid of her island.

"I don’t want the responsibility of it anymore," she said Monday. "Every year I go over and clean it up. Nobody else does - just me and my rowboat."

Elizabeth Island, a 2-acre floating respite in the middle of Spy Pond, has proven to be both a blessing and burden over the years, Sacco said, since her family purchased their house at 24 Sheraton Park, with the island as a part of the deal.

As the 67-year-old tells it, problems have ranged from "hippie colonies" living in tents, to more recently, teenagers making campfires, leaving trash and debris behind.

That is why her preference now is to enjoy the beauties of Spy Pond and its natural history, which she talks lovingly of, from the comfort of its banks in her backyard.

"It’s time for somebody else to worry," she said, with a long sigh.

Sacco has placed Elizabeth Island up for sale for almost $1 million, triggering heavy talk in the community about the landmark’s past and future. The East Arlington resident herself is unsure of the latter.

For months, she has been in conversation with board members of Arlington Land Trust interested in conserving the island as open space for the benefit of the public. Members approached her years ago about potentially purchasing the property, and were the first to get Sacco’s call.

"My first choice is hopefully it will stay natural," she said.

But the East Arlington resident has also decided to test the waters of the open market, to see who will bite - and for how much. After ALT, she put in a call to a realtor who is her neighbor, and a developer who she said is a long-time friend who she trusts.

"I would not let anything happen to it that would destroy the beauty of the island and the pond," she pledged in a phone call from a winter home in Florida. "But basically, I think it’s time for the island to pay me back."

According to local historian Richard A. Duffy, the island has seen its fair share of activity over the years.

When Arlington was known as West Cambridge, in the early 1800s, militias of nearby communities would stage the equivalent of today’s war games at Spy Pond. Members of the militia playing the role of American Indians would set up camp, complete with wigwams, on Elizabeth Island, which "was conveniently near the gunpowder house built on the shore of Spy Pond at the foot of Spring Valley."

"It became the object of bombardment from the shore and invasion by water," he said.

There were development proposals as well, the most notable being in 1844, when one of two proposed routes for a railroad into West Cambridge called for locomotives to cross Spy Pond by causeways to and from Elizabeth Island. The alternate route - on the path of today’s Donald R. Marquis Minuteman Trail - was selected in 1845.

Sacco said after her family purchased the property from Robert Davis, whose relatives still live on Spy Pond, she received various offers including one from a local doctor who wanted to build tennis courts on the land.

But it has remained private, for occasional use by the public, like when Arlington annually launches its Town Day fireworks from the spot.

"It’s been in great hands," said ALT Treasurer Brian Rehrig, who has been part of discussions with Sacco and her attorney. "Mrs. Sacco and her family have stewarded the island for over 40 years now, to the point that I think a lot of people in town assume that it’s protected - assume that it’s public."

Rehrig said ALT’s vision is to make that misconception a reality, through a combination of private fund raising, maybe applying for help from the state, and perhaps including the town as a partner, but with "no obligation on the town without its becoming part of any agreement."

He said there would be certain tax advantages for Sacco to sell to ALT because it is a nonprofit organization for public purpose. This would be the first land purchase by the trust, which has in the past worked with other groups as a steward of open spaces.

"Because it is what she truly wants - to see the island permanently protected - I am optimistic that we’ll be able to come to some sort of compromise conservation purchase that would satisfy both her needs and the public’s," he said.

Griffin Properties, which is listing the property, includes an assessed value of about $126,000 on the island.

Planning and Community Development Director Kevin O’Brien said the island does not meet building requirements for a single-family zone, including a certain lot size and street frontage for safety and accessibility.

"I believe the possibilities for development are nil," he said.

He said Elizabeth Island has been listed among a handful of properties in the town’s open space plan indicating a preference for preservation. But on whether the town might be able to contribute to ALT’s purchase of the island, O’Brien responded: "We would certainly give them moral support.

"It is hard to envision where funding might come to purchase something like this," he explained.

Betsy Leondar-Wright, secretary and former president of Friends of Spy Pond Park, said her group will be watching the future of Elizabeth Island closely, looking for whoever buys the property to take on three efforts: a continuation of the goose-egg addling that keeps the bird population in check at the pond, a clearing of the island’s shoreline reeds that have crowded out native species and cleanup after the town fireworks.

"Elizabeth Island, being undeveloped and natural and beautiful, is essential to Spy Pond Park being the place that it is," she said, mentioning while it is an urban park, "you get the feeling of kind of being out in the wild because when you look out from the park ... what you see is this big block of trees that is Elizabeth Island."

She said ALT seems like a party that could be trusted with the job.

"That’s sort of what they exist for," she said.

India eyes an island in the sun

Times of India, 25 Nov, 2006

NEW DELHI: In a move that could give the country a strategic presence in the Indian Ocean, Mauritius has offered to hand over the Agalega Islands — which is closer to India than the African country — ostensibly for development as a tourist destination.

The details of the offer, made during negotiations for a bilateral trade pact, are still being discussed. But its broad contours are something like this. Indian companies would develop hotels and resorts and also upgrade the existing airstrip in the island into an airport.

Sources close to the negotiations said that Indian companies or the government also had the option to develop a port, which could be used for purposes of both trade and tourism.

While Mauritius has given projects to private developers on long-term lease, a source said that in this case it could be different since it was a government-to-government deal. "But these are early days. The details have to be thrashed out," he added.

The two islands on offer — North and South Agalega — are over 1,000 km from Mauritius but whether India gets to develop just one of them or both depends on the development plan, a source said. "It can be used for agriculture, tourism or for other strategic purposes," said a source.

Sources said that initial estimates suggested that the cost of building resorts and hotels could be quite high since Mauritius wanted to develop the islands, which have a land area of 70 sq km, for premium tourists.

The North island has two villages — Vingt Cinq and la Fourche — with a bulk of the infrastructure in the former. At present, only the Outer Island Development Corporation of Mauritius can organise trips to Agalega and people can either travel by boat or fly for three hours from Mauritius on a non-pressurised, non-airconditioned Dornier.

Pitcairn: The island of fear

The Independant
December 9 2006

The island has been devastated by a mass trial for child rape. As several men start sentences in a jail they helped to build, Ed Caesar explores the future for this troubled outpost of empire

Jacqui Christian grew up on an island paradise in the Pacific. The childhood she describes sounds like every over-stressed family's fantasy in her adopted city, London: a serene tropical haven, with no cars, little contact with the outside world, where everyone is a neighbour, or family. "After school we could go riding our bikes or kite-flying anywhere on the island and not worry about being mugged," she says.

But that wasn't the whole story. "There was this other side that we never talked about, where being a girl you always tried to avoid being anywhere with an adult male on your own. The older you got, the smarter you got about who was safe to be around and who wasn't." Her first memory of being sexually abused was when she was three years old.

Jacqui grew up on Pitcairn, two miles by one mile of volcanic British rock in the Pacific Ocean. The island, where at the time of the trial just 47 people lived, is 3,000 miles from Chile in one direction and 3,000 miles from New Zealand in the other. There is no airstrip, nor a regular boat service to the island. Until very recently, it had no internet or television. For most of its 200-year history as a settled colony - since 1790, when Pitcairn was first settled by Fletcher Christian and his fellow mutineers on the Bounty - the world had done little to trouble Pitcairn, and Pitcairn had done little to interest the world.

But, two years ago, Pitcairn stumbled into the spotlight, when its child sex abuse scandal made waves across the world. In the past fortnight, following a failed appeal to the Privy Council, two Pitcairners, Steve Christian - the one-time mayor of Pitcairn, and a descendant of Fletcher Christian - and his son, Randy, started three- and six-year prison sentences respectively for rape in HM Prison Pitcairn, a new chalet-style pinewood prison they helped to build. They will be guarded by seven New Zealand prison guards, shipped in especially for the purpose.

In 2004, half the island's adult males, direct descendants of Christian and the mutineers, were charged with the rape, indecent assault of underage girls and, in one case, incest. After a five-year investigation by British detectives, during which every woman who grew up on the island since 1950 was questioned, 32 women said they had been abused. Thirty-one men were implicated in the crimes, some of which occurred at least 40 years earlier. Of those 31, many now dead, seven men were tried in a court presided over by three New Zealand judges. Only one was acquitted.

Jacqui is the first victim to give an interview, to the film-maker Nick Godwin. One year after the trial, Godwin arrived on the island to conduct a series of interviews with the sentenced men - at the time still free to move around Pitcairn because of their pending appeal - and other islanders. The results of Godwin's investigation, due to be shown this week in a Channel 4 film, Trouble in Paradise: The Pitcairn Story, reveal an island ripped in two.

Meralda Warren, a woman in her forties, whose brother, Jay, had been the only man acquitted in the 2004 trial, sprang to the defence of the island's men. It was quite normal for girls in Pitcairn, she said, to start having sex "at about 12 or 13". Moreover, it was usually with boys of their own age or slightly older. There was, she insisted, no culture of rape or paedophilia on the island.

"We are Polynesians," she said. "Only in Britain is this underage sex, but not in Polynesia... I first [had sex] at 12. My partner was only a couple of years older. I was never raped and I don't believe other Pitcairn women were raped either."

But this account, conjuring images of innocent assignations behind the bike shed, was not the experience of the island's other women. Stories emerged of men in groups pinning down girls, some as young as eight, and raping them. Like the other girls, Jacqui told no one what was going on. "I don't know whether it was fear or something I just didn't want to face. I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable, and there are men telling you not to tell anyone else."

Pitcairn, partly because of its geographical position, and partly because of its wilful insularity, has always been a closed environment. The occasional visiting school teacher or social worker apart, outsiders rarely visit. But it was just such an outsider, PC Gail Cox, a British policewoman on a secondment to Pitcairn, who, in 1999, first raised the alarm about a child sex pandemic. A teenage girl told the officer that young girls were frequently having sex with older men. Appalled, PC Cox reported back to her superiors in London, sparking an investigation by two British detectives, Rob Vinson and Peter George.

The man at the centre of the allegations in the 2004 trial was the island's one-time mayor, Steve Christian, who still vociferously denies that he has been involved in any wrongdoing. He admitted having sex with underage girls, but said that, according to Pitcairn law, it was only sex with girls under 12 that was illegal - and even that was only punishable by 100 days' imprisonment. Rape, he believed, took place between strangers.

But, again, the evidence heard in the trial gave a different picture. Two of Christian's victims, appearing by video link from New Zealand, told of vicious rapes. One said that she had been seized by him and by two of his friends, dragged into the woods and forced to have sex. She was 11 at the time and he was 13 . Another said that, when she was 12 and Steve Christian 21, he had taken her up into the mountains on his bicycle and raped her under a bush.

The two detectives who were assigned to Pitcairn under an investigation named Operation Unique, tried to make sense of what had been going on. They came to the conclusion that, because of an apparent lack of law and order, the adult men on the island felt it was their right to do whatever they wished. One man, said George, had admitted that he tried to get girls of 10 or under, because Christian "got them when they were 12, so he had to go younger".

Godwin has his own theory. "Women were certainly complicit in this," he says. "Although we didn't have time to go into it fully in a one-hour documentary, there was certainly evidence that women not only turned a blind eye, but offered up their daughters to older men in some cases.

"The widespread nature of this kind of activity, in my view, goes back to the island's origins, to the mutineers. We know that some of those women [they took] from Tahiti were very young, and I suspect many of those women may not have come of their own accord. We certainly have documentary evidence of men having sex with very young girls in Polynesia in that time. It was very much part of the culture then .... All those things feed into the situation today."

Last month, for the first time in the island's history, a case from Pitcairn arrived at Britain's highest court of appeal for Commonwealth countries, the Privy Council. Four out of the six men found guilty were seeking to have their convictions overturned. They argued that, because of their isolation, Pitcairn law, rather than British law, applied on the island. The Privy counsellors disagreed.

With their appeal crushed, two of those six men have begun their prison sentences. Another islander, Terry Young, will start his five-year term when a relative arrives on the island to look after his ageing mother. Of the three others convicted in the 2004 trial, one, Len Brown, has been granted two years of home detention, on the grounds of his age, and two others have hundreds of hours of community sentences awaiting them.

The situation on Pitcairn has changed already. Most of the island's children have now been shipped off to relatives in Australia and New Zealand. The British government, meanwhile, has poured money into Pitcairn in an effort to develop one of the last bastions of the Empire. Social workers, doctors, and, now, seven police officers have arrived on the island. Pitcairn's first road has just been built, as has its first guest house.

But it may already be too late to save Pitcairn. With half the native adult male workforce imprisoned or under supervision for the crimes that have made Pitcairn infamous, it is going to be hard for the island to soldier on. And the contention of some islanders that "tourism is the future" seems to be an optimistic one, given this scandal.

"I think [the islanders] are hoping that people come back to the island," says Godwin. "It had to happen anyway. It's an ageing population, so they need some young blood. It has been clear for a long time that women were leaving Pitcairn and never coming back, and now, of course, we know why."

Jacqui's story, though, gives the island a strange hope. Despite all that she has experienced, Jacqui still has "a dream" to go home and live in the tiny community where she grew up.

'Trouble in Paradise: The Pitcairn Story' is on Channel 4 on Thursday at 10.35pm

Jacqui Christian grew up on an island paradise in the Pacific. The childhood she describes sounds like every over-stressed family's fantasy in her adopted city, London: a serene tropical haven, with no cars, little contact with the outside world, where everyone is a neighbour, or family. "After school we could go riding our bikes or kite-flying anywhere on the island and not worry about being mugged," she says.

But that wasn't the whole story. "There was this other side that we never talked about, where being a girl you always tried to avoid being anywhere with an adult male on your own. The older you got, the smarter you got about who was safe to be around and who wasn't." Her first memory of being sexually abused was when she was three years old.

Jacqui grew up on Pitcairn, two miles by one mile of volcanic British rock in the Pacific Ocean. The island, where at the time of the trial just 47 people lived, is 3,000 miles from Chile in one direction and 3,000 miles from New Zealand in the other. There is no airstrip, nor a regular boat service to the island. Until very recently, it had no internet or television. For most of its 200-year history as a settled colony - since 1790, when Pitcairn was first settled by Fletcher Christian and his fellow mutineers on the Bounty - the world had done little to trouble Pitcairn, and Pitcairn had done little to interest the world.

But, two years ago, Pitcairn stumbled into the spotlight, when its child sex abuse scandal made waves across the world. In the past fortnight, following a failed appeal to the Privy Council, two Pitcairners, Steve Christian - the one-time mayor of Pitcairn, and a descendant of Fletcher Christian - and his son, Randy, started three- and six-year prison sentences respectively for rape in HM Prison Pitcairn, a new chalet-style pinewood prison they helped to build. They will be guarded by seven New Zealand prison guards, shipped in especially for the purpose.

In 2004, half the island's adult males, direct descendants of Christian and the mutineers, were charged with the rape, indecent assault of underage girls and, in one case, incest. After a five-year investigation by British detectives, during which every woman who grew up on the island since 1950 was questioned, 32 women said they had been abused. Thirty-one men were implicated in the crimes, some of which occurred at least 40 years earlier. Of those 31, many now dead, seven men were tried in a court presided over by three New Zealand judges. Only one was acquitted.

Jacqui is the first victim to give an interview, to the film-maker Nick Godwin. One year after the trial, Godwin arrived on the island to conduct a series of interviews with the sentenced men - at the time still free to move around Pitcairn because of their pending appeal - and other islanders. The results of Godwin's investigation, due to be shown this week in a Channel 4 film, Trouble in Paradise: The Pitcairn Story, reveal an island ripped in two.

Meralda Warren, a woman in her forties, whose brother, Jay, had been the only man acquitted in the 2004 trial, sprang to the defence of the island's men. It was quite normal for girls in Pitcairn, she said, to start having sex "at about 12 or 13". Moreover, it was usually with boys of their own age or slightly older. There was, she insisted, no culture of rape or paedophilia on the island.

"We are Polynesians," she said. "Only in Britain is this underage sex, but not in Polynesia... I first [had sex] at 12. My partner was only a couple of years older. I was never raped and I don't believe other Pitcairn women were raped either."

But this account, conjuring images of innocent assignations behind the bike shed, was not the experience of the island's other women. Stories emerged of men in groups pinning down girls, some as young as eight, and raping them. Like the other girls, Jacqui told no one what was going on. "I don't know whether it was fear or something I just didn't want to face. I knew it was wrong. It felt wrong. It felt uncomfortable, and there are men telling you not to tell anyone else."

Pitcairn, partly because of its geographical position, and partly because of its wilful insularity, has always been a closed environment. The occasional visiting school teacher or social worker apart, outsiders rarely visit. But it was just such an outsider, PC Gail Cox, a British policewoman on a secondment to Pitcairn, who, in 1999, first raised the alarm about a child sex pandemic. A teenage girl told the officer that young girls were frequently having sex with older men. Appalled, PC Cox reported back to her superiors in London, sparking an investigation by two British detectives, Rob Vinson and Peter George.
The man at the centre of the allegations in the 2004 trial was the island's one-time mayor, Steve Christian, who still vociferously denies that he has been involved in any wrongdoing. He admitted having sex with underage girls, but said that, according to Pitcairn law, it was only sex with girls under 12 that was illegal - and even that was only punishable by 100 days' imprisonment. Rape, he believed, took place between strangers.

But, again, the evidence heard in the trial gave a different picture. Two of Christian's victims, appearing by video link from New Zealand, told of vicious rapes. One said that she had been seized by him and by two of his friends, dragged into the woods and forced to have sex. She was 11 at the time and he was 13 . Another said that, when she was 12 and Steve Christian 21, he had taken her up into the mountains on his bicycle and raped her under a bush.

The two detectives who were assigned to Pitcairn under an investigation named Operation Unique, tried to make sense of what had been going on. They came to the conclusion that, because of an apparent lack of law and order, the adult men on the island felt it was their right to do whatever they wished. One man, said George, had admitted that he tried to get girls of 10 or under, because Christian "got them when they were 12, so he had to go younger".

Godwin has his own theory. "Women were certainly complicit in this," he says. "Although we didn't have time to go into it fully in a one-hour documentary, there was certainly evidence that women not only turned a blind eye, but offered up their daughters to older men in some cases.

"The widespread nature of this kind of activity, in my view, goes back to the island's origins, to the mutineers. We know that some of those women [they took] from Tahiti were very young, and I suspect many of those women may not have come of their own accord. We certainly have documentary evidence of men having sex with very young girls in Polynesia in that time. It was very much part of the culture then .... All those things feed into the situation today."

Last month, for the first time in the island's history, a case from Pitcairn arrived at Britain's highest court of appeal for Commonwealth countries, the Privy Council. Four out of the six men found guilty were seeking to have their convictions overturned. They argued that, because of their isolation, Pitcairn law, rather than British law, applied on the island. The Privy counsellors disagreed.

With their appeal crushed, two of those six men have begun their prison sentences. Another islander, Terry Young, will start his five-year term when a relative arrives on the island to look after his ageing mother. Of the three others convicted in the 2004 trial, one, Len Brown, has been granted two years of home detention, on the grounds of his age, and two others have hundreds of hours of community sentences awaiting them.

The situation on Pitcairn has changed already. Most of the island's children have now been shipped off to relatives in Australia and New Zealand. The British government, meanwhile, has poured money into Pitcairn in an effort to develop one of the last bastions of the Empire. Social workers, doctors, and, now, seven police officers have arrived on the island. Pitcairn's first road has just been built, as has its first guest house.

But it may already be too late to save Pitcairn. With half the native adult male workforce imprisoned or under supervision for the crimes that have made Pitcairn infamous, it is going to be hard for the island to soldier on. And the contention of some islanders that "tourism is the future" seems to be an optimistic one, given this scandal.

"I think [the islanders] are hoping that people come back to the island," says Godwin. "It had to happen anyway. It's an ageing population, so they need some young blood. It has been clear for a long time that women were leaving Pitcairn and never coming back, and now, of course, we know why."

Jacqui's story, though, gives the island a strange hope. Despite all that she has experienced, Jacqui still has "a dream" to go home and live in the tiny community where she grew up.

Eigg's for Sale

By Richard Johnson
The Sunday Times

NOTE: This is an old article, and the island has been sold, but it is fascinating reading.

An island, like a woman, will always turn a man's head - so says the Gaelic proverb. Even when, like the Isle of Eigg, it's 16 miles off the bleak west coast of Scotland, and retailing at £2million (o.n.o). English farmers, Swedish playboys and American environmentalists have all arranged viewings. But the islanders aren't happy. They don't want to be estate agents' particulars or commodities on the free market. Totem, Eigg is more than just a sheltered anchorage for a millionaire's yacht. It's country of the mind - like Atlantis, Utopia or Brigadoon - and they want to keep it for themselves. So they are bankrolling a community buyout with the help of public donations. This week they will know once and for all if they have managed to put the years of absentee landlords behind them.

Island elder Angus MacKinnon meets me off the Mallaig ferry. I'm flattered. This is the son of the bard of Eigg, who can trace his ancestry back four generations. But I've been told he likes a drink. It's when he's at his happiest, laughing and shaking hands - even if he's on his own. "Are you the man from the Crofters' Commission-", he barks at me. No, I explain, I'm the man from the Sunday Times." Well you can fuck off then". Angus is Eigg's unofficial Immigration Officer, vetting journalists and prospective buyers - in the process, frightening anyone fool enough to travel from the mainland when he's having a drink. He gestures me, somehow with the whole of his body, toward the taxi rank.

Donald, the island's only taxi driver, nods. Yes, people here do like a drink. In 1609,The Band and Statutes of Icolmkill brought the Western Isles under the control of the Scottish Parliament. One clause specified that `the extraordinair drinking of strong wynis and aqua vitae be put a stop to'. On Eigg they can take or leave the wynis. But Icolmkill made no mention of the McEwans Export. Such sociable people as these would dearly love a pub, but 63 islanders would barely fill a saloon bar. In the summer, the Shearwater, an ex-Navy mine hunter, does quite nicely. It sails from the mainland with a selection of fine malts for opening time alongside the pier, departing for the neighbouring island of Muck after 20 minutes. Islanders with a rare thirst have been known to go with it.

Winter is harder on the Eigg drinker. Mick Brett turned his kitchen into a strip-lit licensed establishment, showing The Little Mermaid on his 72" television in the sitting-room to keep the children out of the way of the extraordinair drinking going on next door. He soon discovered you don't want an islandful of drunkards in your kitchen - not every night - and moved to London to repair videos. So now the islanders walk down to the island Shop/Post Office, where most afternoons the smoke hangs low over Neil Robertson's home-grown vegetables. This where it all happens on Eigg. Or, as shopkeeper Fiona Cherry puts it, "...where...it...all...happens."

Donald's taxi is the colour of rhubarb. Not an approved Land Rover colour - more than likely some leftover undercoat from when he did his garden fence. I notice the tarmac showing through where the reinforced steel floor used to be. Not to worry. On Eigg, floors are considered an affectation. The islanders still talk about the car that had an MOT! And a valid tax disc that was clearly displayed! Tradition dictates that cars here are MOT failures shipped from the mainland on the Caledonian MacBraynecattle ferry. With a hire charge of £200, the shipping always costs more than the car. But Donald's four-wheel drive is the only vehicle able to negotiate the sheep track to Peggy Kirk's B&B.

"There's no speed limit on Eigg - only if you're carrying half a ton of coal" says Donald. Which, thankfully, he's doing today. He pumps the brakes on tight corners (which is most of them, on Eigg), past scree and waterfall, all in the shadow of the island's highest point, An Sgurr. The muted autumn colours are as sad as the Gaelicwaulking songs the old women used to sing while they worked the tweed, but every aspect of the island's 7,500 acres pleases - apart from the central car dump, where the salty sea air is still taking its toll on old metal. The estate agent's brochure (at £10 a time, courtesy of Vladi Private Islands) hasn't seen fit to mention the rusting particulars.

We drive past Galmisdale House. Vladi's brochure doesn't mention that the ceilings are sagging, or that the front room has sitting tenants - sheep, busily feeding through what's left of the ground floor. The laird's lodge, in Italianate style, flanked by palm trees, rhododendrons and azaleas, with a secret fuchsia garden, sits behind mildewed gates. The photographs don't show the neglected tennis court, the overgrown orchard or the lodge's dry rot that will cost at least £74,000 to put right. But most importantly, the brochure doesn't detail the islanders' discontent - the absence of security of tenure. They aren't free to invest in their homes without the fear of eviction. Fact is, too many long-term leases diminishes the value of the laird'sproperty.

Islanders are keen to point out to potential buyers that an island reads better than it lives . Winter on Eigg sets in early. Day doesn't dawn until 10am, and night falls -like a steel shutter - five hours later. Electricity comes from diesel generators, gas from cylinders. Sometimes the MV Lochmor (the up-market supply boat that serves Herring Rob Roy rather than Glenbervie) doesn't sail for ten days. So the shop runs out of rolling tobacco, and Donald gets cross. Donald started smoking the pipe when he was four. "The pipe was as big as myself, but Dad thought it was funny to see." He was only a casual smoker back then - and teachers took against it at pre-school -so didn't take it up seriously until he was 12. Now he's crabbit without a bowlful. Given the size of the man, any prospective laird would do well to bear that in mind.

This is more than a Compton Mackenzie comedy about a tiny Hebridean community taking on the world of capital. Catch him on any other day, and Angus would have explained that it's a story about the right to self-determination. With an ending that's yet to be written. "We're at a crossroads" says John Chester, a wildlife warden working for the Scottish Wildlife Trust. "One more private landlord could finish the island off. In 1800 there were 500 people living on Eigg. Now there are 63. All it takes now is one family to leave." Maggie Fyffe, in charge of the community-led buyout, agrees. "Get much below 60 and you're in danger of losing your doctor. The shop becomes not so viable. If that closes, the island's condition becomes critical. Eigg will die when families with children start leaving."

The children (with new-blood names like Damian, Tamsin, Felicia and Amber) are the charge of Alan Shilland, Eigg's primary school teacher. Today his class is discussing the advantages and disadvantages of island life. "On the mainland, you could get stolen" says Brendan, Camille's son. "And I couldn't cycle to Cromarty -too many bends", said the lad who came to Eigg from the hurly-burly of Inverness. "Here I can cycle wherever I want". They think some more. On the mainland you can go to a fair. And on the mainland you can visit a shop with rows and rows of sweets. "How many different kind of sweets have we got on Eigg-" asks Mr Shilland. Ten. "And you can't get away if the boat doesn't come." Then they remember that no boat means no teacher. Hoorah if the boat doesn't come.

Peggy is still waiting for me - well, actually the man from the Crofters' Commission - at the door. And makes tea directly. Her's is one of the tithed houses which has fallen into disrepair. The gable end leaks, and she closes off the dining room because of the rotten window frames. Run a hairdryer and sometimes the television doesn't come on. When the lights flicker, or the reception on This Morning is grainier than usual, she knows that something is blocking the pipes to her hydro-electric system -installed by a mechanically-minded friend. But look out of her kitchen window and you'll understand why she stays. She fully supports the islanders in their bid to buy Eigg, but like a lot of the older folk, remains hopeful that if the islanders can't raise the money, a progressive landlord will.

Some say there is a wicker man conspiracy on Eigg to silence the critics of the buy-out. I had the devil's own job to keep them quiet. There is dissent - older farmers tend to be tied to crofts, which have security of tenure according to ancient rights. Which brings an `I'm alright Jock' attitude. Bobbie Beer, 80-years-old and hailing from Chingford, wants "someone to buy Eigg and invest £3million to get things done." Katie McKinnon, 79-years-old and a lifelong resident of Eigg, agrees. "I wouldn't mind community ownership" she has been quoted as saying, "but not the community that is here at the moment. The original islanders didn't want to sit on the dole, so they left, unlike the present lot."

Ian Hamilton would agree. If he was here. Hamilton leads a small pressure group, The Hebridean People Of Eigg, even though he moved to Glasgow 19 years ago to drive a bus. He wants to return to the island to site tents, caravans and chalets on his two crofts, but the islanders have refused him permission. Since then, he has complained of graffiti on his house - even though the decorators swear blind it's fungus. And damage to the wing of his car. The culprit has since apologised, saying he took his Dad's handbrake off by mistake, and before he knew was careering into Mr Hamilton's car. The boy is understood to have foregone three weeks pocket money. Now Hamilton drives his bus and writes damning letters to the press about the community buy-out.

