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The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.
The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.
The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.
Abandoned strawberry house
Built in the late 1920s, this house was originally the residence of banker Dimitar Ivanov and his wife Nadezhda Stankovic. The interior features a striking red marble fireplace in the reception room, as well as a stage for musical performances and crystal-adorned interior doors.
The house has several bedrooms, elegant terraces, a spacious study and various utility rooms. Although the original furnishings have been lost, historical records indicate that the elite Sofia residents of the time preferred Central and Western European furniture.
The exterior of the property features a large front garden bordered by an ornate wrought iron fence. A large triple staircase leads to the main entrance, and the property is also characterized by carriage portals that flank the courtyard.
These portals are reminiscent of a bygone era where one can imagine a horse-drawn carriage driving into the courtyard, while the horses and carriage wait in a specially designated area behind the house until the end of the reception.
The Ivanov family enjoyed their residence until 1944, after which the estate was nationalized. At first it served as the Romanian embassy, later as the USSR’s trade mission in Bulgaria and as the headquarters of various communist organizations with unclear functions.
In the 1990s the house was returned to Ivanov’s heirs. In 2004 it was taken over by Valentin Zlatev, director of Lukoil. Despite this change of ownership, the property, which had fallen into disrepair for decades, remains neglected and abandoned, with no apparent connection to its cultural heritage.
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