He Runs a Dream Hotel. How Did He Manage That?

On the short drive to the hotel, along bumpy roads draped with thick vegetation, we compared afternoons: Mine had involved a delightful 20-minute flight from San Juan cushioned between puffy clouds and the calm Caribbean Sea; his had consisted of an islandwide scavenger hunt for an O-ring. Gevinski desperately needed an after-work drink, but he was still on the clock.

"It's Friday night. I figured I'd go get some beers," he shouted from the bottom of the deep end after we had dropped off my bags. "But no, I am putting on bonding agent."

Only two guests were staying at the 13-room property that night, Paige and Meg Finnegan, honeymooners from Chicago. More specifically, newlyweds who wanted to swim. (The hotel has two pools, one on the main property, the other at La Casona, a house often booked for special occasions. When not being rented, this area is usually off-limits to other visitors.)

Besides requiring the usual responsibilities of a manager -- maintenance, marketing, bookings, cajoling, consoling -- the Hix Island House places additional demands on Gevinski. The 15-year-old hotel, which originated as a private home for Hix, an architect, and his clothing designer spouse (all of the bathrobes and nightshirts are by Neeva Gayle), hews to an eco-design that many might find challenging. The buildings are built of gray concrete slabs, which hold up well against the elements but aesthetically remind one of bomb shelters. In addition, to blur the line between inside and out, the loft-style apartments lack window screens, and some of the rooms are missing an entire fourth wall. Ergo, guests may find bugs and lizards in their quarters and a small rainwater lake forming by their slippers.

To his relief, Gevinski does not have the pressures of an amenity-filled resort. No on-site bar or restaurant: Guests either eat out or cook-and-cocktail in their studios, which come with full kitchens and breakfast fixings. No fitness center other than the pool (which is better suited for lazy laps than for heavy workouts), yoga sessions held in an open-air pavilion and on-call masseuses, who kneads visitors in their rooms or in the gardens. The front office sells island necessities, such as bug spray and water, but few items worth taking home to your office mates. To be sure, a chunk of the management duties are behind closed doors: Gevinski tossing frayed robes into the stockroom, painting the corroded refrigerator door in a vacated loft, rejecting rotting grapefruits before they land in guest-room fruit bowls.

"Yes, it's nice to think about putting up a hammock in the field, but what's more important is removing a soap container with rust or finding hair in the shower," he said. "My job is to protect the hotel's reputation and keep the customer happy."

What would make this weekend's guests happy would be fixing the pool, a job that was running behind schedule and causing Gevinski to frequently update the Finnegans on its progress. Not tomorrow, but hoping for Sunday, or Monday morning, before breakfast.

Gevinski rose at 6 a.m. Saturday to check on the band of pool workers who should have been two hours into their task. (One of the many adjustments Gevinski had to make was changing his watch to Caribbean time; everything is slower here.) Instead, the men looked half-asleep as they sipped coffee, smoked and idly chatted from the dry depths of the pool. Gevinski paced the area, looking for the crew's employer, who eventually showed up and set his staff in motion. Not long after, Gevinski moved on to his next duty -- checking e-mail for reservations and queries -- but he had to be swift. Yoga was soon starting.

Two alternating yoga instructors provide morning lessons to guests and island residents. Today's session was taught by Jen Dehner, who moved to Vieques from California nearly 12 years ago and sells jewelry when not leading yoga classes.

"Expand from the heart and look to the future," Dehner intoned, as legs lifted and bent over knees, and heads rested on opposite shoulders.

"Oops, I forgot to open the pool at the main house," whispered Gevinski, realizing mid-pose that he had neglected to unlock the gate to La Casona, preventing Meg and Paige from using his pool while theirs was filled with workers.

The rest of the day mainly consisted of "doing the rounds" and "checking up on people." Did all of the rooms receive a loaf of fresh bread made by Leti, one of the housekeepers? Were the kitchens restocked with coffee, ketchup, eggs? Did Alex, a local boy who travels to work on horseback, mow the entire lawn? Were the bananas ripe for picking? Did anyone feed the skinny stray dog starving for love and food?