Older islanders are nostalgic about the days of Sir Walter Runciman, laird of Eigg from 1925 to 1966, when the island was a perfectly ordered mosaic of fields. "He gave us all four tons of coal and the keep of two cows" says Peggy. "We didn't pay rent. And we didn't pay for local telephone calls. But that was 38 years ago. Alright, we didn't have security of tenure then either, but it never crossed our minds to argue." The young are more realistic. "The verges were cut then" says Marie Carr, Peggy's daughter. "But who has the money for that now- The old folk are living in the past." Camille Dressler, an incomer, says, "The older islanders are used to doffing their caps to a laird. But we've effectively been running the island ourselves since 1989. Now we deserve a chance."

The progressive landlord model hasn't served Eigg well since Runciman. Take Keith Schellenberg. An Englishman of Liechtenstein descent, Schellenberg was an Olympic bobsleigh champion and a millionaire. As laird, he treated the place like a millionaire's playground - rescuing Kaiser Wilhelm's yacht, and steaming it across the North Sea wearing the uniform of an Imperial German Admiral; reconstructing clan battles on Eigg, where the Hanoverians invariably triumphed over Jacobites; and driving his 1927 Rolls Royce Phantom across the island, with screaming yahs waving champagne bottles out the window. According to one crofter, they even raised the Union flag on top of the hill. "And some of the older folk found that really offensive."

Schellenberg's big idea, when he bought the island back in 1975, was to bring in people to regenerate Eigg's dying economy with crafts-based tourism. Schellenberg called the island "a challenge for my middle age" - a project, the way most of us may view the herbaceous border. But he started to make enemies with his constant attempts to make the place economically self-sufficient. A cut in estate operations on the island left Schellenberg increasingly isolated. To make matters worse, when anybody criticised the way he was running things, he bandied around injunctions and high-sounding letters from his lawyer. Schellenberg became Eigg's laird of misrule.

Marie and Colin Carr have more cause than most to resent him. Marie runs a guesthouse, and as registrar for the Small Isles conducts marriages in the kitchen. Her ex-forestry van, decked out in bunting, doubles as the wedding car. Colin is Eigg's special constable, but also runs the 1,870 acre estate farm. Schellenberg initially offered the couple a 25-year limited partnership lease. When they started making a fuss about tenure of the farmhouse, 25 years became two years. Then an eviction notice. Up until then, Schellenberg had been paying for the couple's eldest son, Donny, to go to Gordonstoun. "Without telling us" says Marie, "Mr Schellenberg stopped paying Donny's fees. Giving, then taking away, is playing with people's lives. Playing God."

One night, Schellenberg's Rolls Royce was destroyed in a fire. A fire in sheds without electricity. Nobody saw a thing. For Schellenberg it was the final straw. He called the islanders "rotten, dangerous and totally barmy revolutionaries", and left. He returned only to remove the precious 1805 map of the island, but the revolutionaries stopped him by dragging a derelict bus in front of the building where the map was hanging. The day was declared an Eigg Holiday, and the doctor danced a highland fling on the pier. "If my name had been Jimmy McKenzie and not Schellenberg things might have been very different" he says. The islanders say they would have forgiven his eccentricities if he had just been flexible over security of tenure.

Schellenberg's legacy lives on around the guest house - a guest house that he advertised in up-market European magazines as the Kildonnan Peninsula Hotel." There are no ensuite facilities here" says Marie. "There are no tea and coffee making facilities in the bedrooms. There's not even a bar. Yet because of his adverts, people are still turning up expecting a hotel. I keep it painted, nice, and in good condition, but now I invest in things like new bed linen - things I can take with me. Colin has just spent two days buggering around with mastic and bits of wood doing a botch job on the windows. Why go and spend four grand on new ones when you could be thrown out anyway-"

Schellenberg's economic miracle could never work on Eigg. Life here isn't about profit. Not while Peggy's bridge needs repairing after the force nine gales. Not while there's a whale (the third in seven years) to be dragged off the beach at Kildonnan. And not while there's the island bull to find. He would have a job leaving the island, given the winter ferry timetable, but no-one's sure exactly where he's gone. Life here is about the fundamentals. Children play with jigsaws. Or dogs. With dwindling numbers of sheep, all the dogs can do is herd passing cars. Life here is like Mallaig used to be. The islanders' only nod to modernity is their demand for civil rights.

Eigg's current owner is an `artist of fire energy' called Maruma. The name is said to have come to him as a sign, written in puddles of water - or by way of a holy prophet in Dubai, depending on which islander you talk to. Maruma is virtually unknown to the dealers of the art world - shaming for any self-respecting artist of your fire energy. His purchase of Eigg is his most significant work to date - a piece of performance art, maybe - but the islanders are sick of living on an installation. His art writings are peppered with quotes from Indian philosophy, but when all you want is security of tenure, it's only so much high-sounding nonsense.

Maruma said Eigg was like a daughter to him. Maybe he's just not much of a family man. But he only ever visited Eigg twice. "His English was very stilted, spoken through a translator" says John Chester. "Everything was `No problem'. He promised major investment. He promised to look at security of tenure. That was all `No problem'. You could make War And Peace from the number of faxes we ended up sending him in Stuttgart." But the promises (£15million of investment, to include a hotel, a village hall, and a catamaran link to the mainland) came to nought. Now he's selling up, but the islanders are still holding him to one promise - that he would never sell the island to a private buyer.

The islanders have until the end of this week to file their bid. They have formed a partnership with the Highland Council and Scottish Wildlife Trust to set up a company to manage Eigg after the buyout. They have drawn up an application for funding from the National Lottery Heritage Fund, and are trying to raise a further £800,000themselves. But the island's only real export is empty cans of McEwans - sent to the mainland for recycling. And £800,000 can't be raised by whalebone carving alone, so the Trust is busy brainstorming. Whether it's a bring and buy, or a benefit by a band from Andalucia (who claimed Eigg as the seventh village in their Confederation this summer), every effort is co-ordinated from Maggie Fyffe's craft shop.

John Cormack the postman, and ferryman, and pin-up of a woman in Baltimore who liked his smile when she saw his picture in her local paper, arrives with Maggie's mail. Her's are the only letters he squeezes, hoping for a wad of notes that could save the island. Today it's another letter from Helmut, requesting "further informations", and a registered letter from Edward Gregory III in Colorado. A five dollar bill. Despite contacting clan societies in North America (after all, there's an Eigg Road in Ontario, and an Eigg Mountain in Nova Scotia) donations from the New World have been disappointing. There's always Eigg's secure system in cyberspace, allowing credit card donations over the internet (http://dspace.dial.pipex.com/eigg/index.htm). The islanders are eager to surf, but Bean's computer isn't working.

John trails off across the scenery like Postman Pat in Greendale. Back to the Shop/Post Office, where it's a red letter Thursday - pensions day, and it's when the milk comes in. And Neil the gardener pops by with his parsnips and leeks. There are complaints that his cucumbers have been getting bitter lately, so he's cut a `buy one, get two free' deal. His eggs always go quickly, with yolks yellower than any sun they've ever seen on Eigg. The shop's stock is limited, and the shelves are piled high with jars and tins. Fine if you feel like Chicken Tonight. And Every Other Night. Fiona is still learning what to sell. The disposable barbeques didn't go well. And she was left with £300 of batteries for smoke detectors. But they just can't get enough Chicken Tonight.

In the gloaming, from An Sgurr, the trained eye can pick out Eigg's island neighbours - Canna, Muck and Rum. They reflect the varied nature of Scottish land ownership. Canna is in the hands of Scotland's National Trust, Muck is owned by a farmer with very soft hands, and Rum is owned by the government. Only Eigg has laboured under absentee landlords. To allow the development of tourism and business, the new owner, or owners, will have to address the issue of tenure. Until then, the Eigg tearoom will stay closed. Nobody will pay to install new work surfaces, or remove the rat droppings from the sugar. Hopefully, one glorious day sometime soon, the day-trippers will return, to stir sugar into their tea once again. And Angus will welcome them with open arms.

South shore conservation group buying an island

By Jonathan Riley Nov. 8, 2004

A Mahone Bay (Canada) couple is leading a campaign by a local conservation group to buy a $900,000 island in order to keep it out of developers’ hands.

Michael and Nicole Ernst live in a small blue bungalow on the shore of Hirtle Cove near Mahone Bay on Nova Scotia's south shore. Michael's family was among the original settlers of the area in 1754. He was born here and grew up here.

Today he runs a sailing business out of Mahone Bay. He and his boat can be hired for lessons or a cruise among Mahone Bay's 365 islands.

"It's one of the finest sailing areas in eastern North America," says Ernst. "For anybody sailing, it's got predictable winds, little fog, interesting voyages, lots of islands and wonderful places to land."

In 2002, the Ernsts began to worry about the pace of development and change around the shores and islands of the bay.

That summer a developer bought and razed Strum Island, eight hectares of prime real estate at the mouth of Mahone Bay harbour. It is the first thing you see when you look out the bay from downtown Mahone Bay. The developer cut down most of the trees, and built a rock wall around the shore to try and stop erosion.

Nearby Andrews Island is also on the market. The Ernsts are spearheading a campaign to raise enough to buy it and preserve it in its natural state.

Mahone Islands Conservation Association

Mahone Bay Mayor Joe Feeney says the islands are important to a sense of community in the Mahone Bay area. Map courtesy of MICA

In March 2003, Michael Ernst organized the first public meeting of the Mahone Islands Conservation Association. He expected maybe 50 people to show up and was surprised when 200 people packed the Anglican parish hall.

Mahone Bay Mayor Joe Feeney says the islands are important to a sense of community in the Mahone Bay area.

"I have sailed on the bay for 25 years," he says. "You do the hot dog and hamburger on the barbeque thing, the kids play on the beach. People are gravely concerned that this may not be available to them the more the islands get bought up by owners who want to restrict everyone else's access."

The group's main focus is to establish a conservation area in the bay. Ernst says this would preserve both the natural environment and appearance of the bay and it would allow the community to continue to use the islands for recreation.

The group has identified four islands at the mouth of Mahone Bay harbour it believes could be designated a conservation area:

Sheep Island is already in public hands after the Nature Conservancy of Canada bought it last year
Westhavers Island belongs to the Department of Natural Resources
Goat Island is for sale
Andrews Island is also for sale
Although it didn’t have any money, the Mahone Bay Island Conservation Association decided last summer to make an offer on Andrews Island.

“The people who developed Strum Island were after Andrews Island,” says Ernst. “If we don’t make an effort, we may never have a second chance.”

To buy an island

"That’s a huge change in this community where everyone has always had access to what everyone else had.” -- Nicole Ernst. Photo: Jonathan Riley

The Ernsts were able to negotiate a price “considerably less” than the $900,000 asking price.

“Part of the agreement was that we had to keep the name Andrews Island,” says Ernst.

And for their part, the Andrews are happy to have the conservation group buy the island.

“I think it will be better looked after,” says Myrtle Andrews, wife of one of the owners. “If a private person buys it, you know what happens. They build on it and that’s it and they don’t allow you to use it.”

The association has until April 30 to raise the money. A pledge campaign begins this week with letters going out to group members, supporters and sponsors. The association is talking with corporations and government for support.

“We have a commitment from the municipal government for $18,400,” says Michael Ernst. “The provincial government hasn’t committed yet but we know they will. We just don’t know what.”

On Nov. 20, the group will host their second annual dinner and art auction fundraiser at the Oak Island Inn and Spa. Last year’s event raised more than $16,000 for the island acquisition fund.

Today the group’s membership is more than double what it was in 2003.

“Here we have 430 people who are concerned enough about what is happening in this area that they have put $10 down on the table,” says Ernst referring to the group’s annual membership fee.

Nicole Ernst is not surprised by the support.

“The environment is not being respected,” she says. “They’re not treading lightly with their developments. They’re going in and obliterating areas and that is upsetting to people. You go down the road here and you’ll see no trespassing signs -- that’s a huge change in this community where everyone has always had access to what everyone else had.”

Cotton Island: for the intrepid

The Asian Pacific Post: Tue, May 17 2005

Marang where you take boats to Pulau Kapas

A little island not more than 20 minutes away by boat from the sleepy village of Marang, on the east coast of Malaysia, Pulau Kapas (Cotton Island) basks idyllically as it has for over 270 million years.

This little haven in the South China Sea is a pleasant getaway for locals during weekends and the intrepid traveller who shuns the trappings of luxury for a soulful sojourn.

Pulau Kapas is a small island, just over 2 kilometres long and 1 kilometres at its widest point.

On the edges of the island, colourful reefs extend out into the deep, blue sea where a host of marine life continues to build and live in these rich , exuberant gardens of the sea. Pulau Kapas began to take shape some 270million years ago when the sea level was way below what it is now. Over a long period of time, sedimentation from the land was washed out into the sea, adding layer upon layer, which then formed a strip of elevated land. Eventually this area formed into an island and seeds and pollens that drifted along with the wind and the sea, settled on the drier grounds, giving life to a complete ecosystem as we see on Pulau Kapas today.

The coral reef probably started its life in the early beginnings of Pulau Kapas. It is this beauty that for so many years people have come to enjoy. As a marine park, the coral reefs and its marine inhabitants have been given full protection from any adverse activity that may destroy their habitat, and that includes fishing.

This is the place to really indulge in snorkelling. There is a wonderful snorkelling spot around the rocky outcrops just to the southern end of the long stretch of beach. The water here is shallow and it is best to wear a lifejacket. In some places the water level at low tide may only be as shallow as 2 feet.

For the advanced snorkellers, a dip in the coral gardens is a delight especially on nights when the moon is full. The entire scene transforms itself and introduces a host of nocturnal marine life that are rarely seen during the day. The corals extend their feeders out in full bloom to capture tiny plankton washed in from the open sea, the nudibranchs leave their hiding place to feed on the coral polyps and squirrelfishes come out to play.

It is here that in March every year, The Lighthouse opens its doors welcoming nature lovers from all over the world. The Lighthouse is a backpackers delight.

www.journeymalaysia.com/islandkapaslight.htm

Its owners, according to "caretaker" Nordin Hamdan or simply Din, are Canadian-German entrepreneur Yan Neuhoff and his Malaysian partner Sharif Abbas. For the three of them, The Lighthouse is not a money-making venture, rather it's a revered lifestyle.

What started as a getaway for themselves and occasional lodging for families and friends, The Lighthouse gradually received paying guests from 1992, "and I've been taking care of it since then and it's like my own home," says Din with a passion. With his sun-burnt skin and unkempt long hair, 44-year-old Din is a typical backpacker. "But I've even been mistaken for an Orang Asli (native)" he quips.

The common area in this hideaway is called the Tropical Hut, with the soft sand as the floor and abstract batik cloths and flags from all over the world as the "walls".

There's a dormitory sandwiched between two rows of four rooms on each side. The dorm has 24 single beds. At the back of the house are common toilets and bathrooms. Water for bathing is pumped from the ground while fresh water for drinking and cooking is brought from Marang on the mainland. Generator sets supply the electricity. The place adopts the concept of a Borneo longhouse and Malay kampung house. The kitchen and dining area is in a separate airy bangsal (shed).

Activities in Pulau Kapas centre around the island's main jetty about 350 metres from The Lighthouse. Two stalls near the jetty provide respite for hungry visitors.

Batu Tenggara, Harmoni Beach and Batu Berhala are part of the island's Long Beach. Beyond it, are Batu Payung, Safari Beach and Derdak Beach, altogether spanning some 3.5 kilometres. Across Safari Beach and just five minutes by speed boat lies the secluded Pulau Gemia or Gems Island. The sea in between is home to stunning coral gardens and other marine life.

Trekking for about 45 minutes through untamed jungle will take one to the uninhabited side of the island to the unspoilt nature and to the many birds that have claimed the area as their sanctuary.

In the open sea, divers will come across the Shark Point and Turtle Point. Those into wreck diving will find the waters surrounding Pulau Kapas intriguing.

Japanese boats and boats plying the route from Singapore carrying rice sags during World War II have sunk in the area.

So how did Pulau Kapas get its name The cottony white sand After all, kapas means cotton.

LINKS

http://www.malaysiasite.nl/kapaseng.htm
http://www.pulaupulau.com/kapaspac.htm

For sale: world's smallest country

Sydney Morning Herald January 8, 2007

A former World War II fort in the North Sea, which was settled 40 years ago and declared a state with its own self-proclaimed royal family, is up for sale, The Times reports.

The tiny Principality of Sealand, which began life as Roughs Tower in 1941, is a 550 square metre steel platform perched on two concrete towers 11 kilometres off the coast of Harwich in eastern England.

It is accessible only by helicopter and boat but according to its owners, who want offers of eight digits or over, boasts uninterrupted sea views, guarantees complete privacy and is a tax haven.

''We have owned the island for 40 years now and my father is 85,'' Prince Michael of Sealand was quoted as saying. ''Perhaps it is time for some rejuvenation.

''Astronomical figures have been mentioned but we will just see what comes forward.''

Although its nation status is disputed, Sealand boasts a military past like any other country, defending its sovereignty from outside threats.

Former British army major Paddy Roy Bates began occupying the island with his family in 1967, declared it a state in international waters and gave himself the title ''prince''.

Britain's Royal Navy attempted to evict him the following year but was unsuccessful. As its forces entered territorial waters, Roy of Sealand fired warning shots from the former fort.

A judge then ruled in his favour that Sealand was outside British government control as it was beyond the three-mile limit of the country's waters.

In 1974, Roy of Sealand introduced a constitution. A flag, national anthem, currency - the gold and silver Sealand dollar which is the equivalent to the US dollar - and passports have followed.

Four years later, Dutch and German businessmen on Sealand to discuss a business deal kidnapped Roy's son, but were overpowered and held as prisoners of war before eventually being released.

LINKS

Official Site
Wikipedia
Movie

Friday, January 05, 2007

Sea, silence and champagne in my pauper's paradise

The Observer, Sunday June 4 2006

We've all dreamt of escaping to a private island, but most presume it's a luxury reserved for the super-rich. Not so: Tom Robbins finds a beautiful bargain in Croatia For more cheap islands breaks see The bargain hunter's guide to private getaways.

The small wooden boat wallows through the rolling waves. Late summer sun glistens on the water. Up ahead a small island rises from the horizon, pink rocks topped with a sliver of green vegetation. As we draw closer we can see there's just one building: a square, white lighthouse, that, mad as it seems, is to be our home.

We pass round to the island's far side, which conceals a little cove and stone pier. The boatman cuts the engine and we coast in, hands dangling over the boat's side into the perfectly clear water.

There's just one path on the island. A long avenue, roughly paved with pebbles and lined with abundantly flowering bushes, runs 150 yards in a straight line up from the cove to the lighthouse. It feels as if no one has been here for years. Grass grows up between the stones, little lizards scurry away with every footstep. My girlfriend and I wander up in a daze, plastic carriers from Gatwick duty free dangling from our hands. Not quite believing we are to have this entire island to ourselves, we stay silent. The only sound is the cicadas, and the boatman bumping a rusty wheelbarrow containing our luggage up the path behind us.

Maybe it's being brought up on tales of the Famous Five on Kirrin Island, then spending teens watching Bond films where baddies' lairs are surrounded by sea (and peopled by girls in bikinis), but for most people the two most alluring words in travel are 'private island'. By adulthood, we've accepted that in reality their delights are reserved for Bransons and Trumps, but that just makes the fantasy all the more potent.

So lean closer for travel's biggest secret: private islands are not just for millionaires. Not by a long shot. Yes, booking one, organising the hire car to get from the airport to the nearest port, then the boat transfer and the buying of provisions to take with you, takes marginally more effort than going on a package to Tenerife, but it certainly need not cost more. Our own island - Plocica, off Croatia's sunbaked coast - costs as little as £460 a week for up to six people in May or from mid-September onwards - less than £80 per person. Even in peak summer season (when it can be too hot anyway) it would only be £134 each.

But then in Croatia, islands aren't exactly a scarce resource. There are more than 1,000 dotted along the coast. Some boast beautiful towns built by the colonising Venetians as miniature versions of their home city, just a short hop back across the Adriatic. Others have Roman ruins, or are covered in vineyards; many are deserted. On nearly 50 there are lighthouses, some of which are operated today by computers rather than lighthouse keepers, whose accommodation is let out instead to tourists.

Several of the lighthouses for hire are the great tall columns of your imagination, poking up from barren rocks hours away from the mainland, surrounded by vertiginous cliffs and 'not advisable for young families'. Plocica is less extreme. It looks more like a big whitewashed Italian villa, with a squat light stuck on top and is only about 45 minutes from the land, in a sea channel halfway between the large and well-known holiday islands of Korcula and Hvar.

To get there you fly to Dubrovnik, drive a couple of hours north to Orebic, take a 15-minute car ferry across to Korcula town and continue half an hour to the sleepy village port of Prigradica. There, Ante Petkovic, boatman, harbour master and lighthouse warden, throws your cases into his boat and you set sail.

Ante has known the lighthouse since he was a child, when he used to help the keepers, and has looked after it since the last one left. When we reach the lighthouse he takes out a giant key, creaks open the vast door and starts fussing round, checking the paint on the shutters and the pump for the rainwater tank and scrubbing the fridge. He plainly loves the place. We begin to worry that he might be planning to stay the night with us.

Inside the four-foot-thick white walls, it's not luxurious. The rooms are simply furnished, with cheap plywood cupboards and scratchy carpet. There's solar-powered hot water and lights, but no TV or phone. It's actually broken into two apartments, one upstairs, one down, but as long as you avoid July and August you're unlikely to clash with anyone else.

Finally, Ante finishes his checks and bids us farewell, but just when we think we have the place to ourselves, he rushes back excitedly. Without any shared language, he leads us down to the shore and in urgent sign language motions us to quietly crouch down. Then we see it - a shoal of fish is nibbling on seaweed in the shallows, their tails all flapping several inches above the water, and waving at us like a thousand fishy hands.

Walking the perimeter of our domain takes about 25 minutes. One side slopes gently into the sea; on the other, a small rocky cliff rises up about 30 feet. All the way around, the smooth, square rocks are a warm yellow that turns pink at sunset. Dive in and you realise why the sea is so turquoise - there's no silt, just the same flat yellow rocks that make it feel like you're swimming along the bottom of a vast, natural swimming pool.

There's absolutely nothing to do, of course - just swim, snorkel, and read. As evening fell, we tied the washing line to a bottle of champagne and chucked it in the sea to cool. We watched the sun set with the perfect cocktail - Moet from a salty cup, garnished with a few grains of sand.

Next morning we spot Ante's boat again, as he chugs back across the water to cook us lunch. He'll do this as often as you want, sometimes catching the fish on the way. Today, as I'm a journalist, he brings along Mario Prizmic, the local agent for Adriatica.net, the company which lets the lighthouses, plus some visiting friends. They're carrying armfuls of food and in high party mood.

Ante fires up the barbecue; Mario starts telling us about his life. On the surface Croatians might seem a bit dour (understandable as it's only just over a decade since they emerged from the agonies of a horrific civil war), but get talking and it becomes clear they share a sense of humour more like ours than any other European nation.

There's a reason. Apparently while Yugoslavia's communist regime kept the country isolated from the West in many ways, the one commodity that flowed freely was television, and in particular British comedy. So today's thirtysomething Croatians suddenly startle you by making a reference to Del-boy, saying 'I have a cunning plan...' or shouting 'Basiiiil!'. Even as the civil war dragged on, they'd apparently come home to watch 'Allo 'Allo

Mario talks about his most formative moment, which turns out not to be when he was forced to leave his young wife and child to head off and fight the Serbs. No, it was when the lights came up at a Dire Straits gig in Zagreb, Mark Knopfler walked out and hit the opening chords to 'Money for Nothing'. 'There was me, a little communist boy from the countryside - it was like a new world!'

'Don't mention the war,' advises the guidebook, but in practice this makes life very hard since this is precisely what everyone wants to talk about. 'We still have a Serb in our village,' says Mario, and I'm expecting some heartwarming new-Europe flannel about how everyone lives in harmony these days and how deep down we're all the same. 'Everyone hates him. He's always doing stupid things like parking his truck in the street so no one can get past.' Ethnic tension has, it seems, bubbled down to parking wars.

Eventually Ante emerges, sweat-drenched and beaming, from the smoke-filled barbecue hut, proffering a vast platter of prawns, fresh squid and fish. Accompanying it is Posip, one of the best white wines produced on Korcula island. It's sold in smart bottles in the island's shops and restaurants, but Mario and Ante sneer at these and instead pull out a vast gallon-sized plastic flagon straight from one of their mates' vineyard.

They laugh when we pick the legs and heads off the prawns, instead just chomping them down whole. The squid, doused in garlic and fresh olive oil straight from the farm, are plump and delicious. 'Now is best time to eat them,' pronounces Ante. 'Full of sperm'.

It's a fabulous meal and lasts close to four hours, until the Posip has gone and the sun streaming through the lighthouse windows has turned red. It's amazing how doing nothing fills the day. You make lunch, drink a few beers, patrol the island and suddenly it's time to watch the sunset again.

Soon the visitors are gone and the island is ours once more. Surely, for city dwellers at least, the ultimate holiday luxury isn't a bath butler or pillow menu, but this - the complete absence of other people. You could, if you wished, wander round completely starkers, although you might raise the odd gasp from the British families who pass by at regular intervals on flotilla sailing holidays.

The first night, as the wind banged the shutters, our solitude felt slightly worrying, but soon we were relishing it. We'd only been there 24 hours, but when a rogue yacht landed in the cove we felt it with the shock of Robinson Crusoe finding a footprint. We watched surreptitiously from the safety of our terrace until they decided to obey the private sign and moved off.

A family or two could easily amuse themselves here for days, the kids roaming around having adventures, the adults relaxing by the barbecue. But when you tire of solitude, it's easy to make day trips too, either by hiring your own boat or getting Ante to ferry you. Korcula town is stunning and the vineyards that line the route there all welcome tasters. Hvar, covered in lavender in spring, has beautiful beaches and wooded walks.

We only stayed two nights, but longed to stay for more. As we chugged back towards the port in Ante's boat, we craned our necks round, looking backwards until the moment our island finally receded into the sea.

How to get there

Tom Robbins travelled with Adriatica.net (020 7183 0437) which has a selection of lighthouses in Croatia. Plocica costs from £76pp per week in low season, to £134 in mid-summer, based on six sharing a three-bed apartment and not including flights. BA (0870 850 9850) flies from Gatwick to Dubrovnik from £118 return. Contact the Croatian National Tourist Office (0208 563 7979).

Heron Island, Great Barrier Reef, Australia

Under the Coral Sea
By MARY LEE SETTLE
The New York Times: October 2, 1988

THERE IS AN ISLAND IN OUR MINDS. IT IS made of fairy tales, cartoons, adventure stories, sea chanteys, pirate lore, ''The Tempest,''

It must be a South Seas island. It must have palm trees. And it must be surrounded by a lagoon in a turquoise sea and a reef that teems with life -sharks and great skates and sea turtles and bright fish darting among the wrecks that lie low, sea struck, with all the sailors from all the ships fallen on the coral reefs in Davy Jones's locker.

I found my island 45 miles out in the Coral Sea. It is a small cay, built up through the centuries until the surface has stayed above the tide. The birds have come and brought the seeds of trees, the trees have bound the surface against the sea wind and the insatiable sea surge has pounded and pounded the coral fragments on the shore into fine white sand.

Heron Island is on the Great Barrier Reef, one of the natural wonders of the world, which runs for more than 1,200 miles along the east coast of northern Australia.

Fly north from Brisbane up the coast of Queensland in a turbo plane that plays in the wind. Below you, the pelt of the continent lies like mauve suede stretched tight, and the copses of tree and bush are nearly black in the sun. This is the Tropic of Capricorn, where the rain forests are, and where there are more living things than you can believe could gather on one small part of the globe. The word ''teeming'' was made for this place, where man is still a visitor and the other forms of earth life rule.

To the right is the first glimpse of the astounding sea, hints of underwater barriers in the pale shoals, and of the inner islands, not formed by the sea like Heron Island, but once a part of the continent, mountains with their bases below the water. The water turns from pale green to deep purple to blue.

