The glorious curve of sand called White Bay on Jost Van Dyke deserves a stop by anyone searching for that perfect beach combination: seclusion without isolation.

The bay on the quiet British Virgin Island offers the kind of privacy often promised in full-page magazine ads. You’ll have a wide stretch of sand to yourself -- yet each end is anchored by a comfortably happening beach bar. The Soggy Dollar, to the east, caters Margaritaville-style to yachties who anchor in the bay.   On the west end, One Love Bar & Grill serves up reggae and beer to campers and other casual types who stay in the island’s tent sites and cabins.

No one cares if a day visitor borrows a chaise longue or pops open a beverage from a carried-in cooler.

“I tell people, if you want to see St. John the way it was 25 years ago, go to Jost Van Dyke,” said Pat Dinisio, a park ranger on the neighboring United States Virgin Island of St. John. “The authorities in the British Virgin Islands are doing a much better job of controlling development than we are. When a property there is put on the market, it has to be offered to locals or to the government first, before any developer has a chance to buy.”

That’s unexpected envy from a representative of St. John, the most protected of the U.S. Virgins. But all around its large national park, St. John undergoing a millionaires’ land grab.   

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Not so on Jost Van Dyke, a still-sleepy backwater that’s a 45-minute ferry ride from St. John. This island, a former pirate perch with great sightlines across the shipping lanes to multiple islands, today seems comfortably ensconced in the past. In spirit and infrastructure, Jost Van Dyke is like the Caribbean of 1968. Locals call it “the last Virgin Island.”

On the sometimes-concrete, sometimes-dirt main road, goats and chickens mingle with confused visitors who have just arrived. Cousin Vinny, the beaded and tanned proprietor of Corsairs bar in the impressively named but minuscule town of Great Harbour, cheerfully offers directions.

Hearing a mention of the 3 o’clock ferry, Vinnie advises skipping the Bubble Pool on the island’s far end, where the sea forms a kind of natural Jacuzzi. Instead, he makes a selfless recommendation to visit his competitors, the bars over on White Bay.

  “You’d better be back on the dock at 2:30,” he adds.  “You mean, the boat would sail away before 3 o’clock?” a righteous visitor asks.  “The 3 o’clock boat could leave anytime between 2:30 and 3:30,” he says. Spreading his arms open, he smiles. “Welcome to the islands.”

Some days, reportedly, there is a rental car available at the ferry dock for $40 a day. But none appeared for my visit, and the only offer I could raise by telephone was a car with a base price of $60 plus many extra charges, including a BVI driver’s license and two taxi rides to pick up and return. The grand total would have been $113. (U.S. dollars are the official currency – it’s a long story locals will be happy to tell you.)

That made me consider walking to White Bay – it’s just a mile and a half or so, but over a mini-mountain. 

Then I met Herman “Bun” Chinnery, who offered a taxi ride to the beach for $5 a person. On the ride out, he traced how he was related to most of the people we passed.

The destination beach presented a dramatic view of verdant mountains rising from the water on several nearby islands. Needless to say, there were no planes towing ad banners, but there was a sky show provided by brown boobies diving for fish and red-tailed hawks soaring overhead.

Vendors on the beach offered a nice array of water-sports gear, including kayaks, paddle bikes, a water trampoline and a banana sled that holds 10 people.

Only two imperfections are worth mentioning. A slight current intruded on the decent snorkeling. And a bar employee repeatedly walked into the beach and conducted her loud cellphone conversations in the private space of sunbathers. Otherwise, the beach was flawless.

You can stay right there in simple cabins at the Sandcastle,

or slightly up the hill at White Bay Villas and Seaside Cottages.

Back in town, there was time for lunch at Foxy’s Tamarind Bar & Grill, a magnet for yacht sailors. The ceiling is festooned with burgees, T-shirts and autographed underwear left behind by participants in some of Foxy’s legendary parties. T- The fresh salad was excellent, and the local microbrews proved delicious exceptions to my earlier generalizations about beers of the Caribbean, especially the Vixen Red Bitter. A second edition of the restaurant, Foxy’s Taboo, opened in 2005 on the east end. But this is the original, worth a visit anytime after the bar opens at 9:30 a.m.

There’s no way to fly direct to any of the 40-some British Virgin Islands from the U.S. mainland. Planes serve Tortola from San Juan, Puerto Rico, but most American visitors fly to St. Thomas, USVI, and then take a ferry. Beginning January 2007, Americans must carry a passport, not just proof of citizenship, on this trip.

Watch for unannounced stops. My boat made one at Soper’s Hole, a small town on Tortola, and I got off thinking I had arrived at Jost Van Dyke.  This caused much passenger confusion, but it all worked out. Welcome to the islands.

          Happy Traveling and Happy New Year!

Captions: 1. White Bay beach is picture-perfect. 2. The island is a popular stopping point for yachters. 3. Jost Van Dyke Methodist Church is a landmark of Great Harbour. 4. Taxi driver “Bun” Chinnery is an island fixture. 5. T-shirts and flags are left behind by visitors to Foxy’s. (Photography by Thomas Simonet)