Working in paradise: Practicing in vacation locations isn't always a day at the beach

Residential Architect, July, 2003 by Cheryl Weber

When the craftsman that architect Kevin Qualls hired to make handrails didn't show up to deliver them that Monday, it was annoying, as it would have been at any job. But when no one could find the man for several days, it was difficult not to worry. Then events took an unusual turn, even for the Virgin Islands. Rescuers found the craftsman in his boat at sea, unharmed. He'd simply gone out fishing, when his engine died, leaving him adrift for three days.

"One thing about living here, especially after you've been through a hurricane or two, is that you learn to take things in stride and don't get stressed about the small stuff," says Qualls, AIA, who founded Springline Architects, on St. Thomas, and who has survived mega-hurricanes Marilyn and Hugo. After Marilyn blew through in 1995, the island went without electricity for three months. "It's a strong bonding experience for people to go through that together," Qualls says. "It puts things in perspective."

But whose perspective, exactly? Architects who live and work in a tourist destination are often bridging dual realities. One reality is the local conditions and the people who live there year-round. The other is the clients, who are usually from somewhere else. Even if they've vacationed there for years and are tuned in to local culture, somehow everything is different when they're building their own house. And the challenges all architects face--designing structures that perform over time; finding good-quality contractors, subs, and suppliers; staying on schedule; and communicating with clients--are magnified in a remote or resort area.

it's elemental

Working in paradise has its perks, and one of them is the natural environment. "We get to work on the water-front, where the views and the landscapes are just stunning," says Mark Hutker, AIA, Mark Hutker & Associates Architects, Vineyard Haven, Mass. The close contact with climate is also what attracts Qualls to St. Thomas. "You can't ignore the site, the surroundings, and the weather," he says. "You have really steep hills, lots of rock, oceanfront, trade winds. The dramatic environment puts you in tune with exactly where you're sitting on the island, what the view is, where the breeze is coming from. We catch our own rainwater in cisterns for drinking, so you're always aware of how much rain you've had lately. And, starting in June, you're always keeping an eye on the weather channel."

Indeed, island and coastal locations get the best and the worst of weather. Qualls has learned to foil Mother Nature by designing houses with hipped roofs that deflect strong winds, or by using several small pavilions to prevent a large roof from being lifted off. Andrew Flake, a Martha's Vineyard, Mass., builder, says exposure to the elements is a factor in all sorts of scenarios, from the receipt of deliveries to the ability to communicate. Boats don't run in foul weather, and often cell phones don't work. "One client would fly in and out in a corporate jet," Flake says. "He was constantly calling on his cell phone, and was frustrated that only 70 miles from Boston, cell phones don't work on 75 percent of the Vineyard."

At 8,000 feet, Aspen, Colo., is an island in the sky. There, harsh mountain winters can wreak havoc on a construction schedule by limiting access to the site or the number of hours a crew can work each day. "If it's windy, you can't work too long without getting chilled to the bone," says Aspen architect Charles Cuniffe, AIA. "A lot of heaters and shelters are involved, and sometimes access to those elevations is treacherous or difficult."

Site conditions, too, create dramatic obstacles and opportunities. In Thailand, where Cuniffe designed a house eight miles off the grid, building materials did not just materialize on the back of a flatbed truck. For the first three miles, lumber trucks were driven over an old railroad bed, then everything had to be offloaded to pickup trucks and carried in virtually by hand. At other sites, the craggy terrain has worked to the architect's advantage. "In Telluride, we've used beautiful stone right from the site to build the structure," Cuniffe says. "Other than the cost of labor, you don't have to pay some quarry to ship stone to you."

island time

And when it comes to getting a house built, vacation spots are unique microcosms of supply and demand. It takes creative scheduling, and some hoarding of sources, to get the job done. Although the builders on Martha's Vineyard are first-rate, there aren't enough of them to go around, Hutker says, and their scarcity drives up costs. Most of his clients entertain thoughts of bringing in their own contractors--a recipe for failure on an island that runs on idiosyncrasy. In summertime, the Vineyard's year-round population of 15,000 swells to 112,000, creating transportation snags. "You make boat reservations weeks--months--in advance for a truck delivering a kitchen from New Hampshire," says Flake, who builds many of Hutker's designs. "Local suppliers and vendors have this figured out. But if we're going to a source off-island independently, we have to micromanage getting that to the Vineyard."