Most of the Great Barrier Reef has been made into a huge national park. It is jealously protected against a constant, shortsighted demand for exploitation for tourism, which, of course, if the developers were to succeed, would destroy the miraculous place that tourists come to see. That is why people are allowed on only a few of the outer cays. Heron is one of them, and that is because it was exploited by humans long before the reef was made into a national park. It was once the site of a turtle soup factory where the life of a female turtle old enough and large enough to crawl ashore to breed turned nasty, brutish and short.

A resort has been there since 1932. It is blessedly hard to get to, blessedly small and blessedly condemned to stay that way by the rules of the park. It is both a bird sanctuary and a research station for the study of the huge sea turtles that now crawl their safe and ponderous way in the night once a year to give birth.

Heron is an open international secret. When the eight-passenger helicopter rose up from the airport at the small coastal town of Gladstone and moved slowly out over the sea, four languages were being spoken on board: Italian, Japanese, German and English. In all four the tone was awe at what we were seeing.

The Coral Sea lay 500 feet below us. The shapes of the reefs that make up the Great Barrier were a lighter sea color under the water, and some, the shallower shoals, dark at the center where they were above the waterline at low tide. We could see the shape and the formation of those cliffs of coral, a huge expanse made over millions of years of patient sea life and limestone skeleton. The bright blue and turquoise sea stretched in the distance all the way to Fiji and the Solomon Islands.

Then a tiny dot on the horizon seemed to come closer, grow larger. It was Heron, a green teardrop of a cay only a mile around, lost below us in the sea, and found by us as if we had first discovered it.

We could see the little resort nestled under the trees at one end of the island, but most of it was thick with foliage, a green forest surrounded by a ribbon of white beach. Its size was immaterial from the air; it seemed so tiny there in the vast water. We could see the pale green shallows of the reef surrounding it, with the dark reef slopes in deeper water a few hundred feet out.

We walked up the white sand into a tangle of green and a low, constant murmuring, muttering, whispering of the birds in the island's trees and shrubs. In the center of the resort was an avenue of pisonia trees with thick, muscular, snaky roots and huge trunks. This is the main tree of the island, anchoring it there in the sea. We seemed, for a minute, searching the horizon, to be marooned.

ON BOTH SIDES WERE the buildings that make up the resort's history. The old turtle soup factory has been made into a lounge. The clapboard cabins, where many of the divers stay, reminded me of Florida in the 1920's. Hidden among the trees are modern, glass-fronted suites. Here and there you find small buildings like garden follies. An old cottage from the turn of the century is covered with tropical vines. The whole place is sensibly primitive, casual. Only about 250 people at the most can stay there: they disappear among the trees, along the beaches, under the sea ceiling, and you are surprised when you go to the communal dining room that there are so many. Clothes are haute beachcomber.

I found the food excellent, especially the Australian Brie and the Australian wine, and deceptively sophisticated in the easygoing surroundings. The sea birds linger around the tables, drop a wing and play wounded in order to beg food; but work the pathos as they might, they don't succeed. You are not allowed to feed them. The ecological balance on the island is fragile. You are warned over and over that even if you see a bird caught in the natural trap of the sticky seeds of the pisonia, you may only observe, but not interfere with, this cycle of life and death.

Then there is the sea to go to, not 10 minutes away from the dock by dive boat. Here is the secret of Heron's international word-of-mouth fame -some of the most beautiful underwater dive sites in the world. Colonies of staghorn corals are the size of small forests. There are table corals five or six feet across, brain corals that look as if they have come from the skulls of drowned giants, corridors of coral as high as houses around you and millions on millions of fish of all colors and habits and kinds.

Angels, hussars, sergeants, ladies, surgeons, butterflies and trumpets slide by. Tiny wrasses dart out of the coral to feed on the parasites in the mouths of fish that line up like cars at a filling station to be cleaned. There are fish that change sex with the seasons and with age, and harems where, when the male leader dies, the strongest female turns male and becomes the leader.

THE IDEAL TIME TO dive off Heron Island is in October and November, roughly Australia's spring, when the sea is likely to be glass clear and calm. In February and March, their summer, and the season when hurricanes are around, the water can sometimes be too turbulent for novice diving, but it does not for a minute deter experienced and dedicated divers from gliding along the canyons between the coral cliffs.

An even more astounding way to view the reef is from a semisubmersible. In a small boat where you sit on a narrow bench between inch-thick glass windows that slope outward six feet below the waterline, you can get a fish's view of the life below. You have, instead of the intimacy of diving, the sheer scope of the coral forests stretched into the distance as far as you can see through the clear water. A shark cruises past your window, an elegant, streamlined shape. Schools of pink fish, so thick you can't see the water, swim around the boat. The sea floor heaves and becomes a great manta ray rising like a plane up the water. The green sea turtles swim past. Down below, suddenly, in the subtle color of most of the staghorn coral, a plot of coral 20 or 30 feet across is a piercing cobalt blue.

Back on land, there are walks through virgin forests so thick the sun only touches the paths in lace patterns. The white reef herons, from whom the island gets its name, perch on fallen logs. Around you, millions of noddy terns nest so that they seem to be the fruit of the trees. Groves of pandanus palms set their finger-like roots so delicately into the ground that they seem to stand on stilts. You think of meeting Ben Gunn around the next curve.

At night during the breeding season you hear moans out of the forests that are ghostly, like Caliban's ''thousand twangling instruments,'' and you, too, wake and cry to sleep again. They are the muttonbirds, the graceful kings of the thermals when they fly, but as awkward as drunks on land.

On the beach, under the protection of the night, the shy sea turtles as big as wheelbarrows lay their hundreds of eggs the size of Ping-Pong balls in holes dug by their flippers and then covered with sand. In the morning you can find their tracks to and from the water. They look like the tracks of bulldozers. If the cradle of sand they have picked in the dark is in the shade of a tree when daylight comes, the baby turtles will be female when they hatch; but if the eggs have been laid where the sun will warm them, the babies will be male. The literal translation of the Chinese masculine principle, yang, is sun. Yin, the feminine principle, is shade.

To walk in the late sun that colors the sky with pink, and to come on the windward side of the island, is to enter into elegy. The wide stretch of beach where the boats land to bring supplies to the resort and to the research station is a vision of what islands like this must have looked like in World War II - the white sand, the bulldozer tracks, the helicopter pad, even the high squared stacks of supplies. You remember where you are, the Coral Sea, where one of the great battles was fought, and for a minute the blue water you are staring at becomes a grave.

A rusted, stove-in hull lies as a breakwater for the little harbor - all that is left of Her Majesty Queen Victoria's gunboat, H.M.S. Protector, sent to the Australian waters in 1884, to protect against a Russian threat that proved to be groundless. She has seen more duty in more wars, they say, than any other ship. As late as World War II she took supplies to the American forces in Papua New Guinea, and now she lies, one of the first ships of the Australian Navy, a skeleton perch for the cormorants that rage and breed there.

Near the helicopter pad fly the Australian flag and the flag of the present owners of the resort, the historic P & O Steamship Lines, whose fleet of ships took so many people back and forth between India and England in the 19th and early 20th centuries that it was said that India began at the boat train at Victoria Station in London. Leaving Heron, they are the last sight you see, a Victorian gunboat and a P & O pennant, once powerful symbols of the British Empire, now protectors of a tiny green and pleasant island in the South Seas. ON THE REEF HERON ISLAND RESORT

Rates at Heron Island (based on a currency exchange of about $1.20 Australian to $1 U.S.) include three meals and are about $75 a person a night for a room (with shared bath) that accommodates up to four people; about $120 and $130 a person for a double room with bath, and about $295 for the two-room Beach House, for one or two people. Reservations can be made through P & O Resorts, 4330 Barranca Parkway, Suite 101-105, Irvine, Calif. 92714 (telephone: 714-786-0119).

Travel between Gladstone and Heron Island is by helicopter or catamaran. The helicopter fare is about $225 round trip; flying time is about 30 minutes. The boat trip takes about 90 minutes; the round-trip fare is about $110. For about $185, it is possible to arrange to travel one way by helicopter and the other by boat. Accommodation and transportation must be booked at the same time. DIVING CRUISES
Scuba-diving cruises depart from Townsville, Cairns and Shute Harbor in the Whitsunday Islands, and last from two nights to nine. A five-night cruise that departs from Shute Harbor on alternate Mondays throughout the year, for example, is about $620 for qualified divers and about $785 for students, including meals, instruction and most equipment. Information: Queensland Tourist and Travel Corporation, 611 North Larchmont Boulevard, Los Angeles, Calif. 90004 (213-465-8418).

Off the Beaten Track in the Bandas

By MARGO KAUFMAN
The New York Times: September 16, 1990

LEAD: The pilot banked the Twin Otter toward a smoking volcano covered with fresh lava and headed for a white speck in the middle of the sea. My eyes widened in horror when I saw the tiny runway. There was a mangled plane at the end of the tarmac that appeared to have been turned into a shrine.

The pilot banked the Twin Otter toward a smoking volcano covered with fresh lava and headed for a white speck in the middle of the sea. My eyes widened in horror when I saw the tiny runway. There was a mangled plane at the end of the tarmac that appeared to have been turned into a shrine.

''Selamat datang Bandaneira,'' said the pilot. Welcome to Bandaneira.

My husband, Duke, and I were landing on Neira, one of nine tiny islands that make up the Banda archipelago in the South Moluccas, Indonesia. A few days before, when Duke casually suggested going there, I couldn't have found it on a map, assuming it was on the map. We'd spent a week in Bali and he was itching to go over the next mountain, further off the beaten tourist track.

''A big island like Sumatra, or Sulawesi, we can't possibly explore in a short length of time,'' he said, with the knowing air of someone who hasn't been there but has memorized the guidebook. ''Banda looks like a place we can really see.'' What's more, it had history. Three hundred and twenty-three years ago, in the Treaty of Breda, the English reluctantly gave up their claim to the Bandas, at the time the world's prime source of nutmeg and mace. In exchange, the Dutch gave up territories in North America, including a minor possession called New Amsterdam.

Still, I knew what really intrigued my husband was that it was very hard to get there. ''Unless you charter a plane it takes at least two days,'' he said. It took almost three days, and most of that time we were playing Vacation Roulette. We found that we couldn't buy tickets or even make reservations to go to Banda from Bali so we crossed our fingers and flew to the only island from which you can get a flight - Ambon, the shabby, disorderly and surprisingly expensive capital of the Moluccas. Then we waited for a couple days there until we got two of the 17 seats on the Indoavia flight, which leaves three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Saturday at 7 A.M. (If you're lucky.) The closer we got to Banda, the more we heard about Des Alwi, who was rumored to rule the islands like some modern-day Prospero. Various reports depicted him as a fabulously wealthy film producer, an airline tycoon, a powerful diplomat, an Indonesian independence patriot, and the owner of two so-called luxury hotels on Banda called the Laguna Inn and the Maulana Inn (he turned out to be all of the above and more). Nico, the man in charge of the control tower at Ambon airport, offered to radio the mysterious Mr. Alwi (there are no phones on Banda) and get us a room.

''The guidebook suggests that we stay with a nice Bandanese family,'' said Duke, whose comfort zone is a lot wider than mine. But I refused to listen.

Immediately upon landing (and kissing the ground gratefully) we were greeted by two junior members from the entourage of Mr. Alwi, or as they say on Banda, Tuan Alwi, who took our bags and whisked us away in one of only five cars on the tiny island. At first glance it seemed like a South Seas version of the post-Sherman South. We rode down a hauntingly beautiful lane lined with crumbling colonial mansions and verdant fig trees, carob trees and tamarinds. Past an old Dutch church and the strangely futuristic turquoise and white Hatta-Sjahir mosque. Finally, we arrived at the Maulana Inn.

Architecturally, the three-story yellow villa is half Dutch colonial, half Holiday Inn. From the street it's like a movie set for ''Gone With the Wind.'' From the inside, a movie set for ''South Pacific.'' A wide white veranda with arched colonnades overlooks a sparkling blue lagoon. We could see local boys handling dugout canoes as if they were skateboards and rare tropical fish feeding on dazzling coral reefs. Looming over everything, on the neighboring island of Gunung Api, was the perfect cone of a puffing volcano (last eruption: May 9, 1988, when the island was evacuated).

On the lawn, center stage, tossing a piece of mackerel to his pet eagle, was Banda's elected orang lima besar (chief), Des Alwi, a stocky man with a swarthy complexion, soulful eyes and boundless energy. I resisted the urge to curtsy when we were introduced. ''You must eat breakfast,'' he said grandly, steering us to a table in the spacious dining room on the terrace. He called out a few words in Indonesian (nobody on the island speaks English except for Mr. Alwi) and, in a flash, a parade of his retainers, dependents and acolytes appeared carrying fresh baked bread, coffee, eggs, papayas, pineapples and bananas. ''Almost everything you eat on the island is grown here,'' he said. ''Try the nutmeg jelly.''

This delicacy is made from the fruit of the Mystica fragrans, the handsome tree that Mr. Alwi calls ''God's gift to the Bandas.'' For centuries these little islands produced 95 percent of the world's nutmeg (which comes from the seed inside the peach-like fruit) and mace (which comes from the fiber around the seed). This has been a mixed blessing. By the 17th century the demand for spices as a preservative had led to a nasty series of wars involving initially the Portuguese, and later the Dutch and English. The grim climax was the deliberate extermination of the original natives of the archipelago by the Dutch freebooter Jan Pieterszoon Coen, who repopulated the island with imported slaves. Events which are yesterday to Mr. Alwi. ''This little food nutmeg killed 6,000 of my people,'' he noted reflectively.

Then he looked at his watch and sprang to his feet and trundled around the grounds announcing that the boat tour was leaving in 15 minutes. That three-hour cruise around the Gunung Api, with a brief stop at a Rousseau-like jungle that turned out to be his cinnamon plantation, was to be the first of many excursions that Mr. Alwi appeared to think up on the spur of the moment to keep his 25 guests (from all over the world) entertained.

It was hard to be bored on Banda. Every morning and afternoon he would exuberantly propose some exotic outing - snorkeling in the ocean hot springs off Gunung Api, picnicking on a secluded beach on Sjahir, climbing the volcano (terrifying, strenuous and hot). Then he would hop on his boat and merrily shout, ''Who wants to come along?'' We eventually figured out that we were being charged (between $2 and $5 an excursion) each time we came along, but there was little reason to resist. It was like exploring Treasure Island with Long John Silver as your guide. There's also plenty to do without him. One morning we took a 15-minute walk to Fort Belgica, a five-sided Dutch fort overlooking the harbor, built when ''The Tempest'' was opening in London. Overgrown with ferns and wildflowers, it looks like a huge planter ornamented with rusty cannons. From the roof we could see the ruins of Fort Nassau, an earlier Dutch fort. In the afternoon we strolled over to Militia House, the former Dutch administrative headquarters with a formal garden, a forlorn and deserted ballroom, crystal chandeliers, marble floors and a plaintive poem in French etched on the window of the library by a lonesome 19th-century exile. The building was in surprisingly good condition, though nobody was in it. Curiously, like everywhere else on the island the door was open; theft on Banda is unknown.

Nearby is an airy villa, Hatta House, where two of Indonesia's most prominent nationalist leaders, Sutan Sjahir and Mohammed Hatta lived in the 1930's, when they were exiled to Banda by the colonial Dutch government. During their stay they adopted and educated several promising local youths, including the charismatic Mr. Alwi. The house is kept as a museum and there are some wonderful Javanese antiques.

The next morning we rented an outrigger canoe (the hotel rents anything aquatic you could ever desire) and paddled across the sea for about an hour to Pulau Karaka, Crab Island, a tiny spot of land ringed by sheer coral reefs covered with innumerable little sponges in brilliant phosphorescent colors. A small Bandanese boy in a Batman T-shirt (a member of the handful of families who lived on the island) sat on the rocky beach and stared incredulously as if we were invading aliens from space. Which in a way we were. Mr. Alwi says only 500 tourists a year go to Banda. Everywhere we went we attracted a curious crowd.

These islands are not wealthy. Except for the nutmeg plantations and fishing, there are few employment opportunities. Mr. Alwi is hoping to develop tourism, but at the same time he expresses grave concern that his paradise will be overrun with tourists, like Kuta Beach on Bali. ''I can be very rich, but to be that rich I have to let Club Med bring planes and T-bone steaks here, and I don't want that,'' he said. Instead, he is building 50 more hotel rooms to attract ''a certain kind of tourist.''

The kind who doesn't care much about creature comforts, judging from where we stayed, and mind you we were in the best hotel on the island. Our room, though large and air-conditioned (once they fixed it) was ragged and spartan. The lighting was dim (when the generator was working), there was no hot water and the mattress was a none too soft all too lumpy kapok pad (a form of bedding that I feel is unlikely to replace inner spring mattresses).

There were sort of clean sheets, but not the kind that you really want to sleep on, and the towels, which were not changed often, if ever, were not ones anyone would ever be tempted to steal. There are Western-style toilets and some rooms have showers, but for bathing purposes the main option is the Indonesian mandi, a trough of water meant to be splashed over the head and body with a red plastic bucket (a truly unpleasant way to wash long hair). ''It's not filthy, it's just not cozy,'' said Duke, whose standards of cleanliness are very low.

Still, it was like being at an enchanted summer camp. There are no restaurants on Banda, so we ate all our meals on the terrace of our hotel, one of the few places on the island with a refrigerator. Breakfast was Western-style, but lunch and dinner were elaborate buffets with Indonesian specialties like gado-gado (vegetable salad with peanut sauce), mie goreng (fried noodles), nasi putih (rice), exceedingly fresh fish, including the excellent local tuna, every kind of tropical fruit and confections made of nutmeg and palm sugar. And since many Japanese divers visit Banda it's possible to get sashimi, tempura, and fish soup on request.

After dinner the evenings belonged to Mr. Alwi. Sometimes, he'd show one of the documentary films he has made, usually starring a young nubile female in a wetsuit exploring the underwater glories of the archipelago. Then one of his attendants would switch on the electric keyboard and the sounds of ''Jamaica Farewell'' or ''Help Me Make It Through the Night'' would fill the air. Mr. Alwi wasn't at all shy about picking up the microphone and crooning to his guests. And his guests were encouraged to take up the mike and repay him in his own coin.

During a break between sets, our host made an offer. ''You know this island got traded for Manhattan,'' he said. ''Is it O.K. if I trade it back?''

ISLAND HOPPING IN INDONESIA

Getting There

Garuda Indonesian Airways has a direct flight from Los Angeles to Bali with refueling stops in Honolulu and Biak, on Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. It is possible to get off at Biak and fly from there to Ambon (about $50 one way) and catch a plane from there to Banda.

We traveled on a ticket from Global Access (595 Market Street, San Francisco, Calif.; 800-229-5355), which specializes in around the world and ''Circle the Pacific'' travel. Our route was Los Angeles to Hawaii, Biak, Bali, Jogjakarta, Jakarta, Hong Kong and back to Los Angeles. The cost was $1,049.

The easiest way to get to Banda is by private yacht, although some sailors shun Indonesian waters because of pirates. Otherwise, figure on taking a few planes. First you have to fly to Ambon. If you're going from Bali, Garuda's domestic line, Merpati Airlines, has a daily flight via Ujung Pandung leaving at 7:05 A.M. and arriving at 11:55 A.M. ($143 one way). There are also flights to Ambon from Jakarta ($205 one way), Surabaya ($178) and Ternate ($68).

In Ambon, Indoavia Airlines operates a 17-seat flight to Bandaneira on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday at 7 A.M. Tickets cannot be bought at the Ambon airport. We had to take a 45-minute taxi ride into Ambon City and visit the Indoavia office at 21 Anthony Rhebok; telephone 0911-42260. (However, Garuda says it can issue tickets for the flight in the United States). A one-way ticket costs $45. Do not depend on Indoavia to make an intricately booked stack of connecting flights. The schedule has been known to change because of weather, or for no reason at all. Arrange to leave any excess baggage in Ambon, because there is a strict weight limit on the flight from there to Banda. A Perintis ferry also runs between Ambon and Bandaneira, but it is overcrowded and filthy and takes at least 13 hours.

When to Go

Unlike the rest of Indonesia, where the wet season runs from October to April, Banda's rainy season runs from April to August. The best time for travel is September to March, when the seas are calm and the fish are biting.

Where to Stay

In Ambon the best place to stay is Hotel Mutiara, 90 Jalan Raya Pattimura, Ambon 97124, Indonesia (0911-3075). The rates are around $35 a night for a slightly depressing but modern double room with air-conditioning and a bath.

For a more Indonesian experience there is the Hotel Abdulalie, Jalan Sultan Babullah (0911-2351). The rooms are clean and simple and run between $8 and $16.

In Banda, the Maulana Inn, Bandaneira, and the Hotel Laguna, which are next to each other, are the nicest places to stay. Both are owned by Des Alwi and both are on the waterfront. A double room is about $45 a night (you can bargain) and full board, which includes breakfast, lunch, tea and cakes and dinner, is $12 a person plus a 10 percent service charge.

For information and reservations write to the hotels directly or contact PT. Avisarti Corp., 60 Jalan Let. Jen Suprapto, Cempaka Putih, Post Office Box 2087, Jakarta, Indonesia; 021-410152.

Health Precautions
With the exception of my husband, every visitor I met on Banda (including myself) was taking prophylactic antimalarial drugs. My husband did not get malaria, but caution is advised.

Four Tiny Isles Off Mozambique

By AMY WALDMAN;
The New York Time: December 18, 1994

LAST September, Johannesburg, where I was living, was still reeling from its iciest winter in 30 years. I was cold. So I packed minimal clothing and some books, and headed for a vacation on the Bazaruto Archipelago, a group of Mozambican islands spread across 230 square miles of the Indian Ocean off the coast of Africa. Mozambique had endured four centuries of Portuguese domination and two decades of civil war, which ended in 1992, but the islands were insulated by geography from much of the mainland's tortured history.

The archipelago is made up of five islands, one so small it registers on few maps. The other four -- Bazaruto, Benguerua, Magaruque and Santa Carolina -- are lightly populated, and each contains one lodge for tourists.

On a small charter that operates weekly, seven of us departed before dawn from Johannesburg for a week's stay on the islands, based on the largest one, Bazaruto. We passed fairly smoothly through border control in Maputo, a required stop, and continued over the river-laced Mozambican mainland and the sea.

Suddenly the water turned a transluscent, spectacular turquoise underlaid with the dark stain of sand bars and coral reefs. We had arrived at the islands.

We were met with drinks at Bazaruto's dirt airstrip (each island has its own), and then driven to the lodge, passing silken sand dunes, a few local fishermen, a beach strewn with nets for collecting mussels, and boats stranded in the marsh of low tide.

The islands' eclectic group of ecosystems include tidal flats, unsullied beaches, coral reefs, mangrove communities, freshwater lakes, swamp forests, mammoth sand dunes, savanna grassland and evergreens.

Bazaruto's lodge sits on the northern tip of an island that stretches 22 miles southward. Mozambicans -- primarily fishermen -- are scattered in small villages and huts around the island, but most of Bazaruto looks as it did before man, or developers, arrived. As on all the islands, there is no town, no shops, no restaurants.

Each island's lodge can accommodate fewer than 40 guests, which means service is personalized and informal, without a packaged resort feel. Fellow guests, mostly South African, quickly became friends, in part to fill the void created by the lack of phones, TV or newspapers.

Bazaruto's white stucco main lodge looks glaringly new under the sun's harsh light. Inside, however, it is cool and dark, with a large, informal dining room, small lounge area and bar open on one side to a sea view. A swimming pool overlooks sand and sea.

There are 18 comfortable chalets -- some A-frame with thatched roofs, others bungalow style -- set a bit too close together amid carefully cultivated grass and palm trees. Each is equipped with its own bathroom, fans and mosquito nets.

While my fellow guests were young and diverse, more often the clientele is groups of fishermen drawn by Bazaruto's reputation as a world-renowned fishing spot. For families, Bazaruto has the advantages of a laid-back atmosphere, sturdy chalets and the proprietors' two young children.

As on Benguerua and Magaruque, meals are included in the price (drinks are extra), and we ate plentifully and well, beginning with buffet breakfast and proceeding to casual lunches of seafood and salads, or picnics. Sit-down dinners always centered around seafood -- calamari, crab, crayfish, marlin -- from the area, well-prepared, if not always imaginatively, and capped midweek by a mammoth barbecue.

Each day was a combination of leisure and frenetic activity, designed around individual passions for diving, snorkeling, fishing, birdwatching, hiking or inertia.

The archipelago offers some of the world's best diving and snorkeling and, except for Santa Carolina, the islands are equipped for both. The miles of often glorious coral reefs and the warm current (in August, still winter, it was warm enough to dive without a wet suit) insure a plentiful supply of brilliantly colored tropical fish with names as evocative as their patterning, as well as giant sea turtles and dolphins.

For novice divers, each island offers courses with experienced, helpful and safety-conscious instructors. The operation at Bazaruto was adequately run, although underequipped -- they did not provide wet suits for those who didn't have them, and only one instructor and one dinghy made accommodating snorkelers and divers of diverse levels of experience difficult.

On other days, we watched whales spouting off the coast, took drives (the lodge has four-wheel-drive vehicles and will provide drivers) and walks around the island, and fished off shore and from boats.

Bazaruto is famous among international fishermen for its billfish -- marlin, kingfish and increasingly rare sailfish. In an effort to conserve the water's populations, the island has adopted a tag and release policy for sport fishing. Friendly staff members, usually knowledgeable about where to find the fish, go out with the boats.

On another morning, we climbed a steep scrub-covered dune above the lodge to an old lighthouse, a faded timepiece that is being whitewashed and restored to complement the enormous green glass strobe inside. Our exertions were rewarded by an expansive view of the sea.

Down the other side of the dune is a lovely beach, which the lodge can also drive you to. The drama of low tide at Bazaruto, in which water recedes for at least a mile, makes swimming unappealing in front of the lodge, which is inconvenient -- to swim in the sea we had to trek around the tip of the island to the other side, or get dropped off.

In the afternoons, we read or had drinks by the pool, where pygmy kingfishers cleansed themselves of salt water. At low tide, we watched egrets and heron moving gracefully through the muddy sand, while downshore, the several hundred flamingos that consistently congregate took flight occasionally in a dazzling cloud of pink. At sunset, a spectacular orange lick spread across the sky.

About halfway through the week, we took a boat trip to the other islands in the archipelago, Bengeurua, Magaruque and Santa Carolina.

Magaruque is a tiny island -- you can walk its perimeter in three hours -- completely flat and treeless except for a few palms planted to shade the hotel, a white Portugese-style concrete construction with hot pink bouganvillea spilling down the front. There is a small bar upstairs with a view of the mainland, and directly in front of the hotel idyllic swimming, and coral reefs that mean excellent diving and snorkeling.

The rooms in the main lodge, and the freestanding cottages nearby, all with their own bathrooms, appeared adequate, but Magaruque has suffered from a lack of hot water and, according to word-of mouth, a lack of service and facilities.

Our whole group fell in love with both Benguerua and Santa Carolina, and were I to visit the archipelago again, I would pass my week at one of those two islands.

Benguela Lodge on Benguerua is handsome and exceptionally well run. Built in the shade of a beachfront forest, the lodge's 18 well-spaced chalets sit on low stilts. They were designed and constructed in 1991 by three South African brothers, who camped under mosquito nets for the arduous nine-month construction process, but there is nothing rugged about the completed chalets, which were built entirely from natural materials -- reeds, thatch, Rhodesian wood. With attractive wooden furniture and a concrete bathroom at the back, they are as comfortable as, and much more seductive than, the average hotel room.

The chalets' walls end halfway to the roof, leaving them open to the movement of the breeze, the sound of the birds and, in the morning, a view of the sea. Enormous mosquito nets are provided, a necessary accouterment on these malarial islands.

THE main lodge, which contains a bar, lounge, office, small store and dining room connected by wooden walkways, also sits on stilts, with a wide veranda in front and African crafts on the walls. The food was excellent, individually prepared omelets at breakfast, puff pastry with shrimp and whole crayfish at dinner.

Like the other islands, Benguerua attracts mostly South African and Zimbabwean visitors, but it is pulling an increasing number of Europeans. There were families, although no young children, and honeymooners, but mostly vacationing couples or groups.

Besides a small village, most of this island is also untouched, and the landscape of trees, dunes and pure beaches similar to Bazaruto, on a smaller scale. More than 100 colorful bird species, including the crab plover, olive bee-eater and green coucal, live on Benguerua, which is a bird sanctuary. A few feet from the lodge is a crocodile farm.

Santa Carolina is the physical jewel of these islands, its beauty concentrated in its compact 1.8-mile by 1,625-foot space. Also known aptly as Paradise Island, it is shaded by plentiful palm and pine trees, and surrounded by a vivid turquoise sea.

In the 18th century, the island was a penal colony, and remains of an old fort can still be seen. The island is named for a former garrison commander's wife who died giving birth; her grave is at the end of the small runway.

In the 1950's, Joaquim Alves, a flamboyant Portuguese businessman, began to develop the archipelago for tourism, and he centered his efforts on Santa Carolina, constructing a hotel with 250 rooms spread throughout 10 buildings, an ungainly but somehow attractive concrete and pastel concoction. He also built a small church with a sea view.

For two decades, Santa Carolina was a popular destination for South African families and honeymooners, but when Mozambique gained independence in 1973, Alves abandoned the hotel.

Today, it still stands overlooking the sea, most of the rooms closed up and the paint peeling. Although it is in the first phases of restoration the eerie feeling of lives just up and left, a carefree existence suddenly interrupted, can't be shaken.

For 20 years, the staff has maintained the hotel as if guests might appear any day. The linens have been washed until there is barely anything to wash and the dining room swept clean. This nostalgic dream of a revived hotel became reality in 1993, when a South African developer purchased the island and began restoration to create a luxury hotel with full fishing and diving facilities. Renovations should be completed sometime next year. In the meantime, the hotel, officially closed, unofficially thrives once again. Since the purchase, 24 very basic but livable rooms with stunning sea views have been open for guests, who fly in from Johannesburg, Harare or Maputo.

Guests bring boxes and coolers of their own food, which the staff prepares, decorating the dining room with handmade flower arrangements and, when there are enough guests, donning threadbare uniforms to serve meals as if nothing was amiss.

On our half-day trip, we walked the island and explored deserted buildings, swam and snorkeled, and had a picnic on the beach, finally departing reluctantly for other islands.

I ended my week at Benguerua, spending a day with a group of Italians on the yacht that Benguela Lodge uses for day excursions, which can include snorkeling, diving or simply sunbathing. It is also used for night dives and longer trips to reefs even richer with sea life farther down the coast.

We stopped on the flat sand of Pansy Island to collect sand dollars, called pansies there. We made another stop on the southern tip of Bazaruto to scale towering sand dunes baking in the sun. We paused at the crest to peruse the island's marshy interior of small palms and freshwater lakes -- relics, like the sometimes mammoth wild crocodiles they house, of the islands' mainland origins -- and then slid down the dunes. After lunch on the boat, we snorkeled at Coconut Bay, about halfway up Bazaruto.

On my last day, I went out for a few hours in a dhow, the wooden boat moved by pole, sail and paddle, a form of transport that originated in Arabia but has become intrinsic to Africa. Guided by local navigators who also help with fishing, the dhow glided soundlessly through the water.

While in name the islands are part of Mozambique, they bear little relation to the mainland, which was savaged by the 16-year civil war. Except for a temporary influx of refugees, life on the islands went on as usual.

Mozambique itself is a remarkable country, combining Latin flair and African warmth in a laissez-faire atmosphere. With miserable levels of destitution, it is also saddening.

For at least a taste of the mainland, Benguela offers a day trip to Vilanculos, a picturesque but dilapidated town on the coast. Including lunch and an excursion to an African market, the trip offers a worthwhile if passing glimpse of the attrition of war, the elegant architecture of colonial Portugal and the vibrancy of Africa. THE ISLANDS IN THE AFRICAN SUN When to Go

May, June and July, when the tropical climate is most temperate, are the best months for visiting Mozambique, although the islands of the Bazaruto Archipelago off the coast are comfortable year round. Temperatures peak in February with the most rainfall in January.

Billfishing season runs from August through December.

Precautions: Malaria prophylactics are absolutely necessary. Visas are required for entry. Contact the Mozambique Embassy in Washington, (202) 293-7146. Getting There

Charter flights, which run weekly to the islands, can be arranged when you make your reservations for lodgings. Flights cost approximately $350 round trip from Johannesburg and $250 from Maputo, the capital. Flights are also available from Durban, South Africa, and Harare, Zimbabwe, once or twice a week. Flights to Santa Carolina may be more costly; prices depend on the number of people flying. Where to Stay

BENGUERUA: Benguela Lodge, with 18 reed, thatch and wood chalets on low stilts. $100 a person a night, including all meals. Book through Johannesburg: (27-11) 483-2734, fax (27-11) 728-3767.

BAZARUTO: Bazaruto Fishing Lodge, about 20 thatched-roof chalets and bungalows. Mozambique Island Tours, (27-11) 447-3528, fax (27-11) 880-5364. $100 a person a night, including all meals.

MAGARUQUE: Hotel Magaruque, 19 rooms and several cottages. (263-4) 706148, fax (263-4) 706148. $85 a night, including all meals.

SANTA CAROLINA: Hotel Santa Clara, (27-11) 447-3216, fax (27-11) 788-2333. $20 a night. You must bring your own food, which the staff will prepare, as the hotel is undergoing a renovation that is far from complete. Contact Richard Makin, the island's new developer, for details.

The Mozambique National Tourist Company, based in Johannesburg, can make hotel, flight and island bookings; (27-11) 339-7275, fax (27-11) 339-7295.

AMY WALDMAN, an editor at The Washington Monthly, has lived in South Africa.

My Kingdom for a Gin and Tonic: A Caribbean Island Fit for a Princess

By ALESSANDRA STANLEY
The New York Times: May 1, 2005

Mustique

MUSTIQUE, a private island that is as famous for its celebrity beachcombers as it is for its beaches, is less a place than a code word, a synonym for jetsetters' playground. Mick Jagger has a house there, just down the road from Tommy Hilfiger. And most memorably, once upon a time Princess Margaret of Britain frolicked there with her young lover, Roddy Llewellyn, on an estate given to her as a wedding present by Mustique's legendarily eccentric and autocratic developer, Colin Tennant, Lord Glenconner.

So it was in the hope of recapturing some of Mustique's faded glory - and reliving the self-indulgence and dissipation of English aristocrats in the late 1960's and 70's - that my childhood friend Robin and I recently made our way to the Caribbean island with only two guidebooks, "Exploring the Flora and Fauna of Mustique" and "H.R.H., the Princess Margaret: A Life Unfulfilled," by Nigel Dempster.

Tropical nature there is soothingly lovely. Terns, herons and sandpipers patrol the beaches and tide pools in silence, under the gaze of magnificent frigate birds who sail overhead. With each puff of breeze, white cedar trees bordering the shore sprinkle the sand with pale blossoms, like flower girls at a beach wedding. But it is the more restless spirit of her royal highness - a faint tinkle of gin and ice and a ghostly wisp of smoke curling from a long cigarette holder - that haunts the air.

And the Margaret-drenched atmosphere of Mustique turned two reasonably humble American tourists into imperious, fault-finding royal pains. I knew we were possessed when we asked the hotel staff for lemons to lighten our hair in the sun and they explained that only limes could be found for love or money. Sweet-natured Robin narrowed her eyes and snarled, "God help them."

Naturally, Mustique is difficult and expensive to reach, the kind of fleshpot that makes Sun Valley or Nantucket seem accessible. There are small airline companies that ferry passengers to Mustique from Barbados or St. Vincent, but the flights are just two or three times a day and are often booked. So we did as the non-natives do and chartered a five-seater plane out of Barbados for $1,040.

Seen through the tiny windows, the green curves of Mustique, covering just 1,400 acres, rise from a watercolor palette of blues, from the dark indigo of cloud shadow over the waters to brilliant cobalt, cerulean and aquamarine. And that helps explain its appeal to the Happy Few: Mustique is so lush and unspoiled it makes Barbados, flat and drizzled with high-rise hotels, look like Bayonne, N.J.

The island's one airstrip is a filament of paving in a forest of bougainvillea and palm trees; the terminal consists of a hut of split bamboo and palm thatch that might have been built by Gilligan and the Skipper - or perhaps the Professor: a rickety bookshelf labeled "lending library" offers musty hardcover books, fat mysteries and tattered magazines for the taking.

A hotel driver and hostess greeted us with cold towels and icy bottled water and whisked us by Jeep to our destination less than a quarter of a mile away. The Cotton House is an 18th-century cotton warehouse and sugar mill that was restored in the 1960's by the British theatrical designer Oliver Messel; back then it served as a kind of Petit Trianon for Eurotrash and rock stars, including Mick Jagger, Bryan Ferry, Jerry Hall and David Bowie.

Cotton House was renovated last winter, adding among other things, a new swimming pool. It is a member of the Leading Small Hotels of the World. A small one-room cottage cost us $850 a night ($995 with tax and a 10 percent service charge included), a rate that also covered breakfast, high tea and dinner, though not drinks.

As I sputtered about buyer's remorse, Robin calmly opened the biography and read aloud the passage in which Roddy, on the island with Princess Margaret, informs her that he is leaving her for another woman: " 'I'm really very happy for him,' " the Princess told a friend. 'Anyway, I couldn't have afforded him much longer.' "

Nobody else at the airport seemed headed for the hotel. The truly rich own villas or rent them. Jolies Eaux, the five-bedroom flamingo-pink house that once belonged to Princess Margaret, can be rented for $22,000 a week ($14,000 in low season), Range Rover included. The sleek, well-groomed people who arrived by charter the same time we did came as houseguests coasting on someone else's hospitality. The rich are different from you and me: they spend less money.

Inside the gates of Cotton House, we swept past manicured lawns and a tantalizing strip of white sand and cobalt water before stopping before a colonial-style house surrounded by bougainvillea and fragrant oleander.

We and a young English couple and their impeccably behaved daughter were welcomed with a virgin colada ("Good God, man, have you no rum?" the voice of Margaret hissed in my ear) and we sipped them in the Great Room, a handsome expanse of white rough-plastered stone walls and darkly polished heart-of-pine floors beneath a lofty ceiling of exposed beams and rafters. An imposing bar with nautical brass stools at one end of the room offers colorful drinks and spicy tropical snacks like plantain fries and cassava chips. On either side French doors open onto the veranda. The plantation spirit has colonized the Great Room with solid, heavily carved furniture lacquered an inky black and upholstered in white.

A Victorian bird vitrine, populated by a mangy collection of stuffed tropical creatures, a grand piano and an assortment of massive, shell-encrusted chests compete to suggest a long history of colonial luxe. Yet, the 21st century is not shut out completely. There is a computer in a corner with instant access to the Internet. Still, like the rest of Cotton House, the communal Great Room remains eerily empty at most times of day. We at first thought the hotel was not fully booked, but the staff kept assuring us there were no vacancies whatsoever. The hotel is designed to keep strangers apart - there is nothing quite as middle class as mingling.

Cotton House once teemed with night revelers, friends and guests of Colin Tennant, the Scottish lord who bought the island in 1958 for $67,500 and sank his fortune into creating a playground for English aristocrats and pop stars. He was later forced to sell his share in the Mustique Company that still owns and operates the island. (He was the subject of a creepily hilarious documentary in 2000, "The Man Who Bought Mustique," that did full justice to his tetchy, mad-as-a-hatter hauteur.)

Cotton House has 19 rooms - in categories that range from cottages to suites with private plunge pools and a luxury two-bedroom residence, Cotton Hill, that has its own small pool - and aside from the restaurant, there are few gathering points where its guests can actually view one another. This is a good thing for those who seek privacy. For those who, like us, had hoped to invade other people's privacy, it is a bit of a handicap.

In fact, the only sustained conversation we had the entire weekend was with an older local woman who was combing the tide pools for live whelks to marinate and sauté in garlic for her employers, who had their own dining area in a Cotton House suite overlooking the sea.

The hotel's beach, a curve of white sand raked each morning by uniformed staff members, offers a row of lounge chairs shaded by umbrellas and, at a slight remove, a beach cafe overlooking the water. The scene there is luxurious and quiet: just hushed commands uttered in French and upper-crust English, the murmur of the surf frothing gently, like Champagne spilled on the sand (we saw an inordinate number of popped corks along the beach), and the purr of staffers offering towels and fruity drinks.

Snorkelers who swim off the dock splash discreetly, and a local dive instructor quietly describes to awestruck teenage guests the array of sharks they will meet at 40 feet below. The attire of both guests and staff is so subdued that the only way to see some splashy resort wear is to go underwater with a mask and flippers. Just beneath that cerulean surface are schools of fish in neon-bright stripes and polka dots that even Lilly Pulitzer never dreamed of mixing.

We loved our small room, decorated simply in shades of tropical white and pale yellow, but, noblesse oblige, also found it wanting. The cottages have what is called a garden view - our terrace overlooked a slightly brackish lily pond. (There are five rooms with Caribbean views, and two duplex suites with views of the sea in the distance.)

Our two single beds were protected by a gauzy mosquito net, unnecessary but romantic, and on the desk there was a huge flat-screen TV and DVD player, and a well-stocked minibar. We were also a little nonplussed by the small discs in red and green wrappers, which at first glance looked like Christmas condoms but turned out to be pellets of coffee, caffeinated and non, for the automatic espresso machine - so noisy it would have awakened the soundest sleeper.

Breakfast and dinner are on the hotel's veranda, lunch at the beach cafe, and meals present the only inescapable encounter with tropical nature: dining with grackles. The Carib grackle is a native of the Lesser Antilles, a fact that perhaps gives this sleek, black bird its sense of complete confidence. In perfect Hitchcock choreography, they swoop down to the railing in twos and threes. At a signal known only to themselves, the grackles launch a seamless air strike, swooping from table to table, spearing whole croissants from the bread baskets and banana slices right off children's forks. They are practiced tabletop terrorists, undeterred by waving hands and fluttering napkins. We began to view each outdoor meal as a narrow escape from hired assassins: the Day of the Grackle.

The food was surprisingly bland, however. Mustique is so hard to reach that fresh fruit and vegetables are a rarity: no lemons for martinis, let alone hair-lightening, and no exotic fruits at all. The tropical fruit plate turned out to be slices of banana, mealy apple and dry orange. We never saw a mango or papaya, and there was almost no Caribbean cuisine to be had. Instead the kitchen prepared beautifully arranged international cuisine and a few British dishes like spatchcock chicken. The fish was fresh, but even a cold carrot soup tasted more like boiled milk than carrots. The choicest thing on the menu turned out to be the breakfast omelet stuffed with carmelized vegetables.

Small wonder Princess Margaret would often move on to liquid sustenance for the morning meal. According to our trusty guide, Nigel Dempster, at one breakfast at the Cotton House, she "stood expectantly waiting for someone to light the cigarette in her holder." The man next to her offered her a rum punch. "I'll have a gin and tonic, please," she replied. "A large one."

The best meal we had - spicy callaloo soup (fish and the spinachlike leaves of the taro plant) and a satay-flavored tuna tartare - was at Basil's Bar, a wharfside restaurant, bar and nightclub on Brittania Bay. It sits on what passes for Mustique's main street, consisting of a shop in a pink Victorian gingerbread house, some fishing huts, a bakery and a grocery store. (Crimson and gold conch shells are discarded in huge piles below the docks by the hundreds, there for the taking.)

Service at Cotton House is not always Swiss-watch efficient, but it is never surly: everyone, from the ladies at the front desk to the bellhops and chambermaids, was winningly sweet and eager to please. We were told that employees are better paid and better treated than on other islands, a legacy of Lord Glenconner's benevolent dictatorship.

One evening, we passed the Great Room on our way to the cottage and watched, in awe, what we thought was choir practice: surrounded by candles, a maestro stood before a line of young men in crisp white shirts holding what appeared to be rattan-covered hymnals who repeated his every sound. He turned out to be the maître d'hôtel teaching the waiters to memorize the dinner menu.

The real beauty of Mustique is that there is nothing to do - no museums, shopping arcades or fussy restaurants. Tourists cannot even people-watch, since famous residents live mostly behind locked gates and high hedges (though Mick Jagger and his guests are occasionally spotted at the Cotton House pool or dining room). We rode bicycles, explored beaches on the Atlantic side of the island, picked shells and sea glass and played the occasional game of tennis.

We were not amused by the hotel's court, however. It was set behind the swimming pool, hidden in a sparse stretch of sickly grass and stunted palm trees, with no shade over the two courts, or water fountain. Except for the areas closest to buildings and pathways, the landscaping of Cotton House was surprisingly straggly. The island has not been hit by a hurricane in 25 years, but in some places the grounds look as if they were uprooted by a tropical storm. The hotel spa is elegant and smoothly professional. We chose pedicures, at $60 each the least expensive treatment, and were only slightly alarmed when the young beautician whipped out a machete-sized knife to pare down our calluses.

We did not want to leave Mustique without paying our final respects to its most famous, or at least most famously demanding, resident. We knew we could never get inside the gates of Jolies Eaux. But we hoped to at least pass by, hats in hand, drinks raised on high. However, we could not seem to persuade the otherwise enchantingly tractable hotel drivers to go anywhere near it. To a man, they would shrug their shoulders and politely say, "Oh, no, too far," a sign either of fealty or deep fear.

We finally concluded that the locals know that Princess Margaret's spirit hovers over her old house, and that at any moment, a ghost could rise fussily from the bushes, noisily rattle a highball and start barking commands from the netherworld.

If You Go

Getting There

Part of Mustique's allure is its very inaccessibility. It is a place largely reached by private planes and the homeowners who can afford them. To get there by commercial air service typically means flying to Barbados, and then taking a puddle-jumper the rest of the way, roughly a 50-minute trip. BWIA West Indies Airways and American Airlines offer nonstop flights from New York to Barbados - both with round-trip, weekend air fare from $408. Mustique Airways (www.mustique.com) and Grenadines Air (www.svgair.com) offer scheduled and charter flights from Barbados to Mustique; Cotton House and the rental companies below can arrange for connecting flights.

Where to Stay

Cotton House, (784) 456-4777, www.cottonhouse.net, on 13 acres between the Caribbean and the Atlantic, is the island's only hotel. It has 19 rooms, some with their own plunge pools. Room rates during the current "shoulder season" (through May) are $550 to $2,000 (for the two-bedroom suite with a private pool), including breakfast, high tea and dinner. See chart at right for other rates.
Private homes can be rented, with dozens of options from Pelican, a two-bedroom cottage for $3,000 a week in low season, to Shogun, a nine-bedroom villa for $40,000 a week year round. Among the companies offering properties are Unusual Villas and Island Rentals Corporation of Virginia, (800) 846-7280, www.unusualvillarentals.com/caribbean/mustique, The Mustique Company, (784) 488-8000, www.mustique-island.com, and Caribbean Days, (800) 942-6725 or www.caribbeandays.com

Pitcairn gets first full-time policeman

Shirley English
The Times November 29, 2006

He's the only bobby for 3,300 miles

Former Orkney sergeant appointed

When Malcolm Gilbert spotted a job advert asking for a policeman with “remote island experience”, he thought that he might just fit the bill.

Having spent 30 years pounding the beat in one of Britain’s most far-flung island communities, the 55-year-old former sergeant applied for the post. Though more used to a dark uniform and waterproofs in his job on Orkney, he will put on Bermuda shorts and suncream to take up his new post on the tiny sub-tropical island of Pitcairn, on the far side of the world.

Mr Gilbert is to become the first full-time policeman on the two-and-a-half-mile-long (4km) volcanic speck of land that sits in the middle of the South Pacific, halfway between New Zealand and South America.

He is being employed by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office for the year-long posting, during which he will be the sole arbiter of law and order among the 47-strong population, one of the world’s most isolated communities. If anything does go awry, his nearest back-up will be about 3,300 miles away in New Zealand, a seven-day journey by boat.

“Hopefully it won’t ever come to that,” he said yesterday, speaking from his home in Kirkwall, where he was recovering from the after-effects of a typhoid jab, part of his preparations for the move.

“I have worked in the Orkney Islands, but this is a lot more remote. Each island has its own problems and you just have to deal with things as they happen. It’s going to be a real adventure and I love a challenge.”

Pitcairn is home to the descendants of the mutineers from HMS Bounty, who colonised the uninhabited island in 1790. Two years ago the island attracted worldwide attention when six local men, including the mayor, were convicted of child sex abuse involving girls as young as 7 and stretching back almost 40 years.

Mr Gilbert will draw on his experience of policework during the 1991 Satanic abuse scandal on Orkney to help to heal the wounds that have developed on Pitcairn since the court case.

“I see myself trying to build bridges in the community, which is split at the moment,” he said. “They [the FCO] are not putting someone there for no reason. But I hope the islanders can put recent incidents behind them and move on.”

Mr Gilbert said that, until now, law and order had been provided by Ministry of Defence staff working on a four-month rota. His new post was the first full-time appointment.

Since he retired from the force, he has kept busy, working for a spell in Kosovo with the United Nations and as a prisoner escort for the Reliance security firm. Nevertheless, life on Pitcairn will present challenges for him and his wife, Gwen, 58, a teacher, who at first was reluctant to accompany him.

They will live in a three- bedroom wooden bungalow in Adamstown, overlooking Bounty Bay. One of the things that they will miss, particularly in their morning cup of tea, is fresh milk as there are no dairy animals on Pitcairn. The couple will also have to get used to just a few hours a day of electricity.

All outside supplies and mail will be delivered by boat six times a year from Mangareva, in French Polynesia. Mr Gilbert will travel around the island on a quad bike. There is limited TV reception, but there are satellite phones and the internet to keep in touch with the rest of the world.

“I’ll miss my family and friends. But I certainly won’t miss the Orkney winter,” Mr Gilbert said.

Isles apart

ORKNEY ISLES

Archipelago of 70 islands at the meeting between the North Sea and Atlantic Ocean, ten miles off the Scottish mainland. A population of 20,000 is shared between the 20 inhabited isles. Famous for its absence of trees, constant winds and prehistoric sites. Exports whisky, beef and fish. Warmed by the Gulf Stream. Maximum summer temperature 19C

PITCAIRN ISLANDS

Four small islands in southern Pacific Ocean, 3,300 miles from New Zealand and 4,300 miles from South America. Population of 47 on the single inhabited island. Colony founded in 1790 by mutineers from HMS Bounty. Exports honey and stamps. Buffeted by the Trade Winds. Maximum summer temperature 30C

The laird who fell from grace

The Sunday Times October 08, 2006

The islanders of Gigha welcomed a new owner, but were then shocked when he had financial trouble and twice tried to commit murder, writes Kenny Farquharson

The islanders’ first impression of their new laird could not have been more favourable. Just days after buying the Isle of Gigha for £5.4m in 1989, Malcolm Potier hosted a lavish party at Achamore House, his baronial mansion, dispensing chablis and charm in generous measure.

The residents of Gigha have had plenty of time since to savour the bitter aftertaste of that evening.Three years later they got home from work to find sheriff’s notices pinned to their doors. Potier had used their island home as collateral against a loan, and when his business empire foundered, Gigha became the property of faceless Zurich bankers.

Potier’s name was dirt, but nobody on Gigha imagined how far from grace their former laird had yet to fall.

This weekend they have a better idea. On Thursday of last week an Australian court found the former baron of Gigha guilty of attempting to have his former girlfriend murdered.

Remarkably it was his second conviction for that offence — it was while he was in jail serving a six-year sentence for attempting to hire a hitman that Potier tried once more to snuff out her life.

He tried to persuade a cell mate to find someone to kill Linda Oswald, the mother of his daughter. Potier suggested arranging a car accident, after which the killer would jump into Oswald’s car and snap her neck.

The fellow prisoner, who informed the authorities, had taken notes of Potier’s instructions. They read: “Must be accident . . . Must die . . . No mistakes . . . No drugs.”

On Gigha this weekend there is still some astonishment that the laid-back former laird, a plain-speaking man who had time for everyone, was capable of not one but two cold-blooded murder plots.

Susan Allan, a director of the Isle of Gigha Heritage Trust and an islander for 40 years, is torn between the two images she has of Potier. “He was a charming man and pleasant to speak to,” she says. “He was liked because he more or less let us do what we wanted. He did play the laird a little, but it was not with a heavy hand. We had confidence in him and nobody suspected anything was wrong.”

The laird would be a regular at island ceilidhs, relishing his role in the community. Friends and business associates would be flown up from London and proudly shown around, Potier asking them what they thought of the spectacular views of Islay and Jura to the west and the mainland to the east.

Potier was said to have outbid Mick Jagger when he bought the island and his love for Gigha appeared genuine, as seems clear from his description of how it felt to leave the island after a family holiday there in the early 1980s.

“It happened on top of the ferry taking us away from the peace, quiet, stability and friendliness of the island and, of course, its beautiful scenery,” he said at the time.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the pressures one has to face in business in England and the contrast between the two. It became an instant ambition to make a proper home on the place. For years I dreamed of owning the place, much as a child yearns for a train set.”

The object of his affections was a 3,400-acre estate boasting a yacht anchorage, a 19th-century mansion, exotic palm trees, 37 cottages, a nine-hole golf course and flourishing rhododendron gardens.

Just seven miles long and lying three miles off the Kintyre peninsula, it was a bijou Hebridean haven. Potier’s company, Tanap Investments, made the best of the 1980s’ property boom and at one point had assets of £40m. When Gigha was put up for sale in 1989 by David Landale, secretary to the Duchy of Cornwall, Potier was not the highest bidder, but he impressed everyone with his enthusiasm and plans for improvement.


These included an airstrip and the conversion of part of Achamore House to a luxurious conference centre with lavishly furnished rooms. Unfortunately the airstrip and the house were rarely used by anyone other than Potier and his family.
When his business empire went under, the islanders were devastated and sore about their treatment at his hands. “When he went bust, it put the whole place in turmoil,” says Allan.

But there is a big difference between believing a man is capable of financial fast practice and believing he is capable of planning a murder.

“It seems odd that someone so charming should be like that, and for such an intelligent man to try to do it again is most strange,” she says.

Allan and the other islanders have watched events unfold in Australia with growing horror. They now worry about the regularity with which Potier’s name is linked to their home.

“Inevitably they refer to him as the former laird of Gigha, which puts us all in a bad light to a certain extent,” she says. “It’s a concern. It is some considerable time in the past now and we would like to put it behind us, really.”

Potier’s life began to unravel after he lost Gigha. In 1999 he snatched his baby daughter and fled to Australia, where he was arrested for travelling on a false passport.

The baby was reunited with her mother, who stayed in Australia and found a new man.

Potier knew he would never have custody of his daughter while Oswald was alive, so he tried to recruit a killer for £10,000. In clandestine meetings, a man he believed to be a go-between representing a fictional killer called “Jacko” was in fact a plain-clothes policeman acting on a tip-off.

The Swiss bank that took Gigha in 1992 eventually sold the island to Derek Holt, a marina entrepreneur. During his 10 years there its housing stock and farming went into decline.

By 2001, the island was again up for sale and this time it was sold to the community to be held in common ownership.

Potier will be sentenced on November 10 and the people of Gigha will understandably be interested in seeing what fate befalls him. But the days when the islanders had to worry about the vagaries of new owners are now passed.

Gigha has seen its last laird.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

The Island of Sark

After four centuries, Sark gives power to the people
By Simon de Bruxelles
The Times October 05, 2006

THE tiny Channel Island of Sark, which used to boast of being the last feudal state in Europe, voted yesterday to embrace 21st century democracy.

In future, the island will no longer be governed by an hereditary seigneur deriving authority directly from the Queen and a group of unelected landholders, but by an elected council.

Islanders voted by 234 to 184 to abolish Sark’s 450-year-old system of government.

Since the reign of Elizabeth I, Sark, which is six miles from Guernsey but entirely selfgoverning, was run by the descendants of 40 “tenants” given the right to settle there in 1533. In a concession to modernity, the island’s parliament Government, the Chief Pleas, was recently expanded to include 12 “people’s deputies” elected by islanders. They were given the choice of an entirely elected body or one that included eight representatives of the 40 tenants.

The biggest change for Sark’s 610 residents is likely to be the abolition of the feudal position of the Seigneur, who was the Sovereign’s sole representative on the island. The most famous of the seigneurs was Sybil Hathaway, known as the Dame of Sark, who refused to leave when the Nazis occupied the island during the Second World War and prevailed upon the other 471 islanders to stay.

Michael Beaumont took the title in 1974 and will remain the Seigneur until the new Government is elected. His rights include being the only person on the island allowed to keep pigeons and unspayed bitches, and ownership of anything washed up between the high and low tide lines. The Seigneur is also entitled to a cut of the sale price of any property changing hands on the island.

The new system will create 28 elected deputies to sit in the Chief Pleas.

Paul Armogie, a Deputy, said that yesterday’s vote was a monumental change for the island, which is three miles long and one and a half miles wide. “The next time Sark goes to the polls it will be one person, one vote, looking for 28 people to serve on the Chief Pleas and its committees,” he said.

The move towards greater democracy has been a controversial issue, with many islanders quite happy to continue living in by 16th century rules. The campaign gained additional momentum when the billionaire businessmen Sir David and Sir Frederick Barclay challenged the Government’s legality under the European Convention on Human Rights.

The Barclay brothers, who built a castle on the nearby island of Brecqhou, challenged Sark’s traditional right to allow only males to inherit. An electoral reform group from London visited Sark over the summer to initiate reforms. Forms were then distributed to all islanders eligible to vote.

The draft legislation will now be sent to the Privy Council for approval. Once it is approved, it is likely to take a couple of months until the new democracy comes into force.

FEUDAL BASTION

Sark is 80 miles from the English mainland and 25 miles west of the Cherbourg peninsula

It is one of eight Channel Islands. The others are Jersey, Guernsey, Alderney, Herm, Jethou, Brecqhou and Lihou

The first Seigneur of Sark was Hellier de Carteret, who ruled from 1563 to 1578

The unemployed and those in seasonal jobs such as fishing and tourism have to find work in winter mending roads, which carry no traffic except tractors



This is rush hour on Sark
The Sunday Times June 25, 2006

Life moves as slowly as the traffic on this idyllic Channel island, but its status as the last bastion of feudalism in Europe is set to disappear, writes Wilma Paterson

Roger, our guide, has a beer can in one hand, a frond of Athyrium filix-femina in the other and is explaining the finer points of fern identification to our group of aspiring botanists.

We are gathered on the tiny island of Sark in the Channel Islands, which has to be one of the most delightful places to see plantlife. The wildflower tour has taken us through dappled bluebell woods, down lanes thick with greenery and along steep cliff paths overlooking inviting beaches and hidden coves. The island, three miles long by one-and-half miles wide, is swathed in colour.

Stepping onto Sark, about 80 miles off the south coast of England and a 45-minute boat journey from Guernsey, is like stepping back in time.

There are no cars on Sark. You get about on foot, on bicycles, which can be hired from Avenue Cycles at the top of Harbour Hill, or by picking up a horse-drawn carriage at designated stops.

Waiting at the picturesque harbour, La Maseline, when you get off the boat is the “toast rack”, a red tractor and trailer to take visitors up the 295ft-high hill. Don’t be tempted to prove your athletic prowess by ignoring the lift — you will need to save your legs for some strenuous walking later.

First impressions of Sark are of a charming, sleepy idyll with golden meadows of buttercups and gleaming Guernsey cows. But swaying wildflowers and miles of spectacular coastline aside, it was blatant curiosity that brought me to Sark. I wanted to see Europe’s last bastion of feudalism before it disappeared.

Since 1565, when Elizabeth I granted Sark as a fiefdom to Helier de Carteret, the smallest independent feudal state in Europe has been ruled by a hereditary lord, the seigneur, and a parliament composed largely of landowners.

The current seigneur is Michael Beaumont, grandson of Sibyl Hathaway, the famous dame of Sark who defied the Nazis when they occupied the island during the second world war. Beaumont lives at La Seigneurie, a pretty 17th-century manor house, with exquisite formal gardens open to the public. He still collects tithes from his tenants, but much of this antiquated system is about to change. Feudalisms will soon be replaced by a one-person one-vote system, which will see the political rights of landowners reduced.

Although their old-fashioned way of life might seem quirky to outsiders, the 600 or so Sarkese seem happy. During the summer the population swells by about 400 as tourists hop off the boat to enjoy a glimpse into a way of life that has died out on the mainland.

They are guaranteed a friendly welcome. The island depends on tourism and the locals appear to relish their informal roles as tour guides, patiently answering questions about feudalism.

Many of the tourists who come here do so only for a day trip, but for those who want to stay, Sark offers a range of accommodation, from plush hotels to campsites. There are several restaurants and a series of popular summer events, including a seafood festival, midsummer show and even sheep racing.

The 16th-century farmhouse La Sablonnerie, which has been converted into a French country inn, was recently named Condé Nast’s “most excellent small hotel in the British isles”. The inn is on Little Sark, an even smaller island linked to its neighbour by a narrow isthmus, known as La Coupée. It’s 9ft wide with 300ft drops and used to be a scary proposition before it was reinforced by German prisoners of war.

It’s true that there isn’t much to do on Sark, but for those in search of peaceful country walks and a complete break from the urban buzz, the island is ideal.

The numerous tea shops are a welcome opportunity to refuel and catch your breath after a particularly steep climb. But if the island’s paths become too onerous, there are horse-drawn carriages at various points around the island to ferry passengers to points of interest, which include the second oldest windmill in the British Isles (built in 1571) and the tiny two-cell prison, which opened in 1856 and is still in use today for those who have overindulged in the pub and been picked up by one of Sark’s two volunteer policemen.

One of the most popular places to overindulge or just sip a lemonade on the island is the Bel Air Inn, which has four self-catering chalets and a cosy restaurant called Pollys.

For those with young children, Stocks Island hotel, a converted 18th-century farmhouse, is a popular choice. It has four family bedrooms, a swimming pool and a garden littered with toys.
It would be a mistake not to experience Sark from the sea. George Guille Boat Trips sets off from Creux harbour and takes visitors around the island, pointing out rare species of birdlife and the dark, brooding caves at the foot of the cliffs. There are also several pretty, sheltered beaches, where you can be dropped off for a picnic before catching the next boat back.

Details: Ramsay Travel (www.ramsayworldtravel.co.uk, 01382 200 394) has return flights from Dundee to Guernsey from £179. Aurigny (0871 871 0717, www.aurigny.com) offers flights from London Gatwick and Manchester from £59 return.

Isle of Sark Shipping Company (01481 724 059, www.sark.info) runs ferries from Guernsey, from £22 return.

Rent a chalet at Bel Air Inn (01481 832 052; www.belairsark.info) from £300 a week. Bed, breakfast and dinner at La Sablonnerie (01481 832 061; www.lasablonnerie.com) costs from £66.50 per person. Stocks Island hotel (01481 832001, www.stockshotel.com) has B&B from £50 per person, or £65 per person including dinner

The freedom boat in full sail at Gigha

The Sunday Times October 22, 2006

When the islanders bought their independence it transformed the community so much people are now queuing up to move there, writes Anna Burnside

There is a powerful crunching noise beneath the wheels of the car. We are in first gear, proceeding at about 3mph, up a field track towards three towering wind turbines. David McDonald, the Isle of Gigha Heritage Trust’s manager, beams with pride as his tyres whirr angrily over the chunks of rock. “That is stone from our quarry. Blue Gigha whinstone.”

We are distracted from the racket by Karen, the postie, whizzing through the gate on her quad bike. She gives us a cheery wave. “A van would be struggling with her route,” says McDonald. “So we got her one of these.” She waves again as she heads off in the opposite direction.

Welcome to the “independent republic of Gigha”, most southern island in the Inner Hebrides, home of palm trees, white beaches and, after a lifetime of lairds, a sense of freedom. This place is self-determination central and, four years after the 98 residents bought the 1,395 hectare island from the last landlord, Derek Holt, it is a testament to what people can achieve when they are allowed to get on with it. They do this via the Isle of Gigha Heritage Trust which has two full-time staff, and an elected committee of locals.

The Trust, which manages Gigha for the islander owners, has overseen its transformation from tumbledown fiefdom to a thriving community where, if the postie needs a quad bike, she gets one.

The changes are visible on every bend of the road. Modern new houses stand beside lovingly refurbished old ones. The wind turbines, known locally as the Dancing Ladies, whirled their way to a £100,000 profit last year. There is a quarry, a halibut farm, a salmon farm, an upmarket bed and breakfast and a cafe-bar, although it is now closed for the winter.

Best of all, there are people. The island’s population has reached 151 and is on target to hit 200 by 2011. When the school reopens tomorrow, it will have a roll of 21. Four years ago, there were six.

Taking their places in the single classroom for the first time will be eight-year-old Flora Little and her five-year-old brother Archie. Their father, Micky, 47, is employed by the Trust as head gardener at Achamore Gardens, the island’s most famous attraction on an island with a world-famous collection of rhododendrons. He and his wife Tracy, 42, loaded the dogs, the children, the wellies, a demijohn of rhubarb wine from a neighbour and “enough pasta to feed the island” into a decrepit camper van and an elderly Volvo and drove the 600-odd miles from Dartmoor to Gigha last week.

They arrived at their new home, one of the 48 properties owned by the Heritage Trust, to find the phone ringing. It was the farmer up the road. “He said, thank God you’re here at last,” Micky recalls. “My little ’uns want to come and play with your little ’uns.” And so they did. Before the Littles had been on the island for two hours their children were roaming the beach, an impromptu team of volunteers had the boxes unpacked and the kettle was on.

Gigha was not always like this. When Holt put the island on the market in 2001, at an asking price of £3.85 million, the locals were cautious in the extreme. It was a frightening amount of money and, while grants and loans were available, it was not clear how, if they bought the island, the residents might pay it back. But the precedents were encouraging and feasibility studies, plus a visit to the isle of Eigg, bought by its community in 1997, persuaded a majority of the islanders to put in a bid.

They were successful. Gigha was bought by the Heritage Trust on the islanders’ behalf, using cash from the Scottish Land Fund, Highlands and Islands Enterprise, an anonymous donation and the proceeds of a quiz night, on March 15, 2002, for £4,000,250. The islanders raised their share, £1,160,000, over the next two years. By 2004, their debts were clear. The real work, reversing decades of neglect, was ready to begin.

Under a succession of lairds, the once thriving island economy had slowed to a virtual standstill. Tenant farmers, struggling in a difficult sector, were reluctant to invest in land they did not own. They also complained they were not allowed to diversify under a regime that forbade pony trekking and outlawed bed and breakfasts.

The infrastructure was woeful. When McDonald started work as the Trust manager he was horrified by the state of the island’s housing.

“I had not seen anything like it since I visited Estonia in the 1980s with the school band. The houses were impossible to heat. There was mould, damp, there were leaking roofs. The repairs were laughable.

“We found sheets of tin nailed across slate roofs with a sheet of plastic underneath. Basically, we had half a century of underinvestment to make up.”

Island economics dictate that knocking down existing buildings, disposing of the rubble and bringing over prefabs from the mainland was not an option. Instead, existing buildings have been rebuilt from the inside out, with heavy insulation, solar panels and porches and larch wood cladding. They are still stone-built cottages — but windproof, watertight and toasty.

Grahame McCulloch, who has lived in a two-bedroom house in the village for 67 years, is enchanted with his smart kitchen, his new shower and the south-facing solar porch, for which he has found a novel use. “It is great,” he says, “for airing the clothes. They are dried before you know it.”
The roof, which used to let in snow and rain, has been replaced. In fact, the insulation and the heat-retaining features have given him a new problem. “It is terribly warm inside now. The cat has to go outside to cool down.”

Henri Macaulay is one of the residents to have moved into one of the eight new detached houses that were built to alleviate the island’s housing shortage. Her family of five was living in a one-room flat in Campbeltown before moving in April and they are already part of the scenery.

Macaulay has taken over the craft unit vacated by the defunct Gigha Fudge Company, and opened a gift shop, art gallery and studio. She sells handmade jewellery, one-off postcards and the Isle of Gigha tartan. Every Saturday afternoon, the studio becomes an art club for the local children. Her 10-year-old daughter, Catriona, is turning into a knowledgable naturalist and Lachie, aged 13, commutes to high school in Campbeltown by bike, ferry and bus every morning without a backwards glance. Her husband, Neil Holmes, has already adapted to the island tradition of having at least five different jobs. He looks after three-year-old Tristan, runs the shop’s website, does the odd shift in Achamore Gardens and builds flatpack furniture. If needs must he can adopt another local tradition and work off the island for a stint, installing wind turbines.

But while Gighans celebrate their success, not every community buyout has worked out so well. On Eigg, the first island to be bought from the laird, divisions have emerged between locals and New Age incomers, who have been accused of anti-social behaviour and not respecting island traditions and customs.

Aware of potential tensions, the Trust has attached conditions to anyone wanting to move there. It has a waiting list of 71 interested parties and, before she could book the removal van, Macaulay had to address 50 islanders in the village hall. “It was,” she says, “a bit like sitting my driving test again. The adrenalin was pumping. But the vote was a unanimous yes.”

Gigha has long been famous for the Gulf Stream and the microclimate that makes it balmy, frost-free and rhododendron-friendly.

What it has now is a microeconomy to match. There is investment: Gigha Halibut has 100,000 fish growing in tanks that will not be ready to eat until Christmas 2007.

There are apprenticeships with the Kintyre-based builders who are doing the renovations. For the future, there are plans to build more wind turbines and sell the power directly to the islanders and to convert an old farm steading into three eco-holiday lodges.

Although almost 60% of the islanders are now under 45, the buyout has given the older generation of islanders a fresh lease of life. John Martin, 65, who has just retired as the island’s joiner, is busy transforming the shell of an Irish skiff into a community boat. He was going to name it after his late wife, until Willie McSporran, the 70-year-old who led the buyout, came up with an alternative.

“We are calling it Saorsa, which is Gaelic for freedom, because feudalism is over the hills and far away,” says Martin. It will teach the island’s children how to sail.

Martin, like the other Gighans who have seen the lairds come and go, can’t quite believe that the leaking roofs and distant landlords have been replaced by solar panels, open meetings and letters from families desperate to move in.

“I am totally chuffed,” he says, standing on his new porch, in front of his newly renovated kitchen. “I never doubted for a moment it was the direction to go in, but every day I nail my colours to the mast and thank the Lord for freedom.”

An island off Ireland

The Times June 18, 2005

Annie Gatti explores the remote island of Skellig Michael off the southwest coast

IT’S a drizzly morning in July as we huddle in small groups on the quay at Portmagee, on the westernmost tip of Iveragh peninsula in Co Kerry. But we don’t mind a bit: we’ve got here in time; the swell, that has made trips to the Skellig islands impossible for the last four days, is manageable; and our boat, the Myra Michelle, is the second of the day to leave.

“You’re lucky enough to be getting out today,” says Ken Roddy as he powers through the sheltered waters of the sound. Suddenly we hit the open Atlantic, and the boat does that see-sawing action that makes me fix my eyeline firmly on the horizon, and pray that the Kwells will kick in.

Huge gannets, with wings the breadth of a fully grown man, wheel about as if they’re out for a morning stretch — their overcrowded home, Ken explains, is Little Skellig, the lump of rock to our left where some 27,000 breeding pairs jostle for ledge space. And now the dark, jagged cone of Skellig Michael, the larger of the two islands, comes into view.

The sky brightens, patches of blue appear, and soon we are close enough to see that the dark rock is layered with bands of green. We motor in close, leap ashore and as we set off up the concrete path that snakes round the southern face of the island, we spot that the people ahead of us have stopped and are craning left and right, cameras clicking. We soon see why. On every rocky ledge, waddling out of cracks between the rocks and holes in the ground, are puffins.

Soon we too have stopped. Over years of birdwatching I have spotted puffins as colourful blobs halfway down cliffs, or bobbing far out on the water, but here are those irresistible stripey-beaked clowns, close enough for us to see every feather. They talk to each other — croaaar, croaaar — indulge in bill-to-bill sweet nothings, and ignore these overexcited humans.

But the monastery at the top of the northeastern peak awaits us, and we have only a couple of hours on the island. So we climb lots of pancake-thin steps that twist and turn their way up — no hand rails, no seats or viewing platforms — to Christ’s Saddle, a natural depression where we can stop to get our bearings.

At the top there are yet more steps (600 in all) to a drystone wall rising sheer from the cliff face where, through a narrow entrance, we step on to a small terrace of sandstone slabs edged by six beehive-shaped stone buildings — the monks’ cells, squashed so close together that the occupants would have heard each other’s snores.

I scan the tiny settlement in disbelief. Here, 700ft (215m) up, more than 1,200 years ago, a small group of monks managed to build these sturdy outer walls, these weatherproof dwellings, this chapel in the centre, and to carve out a terrace below for their “garden”. They were inspired by accounts of St Anthony who lived in the most inhospitable parts of the Egyptian desert, duelling with the Devil, communing with God.

How they lived is a mystery: the only references to life on the island are of the deaths of certain abbots and the community’s return to the mainland some time in the 12th century. But Eamonn, one of three Heritage Service guides who was there to explain the background to us, soon fills in some of the blanks. “Can’t you just picture the 12 boys,” he starts, “sitting around the fire in the biggest cell, eating their puffin stew.” According to Eamonn, they probably grew vegetables such as spinach, garlic, peas and beans in their tiny garden, and may have kept bees.

Archaeologists discovered the remains of another settlement on the top of the opposite peak which is even more inaccessible and exposed. This, they reckon, was the preferred dwelling of one particular monk who found life in the monastery too noisy and crowded. Even today, with high-tech equipment and clothing, it is a climb that involves inching yourself more than 20ft up a sheer stone shaft, and crossing narrow ledges with a 230ft vertical drop — understandably, it ’s not part of the day trip.

As we climb back down to the waiting boat grey clouds scud across the sky, blocking the sun, and a chill wind picks up. I pull on my Gore-Tex jacket and think about all those other days when there was no respite from the lashing rain and gale-force winds, and marvel at the hardiness of the monks.

Need to know

Getting there: Skellig Michael is a World Heritage Site and visits are permitted only on licensed boats, which hold up to 12 people, from Easter until the end of October. Bring warm, waterproof clothes, and walking boots.

The puffins start nesting in April, and usually leave at the beginning of August.

Boat operators: Skellig Trips: 00 353 8712 09924; Lavelles Skellig Trips: 66 947 6124; Casey’s Skellig Boat Trips: 66 947 2437.

Further information: Killarney Tourist Office: 64 31633

Rona, our Robinson Crusoe island

The Sunday Times
July 24, 2005

If you harbour a desire to get away from it all and run wild in comfort, the isle of Rona has the right mix of rugged scenery and warm hearths, writes Dan Bailey

Island life is governed by the weather. Today on Skye it did not bode well. We staggered through the gale to a clifftop viewpoint. Below, a waterfall was plumed horizontally against the crags, the sea churned into froth.

Far across the waves Rona’s lumpy profile loomed through the squall. This was supposed to be our home for the next few days, but the boatman confirmed the obvious — sailing was postponed.

Getting marooned on an island had been a lifelong fantasy, but I’d have preferred to be stuck on the deserted one. Exclusivity is a rare commodity nowadays. Rona has it in spades, but to enjoy it you’ve first got to get there.

Rona’s past residents knew this all too well, living in virtual isolation on this rugged outpost. The population peaked in the 1880s, a mere 180 souls scratching bare subsistence from soil and sea. Such poverty inevitably drove people away, and the last occupants left in the 1940s. The island was then all but forgotten.

Today, the permanent population numbers just one, the island manager Bill Cowie. Rona has remained miraculously undeveloped, there are neither shops nor cars — indeed few signs of the 21st century at all. Sea and rock hold sway and even the vital link with Skye is subject to nature’s consent.

Rona’s inaccessibility is both a curse and a blessing. After a frustrating two-day delay the weather eventually relented. The boat chugged for an hour over a steely millpond, clouds lifting to reveal the otherworldly Cuillin and Trotternish ridges.

Our temporary domain was 2,000 rugged acres, a place to wander at will and do exactly as we pleased.

The holiday cottage boasted all the mod cons necessary to sustain middle-class life; our rucksacks bulged with fine food and drink and a small library of books.

Our first afternoon saw us scrambling to the summit of Meall Acairseid, the island’s highest knobble. These hills are anything but a walkover and progress on foot requires determination. The landscape is a confusion of abrupt hummocks, blanketed in knee-deep scrub and bogs and studded with rock outcrops.

Sunshine put in a brief appearance as we reached the summit, and the view was astounding. The snowcapped Torridon mountains brooded under a lid of profound darkness. By contrast, the sea was a striking azure and Skye’s peaks positively gleamed. The stormy wall was moving our way, swallowing daylight as it came. Flecks of hail began to fall, sending us scurrying back to the cottage where central heating and a log fire kept the chill away.

Standing at the head of their own bay, the holiday lets were once ruined crofts, recently renovated to a high standard. But despite their isolation they are as cosy as one could wish.

No stranger to hard graft, Cowie did a lot of the building work himself. A relocated east-coaster, he is thriving in the Hebridean climate. “I came to Rona about three years ago to put up a fence, and I’ve never left,” he confides.

He now lives alone with his dogs, running the island on behalf of its Danish owners. “I was always drawn to the great outdoors. From a young age I felt I’d end up working in a remote area, but never dreamt that life would be like this.”

Though based in Denmark and only irregular visitors, Dorte and Arne Jensen, the island’s owners, have strong feelings for Rona. One glimpse convinced them to buy it, for no other reason than that it “felt right”. This is not so much a moneymaking investment as a labour of love. Since 1992 they have bankrolled the regeneration of Rona’s natural heritage, combining reforestation and conservation with the development of low-key tourism. The island now supports its own running costs.

However, success has not been easy. “Living here is sometimes tough,” says Cowie. “Winter can be depressing, with months of non-stop wind and rain. But there’s rarely time to get lonely. During the holiday season I meet different visitors every week. I make the most of them.”

Rona wasn’t always so deserted; the scattered ruins of past occupation are now disappearing beneath the peat, as the island reclaims its own. Of several fascinating archeological sites, An Teampull is not to be missed — this remote burial ground is oddly reminiscent of Inca ruins.
Our last evening was spent at the remarkable Church Cave, a dramatic rock fissure that once served the islanders’ spiritual needs.

Sitting on a rough stone pew gazing out over cold water, I reflected on the resilience of Rona’s former inhabitants. For us the island is a temporary haven, good clean fun — yet their life must have been a constant battle against sky and sea. I shivered, and headed home for a hot power shower. Such are the privileges of a modern-day castaway.

Details: Holiday lets start at about £400 per week. The boat trip from Portree costs £50 return per party. Bill Cowie, island manager, Isle of Rona, 07775 593055, www.isleofrona.com

Small island of big hearts

The Sunday Times December 17, 2006

Could you survive a year on remote Canna? Kenny Farquharson meets a woman who did. She says the new residents will never be lonely

There are moments from her time on Canna that Elizabeth Bell will always remember. Climbing the 300ft sea cliffs. Wandering alone on the machair. Catching sight, for the first time, of the snow-capped Cuillins in the distance. But most of all, she will remember the spirit of the islanders. “Bonfire night here was magical,” says the 36-year-old New Zealander, who has spent two winters on Canna on a sea-bird preservation project.
“We had a great fire and rockets exploding over the beach and the kids waving sparklers. Everyone was handing round cake and having a dram. It was just fantastic.”

Bell is leaving Canna on Tuesday and recalling the good times makes her jealous of the two families who will move there permanently next year as part of a scheme to repopulate the island.

Canna and its smaller neighbour Sanday are owned by the National Trust for Scotland, which earlier this year issued a worldwide appeal for families to join the remote island community, currently with a population of 15.

Last week the NTS announced that 18 families had been shortlisted, chosen from 350 who answered the ad. These will be whittled down to two in the coming months with a decision announced in the spring.

Bell is ideally placed to provide advice to the hopefuls on what they should expect on Canna.

She is something of an expert on islands, having worked on wildlife projects in Mauritius, Madeira, the Pitcairns and the Azores, as well as Lundy, off the coast of north Devon.

Many people, she says, have the wrong impression of island life.

“They think the main thing is the isolation — and they are right, up to a point. You will need to be totally self-reliant at times. You have to be quite happy by yourself.”

That, however, is an incomplete picture. “You can be more isolated in a big city, where you don’t know your neighbours.”

The reality that the Canna incomers face, says Bell, is one of a close dependence on the other islanders — something that many people might find difficult to deal with.

“On an island you need to know your neighbours really well, because you might need them and they might need you,” she says. “You have to be happy to interact with people.”

Canna is part of a small group of four islands west of Mallaig and south of Skye, the other islands being Eigg, Muck and Rum. It is just five miles long by one and a quarter miles wide and has no pub and no shop, other than a tearoom that operates in the summer when the island gets 30,000 visitors.

The school on Sanday has just one pupil, although there are two other preschool children in the population. The pupil, Caroline MacKinnon, has been dubbed “the loneliest girl in Scotland”.

Bell has been entranced by Canna’s natural beauty. “The most striking thing is the cliffs,” she says. “I love scrambling around. It’s just mind-blowing — the views and the birds all around you.”

She has been working with 10 colleagues on a project that aims to preserve sea birds by exterminating the rat population. Last winter the team killed an estimated 10,000 rats by laying more than 5,000 poison baits around the island.
In recent months, Bell has met four of the shortlisted families while they were on winter visits to the island. “They were all pretty great — although one family stood out because its members had worked on islands before and so understood the whole community ethic and the difficulties about working in a place like this.”

Bell declines to give any clues as to their identity.

“You could tell they were all trying to decide how it would feel to live here. A few of them had a really terrible time getting here — an awful four-hour ferry trip when it was really rough. That might have given them some food for thought.”

Not only were the visits a chance for the applicants to get a glimpse of the island, it was also an opportunity for the islanders to run a rule over their would-be neighbours.

“The community here has had a role in sifting the applications, and they will help choose the two families,” says Bell.

The current population has two main considerations, she says. “One is finding someone who will fit well into the island community. The other is that they will have something to do on the island — as a builder, a plumber or a mechanic. They will have to show they can be self-sufficient or be able to help in the rebuilding of the community.”

As for the physical hardships, Bell says the recruits will have to be clear-eyed about what to expect. “You really have to be ready for the weather — especially the wind. Many people may never have been in winds like you get here on Canna. The storms can be severe. A few years ago one of the bridges blew away. And sometimes the ferry doesn’t turn up.”

Two houses have been set aside on the island for the incomers. Tighard is a five-bedroom Victorian villa that would make a good B&B, and Taigh Buel na Fadhlach is a 14-year-old detached family home with four bedrooms. Preference is being given to families with primary school age children.

“My advice to them,” says Bell, “would be to be prepared to knock on people’s doors.

“Canna thrives on its community and the spirit of helping each other out. That’s what makes the place what it is.”

St Helena, in the middle of nowhere

Times Online July 24, 2005

Napoleon, the original stroppy Frenchman, described St Helena as the most detestable place in the universe. Peter Hughes begs to differ

For a time it looked as if we would be unable to land. The tender, one of our cruise ship’s lifeboats, had reached the jetty but was now riding a good 12ft on the swell, brimming up to the quayside and then plunging down its dripping face like a demented lift.

The engine whined as the coxswain juggled with the throttle to bring us alongside; men on the shore struggled to make fast a line to our bow. Suddenly, the boat was no longer grazing the pier head but being slammed against the stone with a series of fracturing cracks. The gallows humour ceased: no more jokes about a lifeboat being the best place to be, or hummed snatches of “For those in peril on the sea”.

We had sailed 1,800 miles to one of the remotest inhabited islands on earth. It would be ironic if this was as close as we were going to get.

St Helena was only living up to its history. It is part of the island’s job description to be inaccessible. Not for nothing was it famously selected as the one place in the British empire from which Napoleon was least likely to escape when he was exiled after the battle of Waterloo. Nor did he. Eighty years later, it served as a prison again, for thousands of Boers in the South African war.

The Portuguese stumbled on it in 1502 but never let on.

It says everything about the island’s isolation that they managed to keep it secret for 86 years, while using it as a supply station. The English only discovered St Helena after they captured a Portuguese pilot, who gave the game away.

Even now, few people can tell you with any certainty where it is, or what. The answer: a tiny British dependency at the centre of the South Atlantic, 1,200 miles from the coast of Angola and 1,800 miles from Brazil. St Helena is, as near as dammit, in the middle of nowhere.

The island thrusts out of the ocean on thousand-foot cliffs, an immense rock stump with a knobbly cap of lush green peaks, rugged basalt ridges and steep ravines known locally as “guts”. It is spectacularly beautiful, part tropical forest, part Yorkshire Dales, plus some coppery desert too. Nature had to make the landscape vertical: it was the only way to fit so much scenery into 47 square miles.

St Helena is 10½ miles from end to end; six and a bit at its widest. To this day it can only be reached by ship.

But not tomorrow. In March, it was announced that St Helena is to have an airport. They have been talking about it since 1943; in five years it should be operational. It will change the island irretrievably. When the St Helena Herald broke the airport news, its second story was that the Bamboo Hedge Piggery had produced its first litter by artificial insemination. Such guileless days may well be numbered.

The plan, published by the British government, which will meet the entire and as yet undisclosed cost, is for an airport big enough to take the long-haul versions of the Boeing 737 and Airbus A320. That entails a runway well over a mile long being laid in a landscape where the most extensive level surface is currently a golf tee.

OUR BOAT was finally berthed and we walked up the jetty to where a motley group of minibuses was waiting. I was directed to the largest. It was a yellow shed of a vehicle with plastic upholstered seats, rust around the door and a sign advertising the morning and afternoon “bus runs”, the St Helena equivalent of a timetable. The driver introduced himself as Max, settled himself at the wheel and lunged at first gear. The bus groaned and we set off beneath an old stone arch into the island’s only town, Jamestown.

It is a little English provincial town, settled on the floor of a deep valley. There’s a castle on the left and HM Prison on the right, pounds and pence in the tills, union flags everywhere and British bobbies on the beat. Jacob’s Ladder, a near perpendicular stone staircase, ascends the valley wall in 699 steps to an old gun emplacement on the top of Ladder Hill. Main Street, lined by dignified 18th- and 19th-century colonial buildings, leads out of town past a large sign painted on a rock, saying “Welcome Prince Andrew”. The prince’s visit was in 1984.
People came to their windows and paused at the supermarket doors to watch our little convoy go by. The 4,000 or more islanders are a racial herbaceous border. Some trace their ancestry from employees of the East India Company, which ran the place for more than 170 years; others are descendants of slaves from the Far East and Africa. All call themselves Saints. They prize contact with outsiders much as birdwatchers react to the sight of a rare migrant. Not only does the Herald publish details of ships due to call at St Helena, it also names vessels that might be spotted passing.

That fascination with strangers reached its apogee on October 15, 1815, when Napoleon Bonaparte was escorted ashore, exactly where we landed. So much was he an object of curiosity that he is supposed to have had his garden paths sunk so that he could take his constitutionals unobserved by gawpers.

We followed the wooden finger posts up a skinny little mountain road, first into scenery that looked like an agitated Devon and then on to an open moor. It was here that Napoleon ended his days. He hated it. “This horrible rock,” he called it. “The most detestable spot in the universe.”

He had expected to be put up in Plantation House, a fine Georgian mansion, then and now the residence of the island’s governor, but the British did little to make him comfortable. Longwood House, where he spent almost all of his five and a half year exile, was converted from a barn.

He was studiously referred to as General Bonaparte, never emperor, and he and the governor, Sir Hudson Lowe, shared an instant mutual distaste.

They met only six times. Any contact with the islanders was prohibited. On the other hand, Napoleon was granted the shooting rights for his small estate. He could charge £5 a partridge, £20 a pheasant.

Today, Longwood House, a low whitewashed building with green shutters, looks like a West Country retirement bungalow, except for the French tricolour in the garden. Since 1858 the house has been owned by the French, one of three sites on the island administered by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Paris. The others are the cottage where Napoleon stayed until Longwood House was ready, and the tomb where he was buried before his remains were returned to France in 1840. It was hardly hyped by Max. “It’s a 15-minute walk and can be very slippery,” he said. “And when you get there, there’s no name, just a slab of concrete behind some iron railings.” Nobody on our bus opted to stop.

Longwood is immaculately maintained and crammed with Napoleana, some of which is original — the campaign cot (in which he died) from the battle of Austerlitz, a lock of his hair, his death mask, a copper bathtub, and the billiard table on which he spread his maps and where his autopsy was performed. As I arrived, a guide was ending an erudite expla- nation putting paid to the theory that he was poisoned.

The death of Napoleon hit the island’s economy. The reduction of the garrison and departure of the imperial “court” resulted in the population being halved. It was not the only blow that history dealt. There was the departure of the East India Company, the opening of the Suez Canal, the supplanting of flax — an important island crop — by man-made fibres and the demise of the Union Castle Line, whose ships called regularly. The new airport promises a crucial reversal to years of decline.

In the meantime, the RMS St Helena remains the only way to get there, apart from the occasional cruise ship like mine. If I’d taken the St Helena, the last of the Royal Mail ships, I’d have had seven nights here. And there would have been plenty to do, from walking and birdwatching — the plover-like wirebird is endemic — to golf, diving, whale-watching and deep-sea fishing.

But second to Napoleon among the island’s attractions is undoubtedly the isolation. For collectors of out-of-the-way places, St Helena is a trophy to treasure — and one worth bagging before a mile of tarmac makes a world of difference.

Travel details: the last Royal Mail ship, RMS St Helena, is due to retire in 2010. Until then, her monthly voyage to St Helena from Cape Town takes nine days (mid-priced two-berth cabins from £1,360pp return), and between four and six days from Walvis Bay in Namibia (from £1,020pp return). For sailings and fares, call 020 7575 6480, or visit www.rms-st-helena.com.

Alternatively, seats on regular RAF flights from Brize Norton direct to Ascension are from £950, through Andrew Weir Shipping (020 7575 6480, www.aws.co.uk). RMS St Helena sails between Ascension and St Helena about twice a month; the trip takes two days, with prices starting at £1,024 return, also through Andrew Weir Shipping or RMS St Helena direct.

The five-room Farm Lodge Country House Hotel (00 290 4040, www.sthelenatourism.com) is a 17th-century planter’s house outside Jamestown, with doubles from £70pp per night, full-board; or try the Consulate Hotel (00 290 2962), with doubles from £70, B&B.

Pirates holidaying in the Caribbean

The Sunday Times July 09, 2006

St Vincent and the Grenadines — where better to walk the plank on your own pirate adventure. By Gavin Bell

It was by moonlight on the leeward shore of a dark island that we spied her at last. Beneath the guns of a fort etched against the sky, she was lying at anchor in a quiet cove. She was half-hidden by a stone jetty but there was no mistaking the tattered black sails — nor the skull and crossbones on her mizzen mast. After a week of cruising pirate lairs, we had found the dreaded Black Pearl, curse of the Caribbean.
Our crew were disappointed not to see Captain Jack Sparrow, aka Johnny Depp, but we were a bit early. Filming of the twin sequels to Pirates of the Caribbean was due to start a couple of weeks later. Still, the sight of a full-rigged pirate brigantine lurking beneath a shadowy headland was enough to fire the imagination. A few bloodcurdling screams would have completed the picture perfectly.

Disney could scarcely have chosen a better location for its latest blockbuster. St Vincent and its attendant string of small islands, the Grenadines, are a giant stride back in time, a laid-back backwater nothing like the popular playgrounds of St Lucia and Grenada. They are scant on golden beaches and their airport is only big enough for inter-island aircraft.

What these islands do have, though, is tumultuous green mountains, a volcano swathed in tropical rainforest, lively towns and villages unspoilt by mass tourism, and charming people. The handful of expatriates who live here say it is the way the Caribbean used to be 20 years ago.

The main attraction is the 30-odd isles and cays that extend like a kite’s tail to the southwest, surrounded by 45 miles of coral reefs and translucent water. The Grenadines are classic treasure islands and the best way to explore them, as the yachting fraternity has known for years, is by boat. The good news is you don’t have to own one, or even know a bilge pump from a bowsprit.

Most people who charter yachts on St Vincent have a good idea how to sail them, and pootle off happily into the blue yonder with piles of charts and a week’s supply of rum. For those with only vague notions of port and starboard, there are people like Brinsley. An erstwhile merchant seaman, Brinsley has come home to work as a freelance skipper for Sunsail, guiding clients around his native waters. For nautical novices, this is the way to enjoy the thrills of yachting without fear of shipwreck.

My crew of chums were competent sailors, but having Brinsley aboard was our passage to the best anchorages and the tales that go with them. Thus it was with light hearts and silly shouts of “Look lively there, me hearties” that we set sail on the sleek 43ft yacht Redwood, bound for a week of adventure.

The point of sailing is not to get anywhere, it’s to have fun on the way. There are no traffic lights at sea, no roadworks; the only limit to where you go is your imagination. The easiest course is to go with the wind, and it carried us first to Bequia, the island of seafarers. For as long as anyone can remember, the men of Bequia have been putting to sea to earn a living, notably by catching fish 10 times bigger than their tough little wooden sailing boats.

It was a Scotsman named William Wallace who set up the first shore-based whaling station on Bequia in 1875, and the locals have been chasing the seasonal migration of humpbacks ever since. The International Whaling Commission allows them to harpoon four whales a year, because it is considered a cultural tradition. Usually they are happy to get two. They could catch more with motorboats and harpoon guns, but they stick to oars and sails and handheld harpoons because that’s the way they’ve always done it.

We anchored in Admiralty Bay, off the main settlement of Port Elizabeth, and dined barefoot in the sand at a bar by the shore. The night was full of stars and anchor lights on swaying masts, and in the bay a schooner shimmered in the moonlight like a ghost ship. Later, my berth was a cradle, rocking me gently to sleep.

I am not an early riser. Mornings are generally meaningless interludes before lunch, but a Caribbean dawn viewed from the deck of a yacht is another matter. So I stepped off the stern and swam to the anchor chain, and hung there for a while in the soft, warm water, watching mist rising from a rumpled green quilt of hills and reflecting that there was nowhere I’d rather be.



BEQUIA HAS acquired a fledgling community of expats who dropped their anchors in Admiralty Bay and didn’t pick them up again. An Englishwoman who helps to run the local yacht club confided: “People who call here are enchanted by what they see of life on a small island and go off looking for others like it; but there aren’t any. There is only one Bequia.” In the spirit of journalistic investigation, we went hunting anyway, and found an island that thinks it’s a glossy magazine. Mustique is only three miles long, and half that across its widest point, but it has more blinging celebrity hideaways per acre than anywhere south of Monte Carlo.

We hired a pick-up-truck taxi for a guided tour of manicured lawns, lily ponds and luxurious private villas. Tommy Hilfiger’s palatial pile is reserved for him and his pals, but Mick Jagger’s six-bedroom pad next door is available for a mere $16,000 (£8,700) a week.

This is an odd place, where nature has been groomed to conform to a cartoon image of tropical paradise. Life seems to have ebbed from the island, and the theme-park feel is heightened by the most popular transport — golf carts. We didn’t stay long.

Further south lies an island half the size but with twice the appeal for sea rovers. Mayreau used to belong to a family that fled France during the Napoleonic wars, one of whom was lady-in-waiting to the Empress Josephine. Now it is home to a fishing community of about 250 souls, who live in a village with no name that acquired electricity just over a year ago.

They have begun to earn a modest living from yachties, drawn by one of the prettiest anchorages in the Caribbean. Salt Whistle Bay, framed by forested hills and a strip of palm-fringed sand, is the stuff that Bounty ads are made of. A path winds up through the woods to the village on the hillside, past a cemetery with tombstones carved with images of sailing boats. When I stopped by a grave to admire the sea views, the sound of children singing Morning Has Broken drifted from a school on top of the hill.

Opposite the school stands a Catholic church of rough-hewn stone and wood, where sunlight streams through brightly painted panes onto an altar adorned with a conch shell. The present custodian here is Father Mark da Silva, a fifth- generation immigrant from Madeira, who attends to his daily routine in ragged shorts and sandals. Life is a bit of a struggle for his people, but he’d rather be here than in the millionaires’ Disneyland a few miles north. “Mustique is what we call cold,” he says.

If Father da Silva’s little church is good for the soul, the Island Paradise restaurant down the road caters admirably for the body, with local specialities such as callaloo soup and conch stew served with panoramic views of the outlying islands. And before casting off, it’s a good idea to stock up in the shed-sized “supermarket” next door — especially if your next port of call is the Tobago Cays, the crown jewels of the Grenadines.

These are your quintessential desert islands: white sand in a lagoon of turquoise water, ideal for snorkelling and marooning movie-star pirates. It was here, on Petit Tabac, that Johnny Depp was banished with Keira Knightley, lucky chap. In the absence of Ms Knightley, I have to say the outcrop of sand and palms has little to commend it for a long stay.
A long beat to windward brought us back to St Vincent, and a last night of carousing in a tavern in Fort Royal. Actually, it was a restaurant in a picturesque bay called Wallilabou, but film buffs would recognise it as the principal set from Pirates of the Caribbean.

There we sat among cannonballs and barrels of molasses, and toasted the end of our voyage with rum punches beneath a headland called Indian Gallows. After the fourth glass, I could have sworn I spied a familiar shape heading for the Tobago Cays, flying the skull and crossbones of Jack Sparrow. Cross me black heart, lads.

Gavin Bell travelled as a guest of Sunsail

Travel brief

Sunsail (0870 770 4839, www.sunsail.co.uk) has a week on a Sun Odyssey 43 DS yacht, which sleeps eight, for £1,089pp, based on four sharing (£869pp if eight sharing), for departures until August 31. Departures from November to December 21 cost £999pp, based on four sharing (£759pp if eight sharing). Prices include charter flights from Gatwick to Antigua and connection to St Vincent, transfers and first tank of yacht fuel. If needed, a skipper is £80 per day extra. Alternative sailing operators include The Moorings (01227 776677, www.moorings.com) and Nautilus Yachting (01732 867445, www.nautilus-yachting.co.uk).

The new kid in paradise

Mustique, St Barts... Canouan?
The Sunday Times May 07, 2006
By Mark Hodson

Mark Hodson visits a £200m effort to create an A-list Caribbean hang-out from scratch

The sprawling Raffles Canouan resort includes two beaches and a giant casino

It’s amazing what a man can achieve with £200m, a Caribbean island and a grudge. Just ask Antonio Saladino.Because if this Swiss-Italian banker gets his way, his little-known outpost, Canouan, will soon achieve a personal dream — of blowing the millionaire’s hideout of Mustique clean out of the water.

Mustique purports to be the money pit of the Caribbean, with Mick Jagger and David Bowie among its high-profile homeowners, but Saladino has spent shedloads of cash turning one of its nearest neighbours into what he believes will soon be the world’s most prestigious island. On it, he’s built a swanky hotel run by the Singapore-based Raffles group, an 18-hole championship golf course, an airstrip large enough to accommodate private jets, a Balinese-style spa and a casino fronted by the king of bling himself, the man they call Mr Understatement, Donald Trump.

Saladino, a thoughtful man in his seventies who dresses in elegant pastel shades, admits there is a bit of history between himself and the old-school-tie committee members who run Mustique. “I was staying on Mustique, at a friend’s villa, a few years ago,” he explains. “It was beautiful. I thought I would build a house. All my life I have been a trader, and I have never actually created anything, something to pass on to my grandchildren. This was my chance.”

Saladino bought a plot of land on Mustique, but his building plans were rejected by the committee. Most people would have altered their plans — but Saladino decided that if he couldn’t build what he wanted on their island, he’d buy one of his own to play with.

He chartered a light aircraft for a scouting expedition, spotted Canouan and fell in love. After protracted negotiations with the government of St Vincent and the Grenadines, he bought two-thirds of it — 1,200 acres — for £2m. “A very low price,” he admits, looking sheepish.

By this time, Saladino’s plans had become more ambitious. He would construct a luxury hotel, as extravagant and beautiful as anything in the Caribbean. The project was a huge one. Canouan had no electricity, no running water and no roads. Although most of the island was uninhabited, there was a village on the leeward side where 200 people lived, most of them women and children. The bulk of the men had emigrated in search of work.

Even before he started building the hotel, Saladino spent £60m on infrastructure. Once he had finished it, and brought in Jim Fazio to design the golf course, he had cleared his accounts of almost £200m. Is he satisfied?

“I think we’re now among the top 10 hotels in the Caribbean,” he says, sipping water in the clubhouse above the 18th green. “Canouan has a lot to offer that Mustique doesn’t. They don’t have a golf course or a proper spa, and their airstrip is too short for jets to land.”

I point out that, in its favour, Mustique does have some stylish colonial-style villas designed by Oliver Messel. Saladino is unfazed by this. He is busy building his own villas, some with £2m-plus price tags. The villas — the first of which was completed last month — are being marketed by the Trump Corporation. Trump himself has declared: “Nothing compares to the spectacular setting of Canouan Island. It’s the natural choice for prominent individuals who have the means to buy a second or third home. It was a natural choice for me, too.”

So, is this a case of new money versus old, the bankers taking on the blue-bloods? No, says Saladino: “There is quite a high turnover of villa ownership on Mustique. The type of people who own houses there now is changing. It’s not all aristocrats and rock stars any more.”

Saladino also has criticisms of the hotel he regards as his main rival, Sandy Lane, on Barbados. “It’s beautiful, but, in my opinion, it feels too crowded,” he says.

To justify Saladino’s confidence, Canouan needs to be something special. It is. Crescent- shaped beaches, lapped by clear, turquoise seas; a world-class spa, with private cabanas looking down on to a deserted beach; and the golf course — an architectural masterpiece — carved into steep, verdant hillsides. It’s not cheap. Rooms start at £260 per night, a round of golf costs £100, and a main course at one of the hotel’s four restaurants between £17 and £40. If you want the hotel’s own private jet for transfers to and from Barbados, you’ll pay another £2,000.

What you get for your money is space. The resort is so big and spread out that you sometimes wonder where all the other guests are hiding. But there’s a downside to this: the distances are too great to walk. Each room has its own petrol-driven golf cart, so guests can putter around between the restaurants, the hotel’s two beaches, the spa and the gym; but it’s quite a performance. Just to go to breakfast, or take a dip in the pool, you need to drive, then hand over your cart to one of a team of uniformed valet-parkers.

The service is unusually attentive. In the Caribbean, you expect to see bellhops and barmen lolling around, laughing and generally looking as though they’ve got better things to do. But at Raffles, the staff all snap to attention and address you by your surname — impressive, if mildly irritating.

Meticulous attention has also been paid to the food. Some of it is inspired, particularly the dishes created by the newly recruited chef de cuisine, Eoghain O’Neill, who is half Irish and half Trinidadian, and trained under Gordon Ramsay.

The rooms are enormous and very private, all with breathtaking views of sweeping Carenage Bay. Only the decor disappoints. The furniture looks cheap, and the walls are painted sky blue and EasyJet orange. At a guess, I’d say the theme is supposed to be Mexican.

Saladino told me it was a conscious decision to keep the rooms simple. “Our guests don’t need luxurious furnishings,” he said, without any great conviction. Already there are rumours of a makeover.

From Canouan, it’s only a short trip by catamaran or motor cruiser to the Tobago Cays, a collection of tiny uninhabited islands encircled by pristine reefs. The snorkelling is outstanding, and if you ask your skipper nicely, he’ll take you to a spot where you will be able to swim with 2ft-long turtles. My skipper, Angus, was a lot more chatty and relaxed than the staff at Raffles. He grew up on Canouan, but rarely saw his father, a merchant seaman. Now 35, Angus has a well-paid job and a home where he can bring up a family. “The hotel has been good for the economy,” he said. “A lot of islanders are coming back home. My sister works as a nanny in New York, but she’s coming back to build a house. It’s a beautiful island: no crime, no drugs.”

Guests who make the trek across to the village will find it quiet and unassuming, with brightly painted houses, white picket fences and walls decorated with conch shells. It has a small jetty, a few shops, a new police station and a health centre paid for by Saladino.

On the edge of the village is the Tamarind Beach Hotel & Yacht Club. Also owned by Saladino, it’s a much more modest affair than Raffles, with 42 colonial-style rooms just a few steps from the beach. The hotel is managed by another Italian, Fulvia Clapier, who ensures the pizzas are as good as mamma used to make. Its bar, Pirates Cove, serves as a social hub for the island’s expats, and every Wednesday night there is a happy hour with a DJ, two-for-one drinks and free snacks.

I liked Raffles — who wouldn’t? — but it was only at Pirates Cove, with a Hairoun beer in one hand and a spicy chicken wing in the other, reggae on the sound system and the smell of the sea on the evening breeze, that I truly felt I’d arrived in the Caribbean.

Mark Hodson travelled as a guest of ITC Classics

Travel brief

A WEEK’S B&B at Raffles starts at £2,214pp in winter (£1,953 in summer) with ITC Classics (01244 355527, www.itcclassics.co.uk), including flights from Gatwick to Barbados and air transfers to Canouan. The same deal at the Tamarind Beach Hotel costs £1,207/£1,180.

WHERE ELSE TO STAY

When Tony Blair took his family sailing in the Grenadines last August, he spent two days at Petit St Vincent, commandeering the island’s only tennis court. This is a true hideaway: rugged and remote, with 22 stone-built cottages, some on the beach, some built up on the hillsides. Each has a pair of flags outside: hoist the yellow one for service, the red for privacy. Staff deliver drinks and food from 1960s Mini Mokes. A week’s full-board starts at £2,182pp in winter (£1,864 in summer) with Caribbean Expressions (020 7433 2610, www.expressionsholidays.co.uk).

Mustique has its own boutique bolt hole, the Messel-designed Cotton House, with 20 rooms, a tranquil atmosphere and the occasional A-list celebrity guest. Abercrombie & Kent (0845 070 0614, www.abercrombiekent.co.uk) has a week’s B&B from £2,499pp in winter (£1,949 in summer).

Palm Island offers a simple winning formula: breeze-cooled rustic cottages clustered around an idyllic white-sand beach. With friendly staff, a sociable crowd of loyal repeat guests and little to do but lounge around and go sailing or snorkelling, this is a real taste of tropical paradise. The all-inclusive meal plan is good, though you are better off choosing local produce such as fish and lobster than imported meats. A week, all-inclusive, costs £2,298pp in winter (£1,983 in summer) with Caribtours (020 7751 0660, www.caribtours.co.uk).

Courtesy Mark Hodson

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Gay & Lesbian Island Kingdom Declared

Australia's gay marriage ban has inspired the formation of a Gay Kingdom on Cato Island off of Queensland in the Coral Sea.

A tongue-in-cheek declaration proclaims Gloria Gaynor's "I Am What I Am" the national anthem.

Dale Anderson, self-appointed "Emperor" told the Sydney Star Observer, “We’re very serious about it. The government’s obviously not going to recognise it but if we can force them to do something about it, then they can’t ignore it.”

Anderson doesn't expect many visitors, however: “It’s a bit hard to get there because there’s no harbour and you have to park the boat off the reef and wait for a wave.”

Australia's macho, chest-pounding culture has a well deserved reputation for being anti gay. The country lags well behind countries like Canada and South Africa in legislation that acknowledges the rights of same sex couples.

Well, a gay state has been created off the coast of Australia in the Coral Sea Islands. It is called the Gay & Lesbian Kingdom.

In June 2004, the Kingdom declared its independence from Australia and is currently the smallest Kingdom in the world.

The Kingdom has declared itself neutral, but it does however have a small army of gay activists located around the world it can call on in times of emergency. The national anthem is a Gloria Gaynor song and the entire population is gay.

Tourism, fishing and the sale of Gay & Lesbian Postage Stamps are the only economic activity.

www.gayandlesbiankingdom.com

Sunday, December 31, 2006

Wish you were here

Turi Condon
The Australian Newspaper
December 27, 2006

Actor-director Mel Gibson has one, and so does pop star Shakira. But you need more than a few million to buy a private island and escape to your own piece of paradise,

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TWELVE years ago Arn Barnes bought an island off the central Queensland coast to get away from it all. But it wasn't quite as idyllic as it sounded.

The previous owner turned out to be bankrupt and the title was in dispute, so Barnes spent the next five years in legal wranglings through the Queensland Supreme Court before taking possession of his slice of white sand and azure sea. The moral: one way or another, you pay for paradise.

The price of private islands is as varied as their buyers, who range from movie stars to con men and those, like Barnes, who just want isolation. You can pay as little as $US50,000 ($64,000) for a 1ha atoll in The Philippines, which island broker Cheyenne Morrison says he sold while standing outside the church on his wedding day in 2004, to Mel Gibson's $US15 million outlay for Mago Island in Fiji and up to $US75 million for what is the most expensive island on the market, Fiji's Vatu Vara. And that's before the sorts of problems that beset Barnes.

Forbes magazine's website carries a list of the most expensive islands for sale in 2006.

Topping the list was Isla de sa Ferradura off the northern coast of Ibiza, Spain, at $US39.7million. Its 5.6ha in the bay of San Miguel has a luxurious white hacienda with a home theatre and revolving terrace overlooking a swimming pool with its own waterfall and bar. There's also a cave complex housing a whirlpool, solarium and steam bath.

Second place was a tie between the undeveloped Cerralvo Island off the coast of Baja, Mexico, and a deserted resort, Pakatoa Island in New Zealand. Both have a price tag of $US35 million.

In October, pop star Shakira and Pink Floyd's Roger Waters headed a group of investors who paid $US16 million for the 283ha Bonds Cay in the Bahamas.

Finding an island to buy isn't hard. Property website realestate.com.au has two Australian islands listed. The one off Queensland has drawn nearly 5000 hits and the other, off Tasmania, nearly 2000.

There are even specialist island brokers. The US-based Coldwell Banker and German-Canadian. Coldwell Banker, which has top-end property franchisees in Australia, also has islands for sale on its portal.

But while listings of multimillion-dollar islands abound, closing a deal is a bit harder.

Port Douglas-based Morrison, from Coldwell Banker, says he has 180 islands worth $US700 million listed but so far his most expensive sale has been $3 million. He has Vatu Vara on his books but he acknowledges December's coup may pose a stumbling block.

The 43-year-old Morrison says if he were to sell Vatu Vara, he could retire. "All I've got to do is sell one island a year and I'm doing fine." But there can be a downside to being an island broker: "I was in the Bali bombing, the last one," he says.

Telling real buyers from voyeurs and crooks is also a problem. "No matter how rich they are, there are still tyre kickers," he says. "I have a whole file on con men. I've had Russian mafia and Italian mafia; $35 million prices attract con men." For any island above $US1million, Coldwell Banker requires potential buyers to prove their financial bona fides.

Mel Gibson, Julia Roberts, Nicolas Cage and Johnny Depp reportedly own islands but most celebrities aren't interested in Australia, which has a coastline dotted with comparative bargains. "For US celebrities, it's an 18-hour flight to get here," Morrison says. "They look in the Caribbean and the Bahamas." He cites rumours that Russell Crowe has run an eye over Pakatoa Island in New Zealand, however.

Closer to home, some of Australia's smart money recognised the potential for island residential and resort redevelopment a few years ago. The Oatley family, which sold its Rosemount Estate to Southcorp six years ago for $1.5 billion, bought Whitsundays' Hamilton Island for almost $200 million in 2004. Sydney developer Terry Agnew owns Great Keppel, Brisbane developer Kevin Seymour teamed up with Daydream Island owner Vaughan Bullivant, and former ironman turned property developer Grant Kenny has taken a stake in the Lady Elliot resort.

But sealing the deal is just the beginning. Island development and living costs are at least 30 per cent higher than on the mainland because of the expense of transporting materials, goods and labour. You also have to generate electricity, treat your own sewage and, for some, desalinate drinking water.

Former journalist turned property developer Chris Mattingley is selling Bamborough Island off the central Queensland coast. Despite its beauty, and the cachet of owning an island, it is costly and Mattingley has other developments where he wants to use the capital. The island is leasehold grazing land and Mattingley says annual lease payments are $12,000. "Then you have to insure it, supply your own power and there isn't a hardware store on the corner when you need a box of nails," he says.

Would he do it again? "Maybe, at another stage of my life. It certainly hasn't been a negative experience, it's just having the time to enjoy it."

If you can't afford to buy, you can always rent. Double Island off Cairns was bought by OzEmail internet tycoon Sean Howard for $4.5 million in 2000 and can be hired lock stock and barrel. Ten guests staying three nights costs $35,700. There's a group discount: 40 guests for seven nights costs $157,500.

For Barnes, who has a $4.5 million price tag on Long Island, which is about halfway between Rockhampton and Mackay, it's past the high tide mark. The island was a family holiday spot for years but Barnes doesn't use it much these days. "I'm 73 now and I've had too many birthdays along the way," he says.

There's a Singapore-based Australian expat negotiating to buy his 4800ha island. Barnes says the prospective buyer, like everyone else, is looking for a place to get away from it all.

Vatu Vara
Price: $US75 million.
Location: In Fiji's Lau group, close to Tonga.
Attractions: Limestone cliffs covered in dense jungle, white sand beaches and a flat summit, sheltered lagoons. Marketing blurb says a cross between Bora Bora and the Lost World of Arthur Conan Doyle. Mel Gibson owns the neighbouring Mago island.
History: Reputedly there's buried treasure. The island was once owned by Joe Thompson, an American seaman with a seemingly endless supply of gold coins. Thompson was insane at his death and the secret of his treasure, if it ever existed, died with him.
Inclusions: Undeveloped.
Title: Freehold.
Negatives: Mel Gibson and the coup in Fiji.

Bamborough Island
In the Duke Group, named after British royalty. Bamborough Castle, Northumberland, was founded by Ida, king of the Angles, in the 6th century.
Price: About $2 million.
Location: In the Coral Sea off the central Queensland coast.
Attractions: Whales and turtles, rocky headlands, nine sandy beaches and secluded coves. History: Was once part of a single pastoral holding with nearby Marble Island. Marble has been used as a hunting resort, mostly by Americans pursuing the island's deer.
Inclusions: Airstrip, dam and 11 rainwater tanks. The four-bedroom home is furnished and has a mainland phone line. There's also a caretaker's or guest's residence.
Title: Residential leasehold expiring in 2021.
Negatives: Americans with guns nearby.

Vansittart Island
Price: $2.9 million
Location: In the Furneaux Group, eastern Bass Strait, Tasmania.
Attractions: A rugged coastline interspersed with long sandy beaches. Fairy penguins, sea eagles and mutton-birds can be seen.
History: First settled by sealers in the 1800s. In 1912 the windjammer Farsund was wrecked 200m off the southeast coast.
Inclusions: The 607ha island was mostly used for grazing and includes an old house.
Title: Freehold, leasehold and crown land.
Negatives: Snakes, mostly harmless.

Keswick Island
Price: $44 million, negotiable.
Location: Whitsunday Islands.
Attractions: 513ha, mostly national park, and white sandy coves. Approval for a five-star hotel, marinas and 800 homes.
History: Has had a few owners.
Inclusions: 131ha of partly developed land along 4.5km of ocean front. An airstrip.
Title: Leasehold with 90 years to run.
Negatives: Could eventually house 3000 people at any one time.

When the Taxi Arrives by Water

By NICK RAVO The New York Times July 4, 1993

FOG hovered over Long Island Sound as the tiny ferry putt-putted past Potato Island. The old Victorian homes on the neighboring islands -- Wheeler, Governor, Rogers, Money -- were shrouded by the ghostly gray mist. The nearby shoreline and the Stony Creek dock were all but invisible.

It's the fog, blinding banks that roll in regularly, that poses one of the biggest challenges to living in the Thimbles, a rocky archipelago of 23 inhabited islands scattered off Branford, Conn., just east of New Haven, 85 miles from New York City. Residents of the 95 homes in the Thimbles say that should it become foggy past sunset while you're visiting someone else's island, the safest move is not to move; consider yourself an overnight guest.

Apart from the fog, though, there is little difference between mainland life and living in comparable quarters on a single-family Thimble Island, like one-acre Potato Island, or 0.75-acre Wheeler Island. (Or a larger, subdivided island like the 10-acre Governor Island, which has 17 homes on its 10 acres and is semi-famous as the summer residence of Garry Trudeau, the cartoonist, and Jane Pauley, the television journalist.)

Little difference, that is, except for the cisterns; many of the homes here were built around the turn of the century and do not have running water. Residents collect rain in tanks and use old-fashioned pitcher pumps for cooking and bathing. Then there are the kerosene lamps and propane generators; electricity exists only on a few islands. There's also the isolation; telephone service is available (and costs twice as much) on most of the islands, but there is no cable television, no mail delivery, and a trip into Stony Creek for provisions takes about 5 to 10 minutes on a ferry that costs $2. (A trash boat does come by once a week; it even picks up recyclables.)

"It's a way of life we love, but I know it probably sounds terrible," said Nancy Wain of Brookfield Center, Conn., who is 85 years old, and summers on the 29-home Money Island in a two-story, six-room white clapboard cottage with green-trimmed Cape Cod windows that she bought in 1947 for $50,000 and is now worth, she guessed, about $350,000.

Private islands in the New York metropolitan region are the most rarefied of residential properties. "Most of what we have on the East Coast is in Maine or in the Florida Keys," said Michael Bastian, a spokesman for Sotheby's International Realty in Manhattan, which often sells such property.

Moreover, island real estate in the metropolitan region is generally confined to large, popular, publicly accessible places, like Fire Island, the barrier island south of Long Island, and Fishers Island, N.Y., off Stonington, Conn. Or municipally owned islands, like Little Captain's and Great Captain's Islands, off Greenwich, Conn., or Oak Island and Captree Island in the Great South Bay off Long Island. But private islands do exist in the New York area, though they seldom become available on the real estate market, often staying in the hands of the same family for generation after generation.

APART from the Thimbles -- named for thimbleberries, not for their tiny size -- there are the Norwalk Islands, off Norwalk, Conn., where nine homes are situated on five islands; Clam and Green Islands, two dots off Branford that are not part of the Thimbles; another Clam Island, off the North Fork of Long Island; Arshamomaque Island, an 18-acre heavily wooded island that sits in the middle of a creek at Southold, L.I., and three-acre North Dumpling Island, between Fishers Island and Noank, Conn.

There are also private island homes in inland lakes in upstate New York and New Jersey, like the unnamed 0.75-acre island in Lake Lenape, near Andover, N.J., and Little Sisters Island and Raccoon Island in Lake Hopatcong in Passaic, N.J.

The gazetteer, though, pretty much ends there, save for a few privately owned islands that are essentially undeveloped, for now, at least. They include 12-acre Dodge Island, off Stonington; the 78-acre Davids Island off New Rochelle, N.Y. once the Army's school for chaplains, for which a number of proposals for extensive development, including high-rise apartment buildings, have been prepared, so far without success; the 450-acre Robins Island in Long Island's Peconic Bay and, a few miles north of East Hampton, L.I., in Gardiners Bay, the 3,300-acre Gardiners Island, the nation's largest privately owned island and the scene of one of the longest-running family feuds. (The descendants of Lion Gardiner, a soldier of King Charles who was rewarded with the island in 1639, have been warring over ownership since the early 50's.)

"Living on an island is an adventure -- when you get off the boat, you forget about everything," said Joe Piscitelli, a real estate broker with Coldwell Banker Schlott in Milford, Conn., who six months ago sold the crown jewel of the Thimbles, 12-acre Rogers Island (and its pink 23-room Tudor-style mansion, six-hole golf course and tennis courts) for $2.65 million to Richard and Harriet DeMato, a Manhattan couple who work in textile manufacturing.

"It's simple and romantic," he added. "People who come out here, they want to get out of New York and leave everything behind."

Despite their rarity, private island homes in the New York area often cost considerably less than prospective buyers might imagine, often less than $400,000.

Indeed, because of the inconveniences, high maintenance expenses and the need for a boat and dockage, they usually cost less than comparable properties with a prime waterfront location.

"I got one on the market right now for $200,000," said Shirley Byington, a broker with Coldwell Banker Schlott in Norwalk.

Ms. Byington was referring to two-and-a-half-acre Calf Pasture Island, one of 16 islands in the Norwalk Islands chain, the most notable of which is Tavern Island, which was once owned by the showman Billy Rose. (Lillian Hellman wrote the Broadway play "The Little Foxes," while staying on Tavern.)

Calf Pasture Island, about a mile off Norwalk, has an A-frame home, two smaller dwellings and a boathouse. There is no dock. Extras include clam and mussel beds. The asking price is so low, Ms. Byington said, because it is an estate sale, and the home suffered a little damage from last winter's storms. "Lots of people are intrigued," she said. "When I advertise it, it's like, my God, my phone doesn't stop. Then it dies out.

"I must have 10 calls about it, but no one has written a check," she added. "You could even get 10 people to put up $20,000 each and buy it."

There are other bargains available. Wheeler Island in the Thimbles is being offered for $525,000 and probably can be had for as little as $395,000, according to Mr. Piscitelli.

Wheeler Island has a 130-year old Victorian cottage, with eight bedrooms on three floors and a wraparound porch. There are also two docks, a stone pier, deep water mooring and ample accommodation for winter boat storage. The island is being sold by the Cobb family, which has owned it for six generations, because it cannot afford the upkeep and repairs.

"It really needs to be overhauled," said Mary Cobb, whose great-grandfather bought the island in 1883.

SHOWERING consists of heating up pots of water and pouring them over your head. "I live in Branford, so I take a shower before I come out," Ms. Cobb said.

A short cruise away is another Thimble Island for sale: Potato Island. The home here, a 10-room, seven-bedroom Gambrel Colonial, is much less rustic. The 1.1-acre island, which is being offered for $995,000, is as flat and manicured as a greensward.

"These are second homes for a lot of these people," Mr. Piscitelli said. "The owners tend to have either inherited the property or they are people who have a real sense of adventure."

Islanders are a special breed. Joel Helander, for example, is the author of a history about Falkners Island, a wildlife refuge off Guilford, Conn., and he wanted his own island so badly that for $5,000 he bought Goose Island, an eighth-of-an acre (at high water) crop of rocks that curves around like a goose's neck and, until it was denuded by the Hurricane of 1938, had a small home on it.

Today, the only structure on Goose Island is an American flag on a 21-foot cedar pole that Mr. Helander planted in cement.

"My first reason for buying Goose Island was preservation and conservation of the seal population in winter, the gray seals and harbor seals, which are becoming more and more indigenous to Long Island Sound, and the double-crested cormorants, which had not been seen in Connecticut prior to 1982," he said. "This year, there are about 150 nests there."

Occasionally, empty islands, like Dodge Island, in Fishers Island Sound, a half-mile off Stonington, come onto the market. The island, a private wildlife sanctuary, is being offered for $1.275 million and includes a newly dug well for fresh water and parking on a deeded mainland base.

Building on a private island, though, can challenge architects and builders not only with logistical and technical difficulties but also with a battery of bureaucratic paperwork and permits.

In 1987, Robert Wortmann of Upper Saddle River, N.J., bought Green Island, 1,000 feet off the Indian Neck section of Branford, for $340,000. Because the home on the island was too small for his family, he then spent $650,000, including $8,000 on a helicopter to fly in and help mount construction materials, to erect a 4,000-square-foot contemporary-style home with a 25-foot-high windowed wall facing Long Island Sound.

By the time the home was completed last summer, approvals had been granted by no less than 11 agencies ranging from the Army Corps of Engineers and the Environmental Protection Agency to the Coastal Area Management and Shellfish Commission and the Branford Building and Engineering Department.

THE biggest complication, according to the home's architect, Duo Dickinson of Madison, Conn., was hooking up a waste line with the town's sewage system. Most island homes have septic tanks. "We had to go through clamming beds to do that, and, in fact, and even though it sounds heinously anti-environmental, in truth it was the best thing we could have done for the environment," he said, adding that a septic system on the island would have leached partly treated sewage into the Sound.

Other problems abound for people interested in buying private island real estate. Storms are a threat, as they are for waterfront property. And vandals often plague island properties in the off season, when police boats stop making their rounds.

Further, bankers will seldom make a mortgage on such properties; insurance can be difficult to obtain, and in all but the rarest instances the homes can only be used in summer -- not only because of the lack of heat, insulation and fresh water but also because of the arduousness of commuting by boat in winter. In the Thimble Islands, for example, the ferry service operates only from April to November, and Stony Creek residents still recall 1978, when the Sound froze so hard that it was possible to walk out to some of the islands.

Even so, some homeowners in the Thimbles are adding electricity and winterizing, or they are seriously considering it. "It won't be long," Mr. Piscitelli said, "before you start seeing a year-round community out here."

The Magic of An Island Home

By ANDREE BROOKS
The New York Times
June 20, 1982

Buying your own private vacation island within an hour or two's drive from Manhattan isn't a wildly improbable fantasy. Owning an island retreat has become a reality for a considerable number of families.

Private islands are available off the Connecticut and Long Island coast and in the center of inland lakes in New Jersey and upper New York State, many of them costing under $500,000.

Nor is it necessary to rough it like Ben Gun or Robinson Crusoe. In some way all islanders have brought most 20th century conveniences such as running water, plumbing, heating, electricity and telephone service to their island paradise. There is even twice-weekly municipal garbage pickup by boat and regular ferry service for the 95 families that summer on the 35 inhabitable Thimble Islands off the Connecticut coast near New Haven.

The magic of the storybook setting is the main attraction, say those who have purchased and lived on an island. ''Being out at sea away from the mainland seems to magnify everything - the changing of the seasons, the drama of the weather, the wildlife and even the colors,'' said Sandy Falconer. For the past eight years Mrs. Falconer has lived year-round on the three-acre Tavern Island, one of the 16 Norwalk Islands, with her husband, Bruce and their three children, commuting daily to land by boat.

Howard L. Ballen, an attorney in Passaic, N.J., who has spent the past seven summers with his family on his private three-acre island home in the middle of Lake Hopatcong in New Jersey, was initially enticed, he said, ''by the opportunity for absolute privacy. Nobody could get to you. There were no cars, just the gentle sound of water rippling all around.'' Mr. Ballen also commutes each day to his office by first taking a boat to the mainland where he has parked his car.

Many famous people have been particularly attracted by this chance for what they perceive as perfect solitude. Frank Converse, the TV actor who purchased a two-acre Thimble Island with an 80-year-old home back in 1975 for $68,000, recalls his being attracted by the enchantment of waking up to the sound of breakers and seabirds instead of passing traffic.

Other Thimble celebrities include Gary Trudeau, the cartoonist, and Muriel Resnick, the playwright. Billy Rose, the showman, used to own Tavern Island. And Lillian Hellman wrote the Broadway success ''The Little Foxes,'' while staying on Tavern.

And now, with plans to develop the 88 Davids Islands off New Rochelle as condominums and Robin's Island, a 450-acre former hunting preserve off the tip of Long Island as a 28-lot subdivision, more people may be able to live on islands although perhaps with less of that thrilling sense of absorption with the elements that comes from solo ownership.

Island properties are, in fact, less expensive than most prime waterfront because they appeal to only a select and adventurous few willing to put up with what most people consider as inconveniences. ''Everybody immediately falls in love with the idea of the wild pheasants and the ambience,'' observed Joan Madden, president of Estates International Corporation of New Canaan. ''Then they start thinking about problems such as bringing fuel out in an inflatable tank or taking their own garbage back to shore. Islands are very special but they're not for everyone.'' Mrs. Madden is organizing a buyers' cruise on June 26 that will tour three islands for sale off the Connecticut coast at Norwalk. Prices start at $295,000 for a twoacre island that includes three houses.

Other deterrents that tend to soften the market include the constant pounding from salt spray and strong winds that are merciless on a maintenance budget. The need, of course, to own and operate at least one boat and maintain a dock and parking facilities on shore.

Access can be difficult during storms or in winter time. ''The first thing we did in the morning when we got up was to turn on the weather forecast,'' recalls Mrs. Falconer who sold her island last year for $950,000 to a New York investment counselor because her children had grown to an age where they needed greater mobility and Mrs. Falconer herself wanted more freedom to pursue other interests.

And you can't suddenly run out for a pack of cigarettes. Nor can you quickly summon fire, police and ambulance service in the event of an emergency, although Coast Guard or local marine police boats are usually only a radio call away. And some services like mail delivery may never be available, the postman's appointed rounds apparently exclude taking a boat to his destination. A post office box is therefore usually the alternative.

Moreover, banks are most selective about granting a mortgage. Leonard Druger, vice-president for credit policy at Citibank, suggests that if an island does not already have at least one house on it it would be considered a ''land acquisition.'' A loan would then only be made if the individual had other assets to pledge as collateral. ''We also have to consider that islands are not always readily marketable,'' he added.

There are also insurance considerations. Philip J. Ofrias, an attorney who owns Arshamomaque Island, an 18-acre heavily wooded island that sits in the middle of a creek at Southold, L.I., recalls that his bank would only give him a mortgage after he had assured them that he had been granted flood insurance.

Thus, though today's buyer is unlikely to follow in the bargain footsteps of Peter Minuit who in 1626 purchased Manhattan Island for only ''beads, cloth and trinkets'' the perceived drawbacks have tended to moderate prices and assure that a steady although limited selection always remains on the market.

For example, it has been more than a year now since Mr. Ballen in has been trying to sell his $198,000 vacation island retreat in New Jersey. The property includes a turn-of-the-century, five-bedroom stone house and a three-bedroom guest cottage. Although the island has all modern conveniences such as city water, electric heat and telephone, there have so far been no takers.

Previews, the luxury property dealers with offices in Manhattan and Greenwich, Conn., has a year-old listing for a $295,000 island property also in New Jersey. It is a three-bedroom house on a three quarter-acre island in Lake Lenape, near Andover, that includes a two-bedroom guest cottage on the mainland.

Clam Island, a 22-acre wilderness off the northern coast of Long Island, zoned for one residential structure, is available at an asking price of $2 million according to Carl Marino of Harbor Cove Realty in Sag Harbor, that is handling the transaction.

Paul Brown, president of ComVu Corp., a New York manufacturer of designer telephones, has been trying for five years to sell Rogers Island, a 12-acre island off New Haven on which stands a majestic 23-room Tudor mansion built in 1905. Frustrated by his lack of success, Mr. Brown is currently drawing up a proposal to try to turn Rogers Island into a cooperative of 14 homes that includes five units in the main house.

Rogers Island is one of the Thimble chain of islands that were originally developed as a summer colony between 1880 and World War II. Much of their charm lies in the fact that many of the gaslamps, wicker furniture, Victorian pine chests, four-poster beds and parlor chairs that made up the furnishings back then are still in use. The reason is that islands, for understandable reasons, tend to be sold fully furnished.

Sheffield Island, off the Connecticut coast at Norwalk, is currently be offered as two separate pieces. You can either buy the four-acre corner that has an old stone lighthouse and two cottages for $440,000; or the rest of the island, about 46 acres of woodland and beach that include the ruins of a haunted mansion, for $800,000. The nearby Calf Pasture Island, a two-acre island with three houses that uses systems for its water supply and right now has no telephone hookup, is priced at $295,000.

And from time to time it is possible to pick up one of the longterm leases available for the municipally-owned summer cottages on either Oak Island or Captree Island in Great South Bay off Long Island. These leases, available for 30 years or more directly through the town of Babylon, cost about $500,000 a year.

There is no simple one-stop source where an interested buyer can go to find out what is currently available. Often even local brokers do not know. Islands rarely show up on multiple listing sheets because they're considered too specialized and time consuming to show. Most community brokers prefer not to bother as the average buyer is unlikely to be seriously interested.

Besides, as the sellers appreciate they have to reach a wider audience they prefer to concentrate instead on display advertising in national, upscale journals, use their own private contacts or specialty agencies. These include Previews and Private Islands Unlimited, an agency in Granada Hills, Calif., that handles private islands worldwide. However, right now they have no listings in the New York area.

But even these agencies are no guarantee of success since island buyers admit they never consciously set out to look for an island. Joseph Keating, a Greenwich restaurant owner who bought Calf Pasture Island last fall for $155,000, recalled that an advertisement for the island in his local paper one Sunday morning happened to catch his eye. Although he wasn't even intending to buy anything at all he immediately fell headlong in love with the whole idea. He took a boat out that very afternoon and had his deposit ready by the next day. He has now put the island back on the market, he said, only because he was told by friends he could probably get twice the price he paid. However, he says he is in no rush to sell.

Similarly, Mr. Ballen heard about Sisters Island which he owns in Lake Hopatcong by chance while visiting a client one evening. As he had been thinking about buying a vacation home he decided to take a look. He also recalls falling headlong in love.

While that initial passion is a potent force in encouraging island sales, reports William Craig, vice president of the New York office of Previews, it can wear off just as easily. ''So you find islands come back on the market quite quickly,'' he observed, suggesting buyers should not be deterred. Even if an island is only just sold it may well be available for sale within a year or two as the inconveniences outweigh imagination.

Brokers admit that it is almost impossible to tell if you're paying a fair price. ''There's no way you can put a true value on an island,'' Mrs. Madden said, ''because prices are based on comparable sales. And there are rarely any comparable islands.''

Nevertheless, there is no question that islands appreciate in value. James W. Fraser, a computer company executive who purchased Clam Island in 1979 for $210,000, after its long-term owner died, sold it late in 1980 for $550,000. Clam Island is now being offered by its current owner, Francesco Galesi, a Long Island property owner, for $2 million.

One Woman Buys Ten Private Islands

Conn. Widow Buys Islands Off L.I. Sound
By JOHN CHRISTOFFERSEN
The Associated PressMonday, December 11, 2006; 2:30 PM

BRANFORD, Conn. -- Some people collect stamps. Christine Svenningsen collects small islands.
The widow, whose private ways and extravagant tastes in real estate have tongues wagging along Connecticut's coast, has spent about $33 million in recent years to buy 10 of the Thimble Islands in Long Island Sound.

The secluded islands, known by the Mattabesec Indians as "the beautiful sea rocks," have attracted legends and luminaries for generations. Circus star Tom Thumb found love on the islands, and treasure hunters have combed them for Captain Kidd's buried riches.
Svenningsen's buying spree has created something of a mystery.

"It's like a movie," said Valerie Wiel, who owns a market on the mainland town of Branford, of which the islands are a part. "Is she going to buy the whole town? The town has been pretty much the same for a long time. To me this points to more change than people would be comfortable with."

Svenningsen, the middle-aged widow of a party goods magnate, bought her latest island last week for $2.7 million and has her eye on another one. She also typically buys the few houses on the islands.

"There's no master plan," Svenningsen said in what she called her first and only interview. "They're like little pieces of art. I get to put my brush to them."

An artist, she is renovating many of the historic homes and paints the furniture with bright fish and other nautical themes. She fills her islands with colorful gardens, including one with lillies.
"You can smell it before you get to the dock with your boat," she said.

Of the hundreds of Thimble Islands, about 25 are considered habitable. They are all within three miles of the coastline and are reachable only by boat. Tour boats have taken sightseers among the islands for generations. The islands were named long ago for thimbleberries, or black raspberries, which once grew wild there.

Houses on the islands have long been used for social gatherings for the rich and famous as well as for summer vacations for families of modest means. President William H. Taft and actor James Earl Jones were among the visitors, while "Doonesbury" cartoonist Garry Trudeau and his wife, newscaster Jane Pauley, own an island home.

Svenningsen's late husband, John, bought a home on the islands in the late 1970s. After he died in 1997, she began to buy up more of the islands.

She bought the house where Tom Thumb courted "Miss Emily." Local legend has it that his boss, P.T. Barnum, ordered Thumb instead to marry "Miss Lavinia," another of his performers. He obeyed, marrying her in 1863.

Tom and Emily's names remain etched in a rock near the house. Svenningsen said she plans to rebuild a bridge that connected the house to another island before it was washed away by a 1938 hurricane.

"She tends to take very good care of the islands," said John Herzan of the New Haven Preservation trust. "It's not pure preservation, but it's high-quality renovation."
Svenningsen shocked the town in 2003 when she paid $23.5 million for the 7.75-acre Rogers Island, with a Tudor-style mansion, tennis court, docks, swimming pool and bath house. It remains the highest price one of the Thimbles has fetched.

She said developers might otherwise buy up the islands and build condominiums.
"It's not the Hamptons and I don't think any one wants it to become the Hamptons," Svenningsen said, referring to the celebrity enclave on New York's Long Island. "I think we all like it the way it is, a little slower pace of life."

Her purchases have come as soaring real estate prices, especially along the waterfront, have caused a dramatic jump in property taxes. That has forced some property owners who lived on the islands and the mainland for generations to sell.

Some worry that the islands are increasingly becoming a playground for the rich. The days when families stayed in small homes with kerosene lamps, no televisions and only rainwater for showers are giving way to trophy homes with lush lawns.

"The Thimble Islands were quaint. I don't think they're quaint any more," said Anthony DaRos, a former Branford selectman who has worked on the homes as a contractor for decades. "They were such a great playground for everybody."

Thimble Islands
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Thimble Islands are an archipelago of small islands in Long Island Sound, in and near the harbor of Stony Creek, Connecticut in the southeast corner of Branford, Connecticut, 41°15′52″N, 72°45′11″W. Known to the Mattabesec Indians as "the beautiful sea rocks", they consist of a jumble of granite rocks, ledges, and outcroppings resulting from glaciation, numbering between 100 and 365 depending on where the line is drawn between an island and a mere rock. The islands serve as a rest stop for migrating seals. Some of the shoreline residences in nearby Pine Orchard, Connecticut have a spectacular view of the Thimbles. Although they are said to be named for the thimbleberry, a relative of the black raspberry, that plant is seldom seen in the area, being more frequent in northern New England. Other species of blackberry and raspberry, however, are sometimes referred to by residents of the area as thimbleberries.

The first European to discover the islands was Adrian Block, in 1614. Legend says that Captain Kidd buried his treasure here, causing intermittent interest among treasure hunters who believe they have unearthed a clue to its location, although more interest is generally paid to Gardiner's Island, 30 miles away.

The islands themselves - long prized by sailors on the Sound as a sheltered deep-water anchorage -- comprise 23 that are inhabited (most of them wooded), numerous barren rocks and hundreds of reefs visible only at low tide.

Horse Island, the largest island at 17 acres (69,000 m²), is owned by Yale University and is maintained as an ecological laboratory by Yale University's Peabody Museum of Natural History. Southern Connecticut State University keeps Outer Island for similar purposes, and Frisbie Island is maintained as a sanctuary for wild birds. Bear Island is home to a granite quarry which exported high quality stone to such constructions as the Lincoln Memorial, Grant's Tomb, and the base of the Statue of Liberty. A much larger quarry just north on the mainland is still working, and supplied the distinctive pink/orange Stony Creek granite for the Brooklyn Bridge and the newest House Office Building in Washington.

The inhabited islands bear a total of 81 houses: 14 islands have only one, one (Governor) has 14, one (Money) has 32, and the rest have between two and six. The houses are built in a variety of styles, ranging from a 27 room Tudor mansion, with tennis and basketball courts and a caretaker's residence on 7.75 acres on Rogers Island, to small summer cottages built on stilts or small clusters of buildings connected by wooden footbridges. Some of the houses cover a small island completely, while Money Island, 12 acres (49,000 m²) in size, bears an entire village of 32 houses, a church and post office buildings, concealed among tall trees. Some of the houses were once occupied year-long, but currently they are only used in the summer. The exposed nature of the houses makes them dangerous during storms; local residents still talk about the hurricane of 1938, which killed seven people. The exclusivity of the houses has made them quite expensive, therefore residents are divided between local families which have owned their home for generations, and more recent residents who tend to be wealthy. The least expensive houses, on Money Island, are appraised at about $600,000. Several are well-known; current and past residents of the Islands range from General Tom Thumb on Cut in Two Island East to Garry Trudeau and Jane Pauley. President William Taft established his "Summer White House" on Davis Island for two years. Residents of the area tend to observe the privacy of island dwellers, obeying the 5-mile-an-hour speed limit for motor craft and never landing without an invitation.
Only six islands get electrical power through underwater cables from the shore; the rest utilize some combination of generators, solar power, batteries, or kerosene and propane. About half the islands get fresh water through underwater pipes from shore; the rest utilize wells or rain water, or have containers of water delivered. No sewers serve the islands, requiring the use of septic tanks for all waste water treatment.

Sailing through the islands can be tricky for those unfamiliar with the area, due to the disorientation caused by the myriad of similar islands (particularly at night), the hidden underwater rocks and ledges, and the complex currents caused by the tides acting on the channels between the rocks.

In the warm season, a small ferry transports people and things between the islands and the Stony Creek harbor on the hour from 8am to 8pm. Prior to the advent of telephones, islanders would hang a red flag on the dock to request a ferry visit. An on-call water taxi has recently been added, and three tour boats take passengers on scenic cruises; kayak tours are also available. Many residents have their own boats, and some occasionally arrive by seaplane.
Some of the Thimble Islands' large enough to have names include Hen Island, Money Island, East Stooping Bush Island, Potato Island, Smith Island, Cut in Two Island (East and West), Governor Island, tiny Phelps Island, High Island, Rogers Island, Wheeler Island aka Ghost Island, Mother in Law Island aka Prudden Island, Pot Island, Horse Island, West Crib Island, East Crib Island, Little Pumpkin Island, Davis Island, Lewis Island, Kidd's Island, Outer Island, Reel Island, Belden Island, Burr Island, Frisbie Island, Jepson Island, Wayland Island, and Bear Island.

In 1976, party goods magnate John Svenningsen of Amscan purchased West Crib Island. After his death in 1997 his widow Christine Svenningsen purchased Wheeler Island in 1998, followed by the purchase of Rogers, Phelps, Jepson, and Cut in Two East in 2003, Reel in 2004 and Cut in Two West in 2005 at a total cost of about $30 million, thus making her owner of more than 20% of the habitable islands and the largest taxpayer in Stony Creek. Locals speculate on any motivation other than simple love of the islands, but approve of her meticulous upkeep and restorations of the properties.

As outcroppings of the granite bedrock which were once the tops of hills but have become islands since due to the rise in sea level after the most recent ice age, the Thimble Islands are much more stable than most of the islands in Long Island Sound, which are terminal moraines of rubble left by retreating glaciers.

Note: The correct term for these type of islands is a "drumlin" Cheyenne Morrison.
One woman's passion: the $33m Tom Thumb islands

Reclusive artist buys up historic US sites to 'put my brush on them'
Ed Pilkington in New York
Wednesday December 13, 2006The Guardian

To the Mattabesec Indians who used to populate the coast of western Connecticut before the Europeans arrived, they were known as "the beautiful sea rocks". The archipelago of small islands in Stony Creek in Long Island Sound are homes to migrating seals and sea birds; some of the islands are no bigger than ledges lapped by the waves.

Over the past few years today's residents of the Thimble Islands, as they are now called, have noticed a mysterious pattern. One after another, the larger and more habitable of the islands are being bought up by the same person - Christine Svenningsen to be exact, a painter who keeps a very low profile and only occasionally displays her work in local galleries. Last week she bought what is thought to have been at least her 10th island in the creek, paying $2.7m for it and raising her overall spending on the islands to about $33m.The first of the islands owned by the Svenningsens, West Crib, was bought by her husband, John, in the 1970s. He made a fortune selling party goods such as balloons, streamers and hats, building his business into one of the largest such trades in the world.

It was after he died in 1997 that his widow began buying up more of the islands. Mrs Svenningsen, who is listed in the local council directory as the second most wealthy concern in Branford after the Connecticut Light and Power Company, is thought today to own almost half of the 23 habitable islands in the chain. The grandest of her possessions is the 7.8-acre Rogers Island which she bought in 2003 for $23.5m, that sports a 27-room mock-Tudor mansion with tennis and basketball courts.

Tom Thumb, billed at circuses before his death in 1883 as the world's smallest man at 3ft 4in, is one of several historic characters to have peopled the Thimble Islands. Captain Kidd, the pirate, dropped anchor here and possibly buried his treasure too, say locals.

President William Taft established a "summer White House" on one of the islands in the 1900s, while granite from Bear Island was used to build the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York.
Mrs Svenningsen is extremely media-shy and gave what she described as her only interview to the Associated Press. She told the agency she is motivated to buy the islands partly to preserve the way of life they represent. She said she wanted to protect them from condominium developers, referring disparagingly by comparison to the Long Island - a playground for the wealthy.

"It's not the Hamptons and I don't think any one wants it to become the Hamptons. I think we all like it the way it is, a little slower pace of life."

She said her island possessions were like "little pieces of art. I get to put my brush to them."
She was speaking partly literally. She has renovated several houses on the islands, painting the furniture with bright fishes and seascapes. She also creates fragrant gardens, including a lily garden. "You can smell it before you get to the dock with your boat," she told Associated Press.

Another 'Thimble Island' sells at a bargain
Mark Zaretsky,New Haven Register
Connecticut, USA 12/04/2006

-BRANFORD — Christine Svenningsen, a true fan of the rocky and secluded Thimble Islands, has continued showing her appreciation for the beauty and serenity of the Thimbles with a flourish of a pen in her rather well-appointed checkbook.

Svenningsen just bought another island.

She added Beldens Island, which was listed for $3.9 million last year, for the bargain basement price of just $2.77 million — and she got some offshore oyster grounds in the deal, to boot.
The purchase of Beldens Island, a 1.04-acre expanse that, according to assessor’s records has one house, a wooden shed, a wooden deck and some docks on it, recently was recorded in the town clerk’s office.

It brings the number of Thimble islands now owned by Svenningsen, or limited liability companies she is a principal of, as is the case with Beldens Island, to at least 10 — and the amount she has spent to buy them over the years to at least $33 million.

Svenningsen, the widow of John Svenningsen, a Westchester County, N.Y., party goods magnate who died in 1997 at age 66, sent local jaws a-flapping back in 2003 when she bought the 7.75-acre Rogers Island for the then-unheard-of sum of $23.5 million. It remains the highest price one of the Thimbles has fetched.

Svenningsen also may be angling for an 11th Thimble.

She’s listed as a principal of East Crib LLC, which registered with the secretary of the state’s office earlier this year, although no sale has been recorded for East Crib Island, a 0.52-acre rock in the Thimbles archipelago off Stony Creek.

Svenningsen or her husband has owned neighboring West Crib Island, which has two houses on 1.38 acres, since 1976.

East Crib Island is owned by the Joel Schiavone Irrevocable Family Trust. The trust represents four of the well-known New Haven developer’s children, who inherited the island, which has one house on it, after their grandmother, Esther Schiavone, died in 2002.

Allyx Schiavone of New Haven, one of the siblings, declined to comment Friday on whether a sale was in the works.

The woman who sold Beldens Island to Svenningsen, Geraldine Chandler of Killingworth, who, according to assessor’s records, bought it with her then-husband, John, for $250,000 in 1985, also declined to comment.

Svenningsen has an unlisted telephone number and could not be reached for comment.
Waterbury attorney Thomas E. Porzio, listed as the agent for Beldens Island LLC, which is the island’s new owner on paper, could not be reached for comment.

Beldens Island’s assessed value, according to the 2004 assessment, was $715,900, including $603,300 for the land, $104,200 for the house itself and $8,400 for outbuildings and extra building features, according to town records.

Besides Beldens Island, Rogers Island and West Crib Island, Svenningsen or limited-liability companies she’s associated with bought Wheeler’s Island in 1998, Rogers Island (also known as Yon Comis) in 2003, Phelps Island in 2003, Jepson (or Rock) Island in 2003, Cut-In-Two East Island in 2003, Reel Island in 2004 and Cut-In-Two West Island in 2005.

Over the years, she also purchased a house in Stony Creek with 56 feet of water frontage on Linden Point Road, the small Spencer’s Rock adjacent to Rogers Island and a six-car garage on the mainland at 218 Thimble Islands Road.

The most Svenningsen has paid for any Thimble other than Rogers Island was $3.4 million for 0.8-acre Cut-In-Two East, one of the most famous of the Thimble Islands because legendary P.T. Barnum-era circus star Tom Thumb spent a summer there courting "Miss Emily," the daughter of the island’s owners at the time. According to local legend, Barnum is said to have ordered Thumb instead to marry "Miss Livinia," another of his performers, but Tom and Emily’s names remain etched in a rock near the house.

At the time of the sale, Cut-In-Two East’s 1,300-square-foot house, built in 1900, featured a living room with walls covered in Barnum-era circus and theater posters that commemorated Tom Thumb’s visits.

There are between 100 and 365 Thimble Islands — depending on how you define an island — some not much bigger than a boulder. Of the 25 habitable islands, some of the homes are seasonal and some have been winterized.

Tour boats have taken sightseers among the islands for generations. According to local legend, pirate Captain Kidd left treasure buried on the aptly named Money Island, the most populated of the Thimbles.

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Overhead view stirs up Bahrain

By William Wallis, Financial Times December 4, 2006

Despite a government attempt to block them, Google Earth images of estates belonging to the ruling family become the talk of the island nation.

MANAMA, BAHRAIN — Since Bahrain's government blocked the Google Earth website this year over its intrusion into private homes and royal palaces, Googling their island kingdom has become a pastime for many Bahrainis.

The site allows Internet users to view satellite images of the world in varying degrees of detail. When Google updated its images of Bahrain to higher definition, cyber-activists seized on the view it gave of estates and private islands belonging to the ruling Khalifa family to highlight the inequity of land distribution in the tiny Persian Gulf kingdom.

A senior government official told the Financial Times that Google Earth had allowed the public to pry into private homes and ogle people's yachts and swimming pools. But he acknowledged that the government's three-day attempt to block the site had proved counterproductive.
It gave instant publicity to Google Earth and contributed to growing sophistication among Bahrainis in circumventing Web censorship.

It also provided more ammunition to democracy activists in advance of the recent parliamentary elections, the second since King Hamad ibn Isa Khalifa began introducing limited political change in 2001.

About 60% of Bahrain's population is Shiite, but the country is ruled by the Sunni Khalifa family. The elections took place against a backdrop of rising sectarian tension and demands from the Shiites for a greater share of wealth and power.

Opposition activists claim that 80% of the island has been carved up between royals and other private landlords, while much of the rest of the population faces an acute housing shortage.
Mahmood Yousif, a businessman whose political chat and blog site Mahmood's Den is among Bahrain's most popular, says that in the tense run-up to the polls, few Bahrainis have not surfed over the contours of their kingdom, comparing vast royal palaces, marinas and golf courses with crowded Shiite villages nearby, where unemployment is rife and services meager.

For those with insufficient bandwidth to access Google Earth, a PDF file with dozens of downloaded images of royal estates has been circulated anonymously by e-mail. Yousif, among others, initially encouraged Web users to post images on photo-sharing websites.

Some of the palaces take up more space than three or four villages nearby and block access to the sea for fishermen. People knew this already. But they never saw it. All they saw were the surrounding walls, said Yousif, who is seen in Bahrain as the grandfather of its blogging community.

He and other activists believe creative use of the Internet — connectivity in Bahrain is among the highest in the Arab world — is forcing the country to confront awkward realities and will speed the march toward a more egalitarian society.

But loyalists find irreverent discussion of the royal family on the Web offensive and dangerous. Though some younger members of the royal family apparently saw the futility of blocking Google Earth and quickly reversed the move, others in government have waged a virtual battle with the nation's proliferating cyber-activists using technology as well as an arsenal of press censorship laws. As the election approached, at least 25 Bahraini sites deemed to be carrying subversive material were blocked.

Yousif believes most subscribers in Bahrain downloaded free software — partly thanks to technical advice on his site — and thus were able to mask their location and access censored sites. Echoing that, Najeel Rajab, the director of the banned Bahrain Center for Human Rights, said that since his organization's site was blocked three weeks ago, the number of visitors has tripled.

There are some in the government who are still living in the age of the telex, when you could very easily put controls on communications. But these Orwellian policing methods do not have a place in this modern age, Yousif said.

Walkers Cay Bahamas

His Own Private Island
By JAMES THORNER
The St. Petersburg Times Florida
Published March 7, 2006

The owner of Clearwater-based Cay Clubs Resorts & Marinas hopes to lure visitors to his new investment in the Bahamas.

In his company's nine-seater turbo-prop, Dave Clark circled the boomerang-shaped island at the northern extremity of the Bahamas, a former haunt of Ponce De Leon, Confederate blockade runners and president Richard M. Nixon.

Walker's Cay was for sale. And, at $20-million, the asking price was no steal after hurricanes Frances and Jeanne knocked out the island's only excuse for an economy, its marina and hotel.
But like the thousands of fishermen who had made the journey before him to the Abaco archipelago, Clark saw something precious in the coral rich waters teeming with shark, tuna and barracuda.

"They've run out of affordable waterfront real estate in Florida," said Clark, chief executive and owner of Clearwater-based Cay Clubs Resorts & Marinas.

"To be involved in a different country: We'd never even considered that. But the Bahamas are becoming more mainstream now."

In a deal with the Abplanalps, the wealthy New York family whose patriarch invented aerosol valves, Clark is buying the 69-acre island, washed by the Gulf Stream about 100 miles off the coast of Florida.

As purchaser, he gets not just the island but everything on it.

About 4,000 feet long, Walker's Cay comes with the defunct hotel and harbor, a private airport, a white-washed church and a diesel-fueled power plant.

Its year-round population of about 20 consists of Bahamian caretakers, constables and customs clerks. In its prime, the 70 or so hotel rooms could hold a couple hundreds tourists.

Clark plans a first-class international resort he'll call the Walker's Cay Club. He'll ask the Bahamian government for the right to build 200 to 400 townhomes, hotel rooms, condominiums and cottages.

Save the church, a restaurant and a few marina landmarks, Clark's company will retain few buildings on the island. New construction will be low-rise and trimmed in West Indian colonial vernacular.

Clark operates ritzy Cay Clubs in Clearwater, Sarasota and the Florida Keys. The Clearwater project, in the middle of an expansion, will boast up to 1,500 condos and hotel rooms.
But he wants to avoid too much flash and glitter on Walker's Cay, in keeping with the angling atmosphere.

The waters around the island are known as one of the planet's hottest sport fishing spots, many of its catches setting world records. Divers enjoy visits to nearby Shark Canyon and Spiral Cavern Reef.

A fishing show called Walker's Cay Chronicles is the ESPN network's highest-rated outdoors program.

"We're not going to turn it into something it's not," said Clark, a 47-year-old former accountant who now deals in hundreds of millions worth of development. "We're going to try to keep the fishing feel.. It's not going to be an Atlantis."

Walker's Cay's history includes brushes with British Buccaneers, Prohibition-era rum runners and Spanish conquistador Ponce de Leon en route to seek Florida's Fountain of Youth.

Robert Abplanalp, the Swiss immigrant's son who created the aerosol industry after World War II, bought the island in the 1950s. Abplanalp's Precision Valve Corp. turns out about four-billion aerosol valves a year.

His wealth and Republican Party connections led to a friendship with Nixon. The nation's 37th president vacationed on the island in the '60s and '70s.

But after the senior Abplanalp's death in 2003, his heirs decided to shed some of the family's Bahamian real estate.

Clark's company expects to close on the property in June. Until then, the purchase price remains confidential. It could spend five to 10 years developing the resort, but in the short term will put the restaurant, airstrip and marina in working order.

Many employees will likely come from among the 600 residents of Grand Cay, two miles across the shallows from Walker's Cay.

"It's just an incredible place," Clark said, hoping fisherman and boaters share his enthusiasm enough to pay for the pleasure. "It's so close to the United States, but remote enough not to be over-fished."

Aloha Canada

By Raymont, David
The Beaver Magazine, Canada
June/July 2003, Vol. 83, No. 3, p40-43

If only Sir Sandford Fleming had succeeded in his 1894 ambition to annex a Hawaiian island.
The notion that every man is an island may be up for debate, but it is indisputable that every country needs an island -- preferably one that's hot year-round.

Several times -- under Sir John A. Macdonald, Sir Robert Borden and Brian Mulroney -- Canada had the chance to acquire its own island paradise, and each time the politicians blew it. No wonder the Tories have such a tough time getting any traction these days.

In the latest issue of The Beaver magazine, David Raymont reveals how Canada missed its first chance, when it tried to annex an Hawaiian island.

In 1894, Sir Sandford Fleming, former Canadian finance minister, attended a conference of the British colonies to pitch the idea of a telegraph cable spanning the Pacific Ocean to connect with Fiji and Australia, and on to South Africa. For security reasons, the cable was to only touch on British soil, which created a problem. He needed to find an intermediate station to ensure the signal would maintain its strength across the huge expanse of ocean. The solution was Necker Island -- an uninhabited and unclaimed piece of volcanic rock, 17 hectares in all, located near the Hawaiian Islands.

Fleming convinced the Brits that the cable was needed and, deciding to treat the island as if it were the property of Hawaii, Britain promised to negotiate a way-station on Necker with the then- independent Hawaiian government. But the Brits dawdled. Fleming, seeing his ambitious project stalled, decided to take bold action. He recruited retired naval officer R.E.H. Gardner-Buckner to race to Necker Island, raise the British flag and claim it for the empire.

However, the Hawaiian government realized the scheming was afoot and claimed the island first, the very week Gardner-Buckner arrived in Honolulu, causing him to return home empty-handed. Shortly after, in 1898, the U.S. annexed the entire territory.

The second blunder took place after the First World War. British prime minister David Lloyd George suggested to Canadian prime minister Borden that Canada should assume responsibility for the entire British West Indies. Borden made note of the conversation in his diary, and did nothing about it. Although several of these islands later became independent, the 36-island cluster of the British Virgin Islands remains a colony of Britain to this day. It could have been ours.

In the 1960s, the island of Dominica, nearly 300 kilometres northwest of Barbados, approached Canada with a request to be annexed. Its rainforests and mountains, rare flora and fauna, and undeveloped landscape were not enough to convince the curmudgeons of the day to say yes -- it was turned down cold.

Canada's last best chance to get in on the Caribbean was in 1987. A delegation from the Turks and Caicos -- a chain of islands between Puerto Rico and Miami -- arrived in Canada wanting to shed British colonial rule, and asked Canada to annex them instead. At the time, 90 per cent of the islanders favoured association with Canada. MP Dan McKenzie even convinced Mulroney to establish a parliamentary committee to consider the request. And why not?

The two groups of islands -- the Turks (named after a native cactus flower that resembles the red Turkish fez) and Caicos (from the Spanish word cayos, meaning cays) -- cover 520 square kilometres and have 370 kilometres of pristine sandy beaches. Temperatures average 20 to 30 degrees Celsius year-round, with a rainy season that runs from September to December. Lobster and conch are plentiful, and its spectacular coral reefs create a dream vacation for divers and sport fishermen.

Under British rule, the Turks and Caicos operate pretty much independently, with a 13-member legislature to oversee domestic matters. A British governor is responsible for defence, foreign affairs and internal security. At the time Canada was considering taking this island cluster on as its very own sunshine province, Britain was only paying $1 million US a year to cover the budget shortfall for services to the island's 10,000 residents. At less than $100 US per person, it would have been a steal.

Imagine being able to take a Caribbean holiday without having to clear customs, pay import duties on purchases, convert Canadian dollars to U.S. funds (and lose at least 30 per cent on the exchange), and arrive there direct from Toronto in under four hours at a cost of less than $1,000 round-trip.

But, yet again, the politicians weren't swayed. Perhaps they never imagined a world where the Canadian dollar would sink as low as 62 cents and cross-border travel would become an exercise in frustration. Or perhaps Conservatives really are as stuffy as they say.

Today, the Turks and Caicos is in the middle of a mini-boom, with year-over-year tourism up 42 per cent, and a population that has swelled to 35,000. With summer holiday season upon us, it's tempting to think maybe it's time to try again. Anybody got an extra island for sale?

Canadian tropical island debate heats up
By Karie Dufour OTTAWA Oct. 17, 2003 —

Canadian Alliance MP Peter Goldring hopes to turn the Canadian winter dream of relaxing in a tropical paradise into more than just fantasy.

Goldring has introduced a motion in Parliament urging the government to look at a union with Turks and Caicos, a group of Caribbean islands near Cuba.

The Turks and Caicos government has heard it all before, Goldring admits. The country has twice been rejected by Canada.

“I am very much afraid that this was an opportunity that may have been lost,” says Goldring. “We really should have done this 25 years ago, when we were asked.”

Not a new idea

The idea was first proposed by Prime Minister Robert Borden in 1917, but it didn’t receive much attention until the 1970s and ‘80s.

'I am very much afraid that this was an opportunity that may have been lost.' In 1974, NDP MP Max Saltsman introduced a private member’s bill to annex the islands, but it was defeated. Tory MP Dan McKenzie took up the cause in 1986 and brought two members of the Turks and Caicos Development Organization to Canada to explore the idea. They commissioned an independent survey of the islands’ residents and found more than 90 per cent favoured an association with Canada.

After the visit, MP David Daubney, then chair of a Conservative caucus committee on external affairs, issued a report recommending that Canada should await the results of an election in the islands before proceeding any further .

He urged Canada to start talks with the new Turks and Caicos government and increase investments in the region. However, the proposal was soon overshadowed by free trade negotiations with the United States.

This time it’s different

This time the campaign will be different because it will involve the people, rather than just governments, says Goldring.

“Last time, the decision was made behind the closed doors of the Mulroney government with little regard for what the people of Turks and Caicos and Canada wanted.”

He believes Canadians may be more open to the idea now.

“We weren’t as in sync with our multiculturalism as we are today.”

However, Rosemarie Wilson, general sales agent with the Canadian branch of the Turks and Caicos Tourism Board, points out that today the islands economy is in much better shape than 20 years ago.

“They needed Canada then,” she says. “But they have, on their own, basically turned it around, made it happen.”

Sunday, December 10, 2006

World’s Newest Island Born in Tonga

Tonga South Pacific
August 12th, 2006

A YACHT sailing out of Vava'u motored into a strange "sea of stone" on August 12, and the following day its crew became possibly the first people to witness the birth of a new volcanic island that has been forming in Tonga.

Fredrik Fransson and some fellow Swedes were sailing in the South Pacific around Tonga when they came across a sea of pumice stones and then a brand new erupting Island. NASA came calling, asking for the coordinates (18 deg.59.5S 174 deg.46.3W) and took a picture, which has now been published.

NASA image … http://photojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/catalog/PIA01899

The crew of the yacht 'Maiken' have recorded their observations on a web blog along with photos of the pumice rafts that they came across a day out of Neiafu while sailing towards Fiji.
Fredrik documented this with some amazing photos on his blog.

See images here… http://yacht-maiken.blogspot.com/2006/08/stone-sea-and-volcano.html

After passing Tonga's Late island 'Maiken' crew member Haken reported seeing streaks of pumice floating in the water, then, "We sailed into a vast, many miles wide, belt of densely packed pumice. We were going by motor due to lack of wind and within seconds 'Maiken' slowed down from seven to one knot. We were so fascinated and busy taking pictures that we plowed a couple of hundred meters into this surreal floating stone field before we realized that we had to turn back."

He said the pumice blocked their engine cooling system and they had to clean it out. They thought it must have come from a volcano and since they didn't know the extent of the eruption and it was getting dark they decided to anchor in Vaiutukakau bay outside Vava'u for the night.
The following day they identified the active volcano as the one close to Home Reef, and they sailed within two miles from it where they could see the volcano clearly. "One mile in diameter and with four peaks and a central crater smoking with steam and once in a while an outburst high in the sky with lava and ashes. I think we're the first ones out here," he reported.

Frederik Fransson the skipper reported, "You might have heard about the sailor's superstition that you should 'never leave on a Friday'. Well, we did and the sea turned to stone, it is hard to get a stronger sign than that. It sounds like a bad joke, but just wait until you see the pictures. Floating stones none-the-less. When you pick them up, it is easy to see that they are really just volcanic ash that is compressed into pumice stone. This experience mixed with a close encounter of three whales makes you understand that the ocean is full of surprises," he wrote. Maiken blog
Meanwhile, the pumice rafts from the Tongan volcano have swept past Fiji over the last three months.

Allan Bowe, at the Mounu Island Resort, reported seeing an eruption on Late Iki that could be seen from Mounu Island between August 9-11, "We could hear what sounded like continuous thunder rumbling to the south and there was a huge plume of smoke and cloud rising up into the sky," he said.

Allan said that at the time they rang the tower at the airport in Vava'u and asked if the pilots could have a look.

LINKS

Image courtesy of NASA http://photojournal.jpl.nasa.gov/catalog/PIA01899

The crews account of their discover: http://yacht-maiken.blogspot.com/2006/08/amazing-last-few-days-weird-but.html

www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,228385,00.html

Tonga volcanic eruption seen by yacht crew, Matangi Tonga Online 08 Nov 2006

Here is an earlier account of the similar birth of an island in Tonga…

Birth of an island
Fiat Tonga Issue no. 45
February-March 1999
http://www.fiat.to/eva/eva-45.htm

A new island emerged from the sea in an explosion of smoke and steam, about 30 miles to the north west of Nuku’alofa on January 7, following earthquakes felt in Tongatapu a week earlier.
The emerging island was first noticed by sports fishermen Harry Waalkens, his twins Carl and Richard (14), who were visiting from Auckland, and his brother-in-law Butch Riechelmann of Nuku’alofa. They had been happily boating right on top of the area -a favourite fishing spot- on January 5-6 unaware of what was happening below them.

"It’s in the area we call the Sea Mount, about 19 miles from Atata Island," said Butch. "We caught a fish there on January 6 and we thought the water looked shallow - there was a change in the colour from blue to green."

Harry said he was astonished when Butch pointed out the bottom. Only the day before he and the twins had stopped in the same area to free a fishing line that a shark had wrapped around the prop, and he knew the bottom had been beyond the range of his 1000-ft depth sounder. While they had been working to free the line Carl had noticed that the boat was in the middle of a large ring of bubbles coming to the surface. Harry suspected that the bubbles might be coming from humpback whales driving krill, "although I thought it was too late for whales," he said. "Then Carl asked me if it could be an underwater volcano - to which i replied ‘don’t be stupid’ - words I was to recall later. But Moby Dick or not, what we all agreed on was to get the boat well away from the ring of bubbles."

So on January 6, when Butch pointed out the bottom, Harry took a new depth sounding, "i stood corrected - the bottom registered at 300ft," he said. They trawled along and around the shallow area, which was about the size of two football fields, and after Harry lost a fight with a 33-kg yellowfin tuna, Butch caught a marlin and they went home.

Encouraged by the successful fishing, Harry and young Carl went out fishing again on January 7, but when they were about 12 miles away they noticed something was wrong. "We could see a dark column of smoke rising from the horizon with a large white area below - it looked like there was a ship an fire so we speed towards it."

At five miles away it was clear that an eruption was occurring and Harry approached cautiously. "At 500 metres we could clearly see rock protruding from the sea as the white steam and smoke blew from the surface of the water, which was literally boiling, it was a remarkable sight," he said. "And the fishing was still good around the perimeter of the shallow area, we caught many yellowfin, one at 34 kg, and wahoo."

The following day they gave the coordinates of the activity to the Tonga Defence Services.
A photograph taken by the Air Wing of the TDS on the morning of January 12, shows a steaming island rising above sea level. But two days later, when a patrol boat of the Tongan Navy arrived at the scene with the Acting Prime Minister, Hon. Langi Hu’akavameiliku, and other officials, including geologist, Kelepi Mafi, the island had submerged to about a meter below sea level.
Kelepi said that an underwater volcanic eruption pushed to the surface lava and gases, "but in order for the foundation of an island to be firmly solidified, it will depend an the cooling down process of the hot lava that has been pushed up to the surface of the sea." Kelepi explained that a slow cooling down process usually meant that a new island was being firmly formed, whereas a fast cooling process meant that foundation rocks of the island would be porous and easily washed away as was the case with this latest volcanic eruption.

The phenomenon of jack-in-a box islands emerging and then submerging into the seas is not new for Tonga.Kelepi said that the islands of the Kingdom of Tonga are on top of two underwater ridges, which run parallel to each other from north to south. To the west is the Tofua Ridge which runs for 300 miles and forms the bases for the volcanic island of Tafahi in the north to ‘Ata in the south. To the east is the Tonga Ridge which forms the bases for the main islands of Tonga - Vava’u, Ha’apai, Tongatapu and ‘Eua, which are raised marine volcanic islands and coral limestone islands.

Also running parallel to the east of the Tonga Ridge is the Tonga Trench, which at five miles deep is one of the deepest undersea trenches on earth.

Harry Waalkens returned to the Sea Mount on January 22 and said that hot rocks were still popping to the surface - he hauled one onto the boat for a souvenir, and although he burnt his hand in the process he didn’t mind. "It was awe-inspiring stuff and I guess the only time I was able to lay claim to having really discovered an island!" said Harry.

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