I moved to the Caribbean on a whim. When I say whim, I really mean via the inspiration of Tom Cruise in Cocktail and a half drunk one way flight purchase. I was fed up with “real life.” I had graduated high school in the top of my class, gone to years of college on the path to become a plastic surgeon, fallen way too hard for the wrong person at the right time, and found myself completely lost. Everyone had these grandiose expectations for my future. Everyone except myself. I don’t know if it was the looming student loan debt or if it was the weight of “my person” cheating on me with the actual Miss Arizona that lead me to this quarter life crisis. All I knew is that I wasn’t a person I liked anymore.
When I told people where I wanted to go, I was shocked by the raised eyebrows and questions of my sanity. Once I became fixated on running away, I felt like I had nothing in common with even my closest friends anymore. So I moved to the Caribbean on a whim.
I don’t know if this is a typical thing that people do when they have a crisis, but I gave the middle finger to planning and research. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had no idea where I would work or live or how I would survive once I stepped off that plane. I honestly don’t think I really cared. My knowledge of St Thomas was slim. I knew that it was beautiful, cruise ships went there, there was rum, and it was far away from where I was.
Just so everyone else knows a tad bit more than I did before I moved there, here’s a brief history:
St Thomas is the largest of the United States Virgin Islands. It’s a stones throw from Puerto Rico and a three hour flight from Florida. Contrary to the popular belief of many naïve and geographically challenged tourists, there is no tunnel connecting the island to the mainland. You’d honestly be surprised by how often we were asked how long it took us to drive from Florida to work every day. As a jab at this ridiculous assumption, a few shops sold stickers for the local’s cars reading “Fort Lauderdale to St Thomas Annual Tunnel Pass.” It was “originally” discovered by Christopher Columbus, owned by The Dutch, and eventually purchased along with two other islands by The United States. It has a whopping 32 square miles of jungled mountains and stunning coastlines. The population of roughly 51,000 fluctuates seasonally. It is ever so perfectly named by expats and locals as “The Island of Misfit Toys.”
Flying over the Atlantic Ocean for the first time was almost like an instant decompression of the tension and resentment I had been harboring for months. The nerves loosened completely when I was handed two shots of rum (Cruzan Rum which is distilled on neighboring St Croix) before I even retrieved my bags in the airport.
Yet, there wasn’t enough rum in the Caribbean to keep me calm when I saw where I had prepaid to stay for the next month. I had hastily booked the cheapest Air BnB available. To put it lightly, it was not the picture perfect paradise side of the island I was imagining. When my parents came to visit long after we left “The Ranch,” I took them on the scenic tour and thought my mom was going to faint in disbelief that I had gone from beautiful San Diego to this… by choice.
The caretaker of the place generously offered to pick us up from the airport. I’m not sure why she didn’t take the two toddler car seats out of the only seats in back prior to, but generous none the less! The views from the backseat of the car went from tourist shops and manicured landscaping to overgrown jungle and drunkards on dilapidated porches. We turned down what at one point, I guess, used to be a road and bumped passed chain link fence fortified shacks painted in obnoxious colors. One little hut was adorned with giant half-assed paintings of Spongebob and The Rugrats. To this day, I still wonder why this was what they chose to paint on the side of their house. However, that little house served as a very important landmark for me on drunken nights since the streets had no names.
“De most impohtant ting to tell you bout dis area is dat you never go down dat deerection, even in da daytime. Dat over der is de projects, and dees are not even half as nice as da ones dey have in da states. Not trying to give ya a scare but probably safer to not walk outside alone in da dark at all anywhere near here. But be a smart and you be fine!” And with those reassuring instructions we were shown to our room.
The floors were green and white printed tile that looked sort of like crocodile skin in the right lighting. The rest of the room was a sterile white which was a surprising contrast from the neon orange buildings down the road. There was a tiny mini fridge that sounded like the crocodile that the floor looked like. On a wobbly table there was a microwave with a hazardous looking frayed cord and two random cereal bowls. I guess other things could be eaten out of them, but to know me is to know that Lucky Charms cereal is my kryptonite. I soon realized I would have to take a hiatus from my beloved treat because milk could run you about $9 a gallon. And, if you didn’t REALLY seal up the box after every bowl, which I admit to never doing, it would become mushy and molded in days due to the extreme humidity… I’ve digressed… The bathroom was fairly modern aside from the fact that there was only a half height wall surrounding most of it. You could nearly have a face to face conversation with a person laying in the bed while you were on the toilet.
“Der is no hot wahta here, but we do get Da Bachelah (The Bachelor) on da TVs! Do you watch dat hansom man?! All dees ladies are crazy.” It was like she could read my mind as I glanced at the surprisingly new flat screen TV jerry-rigged to the wall. Despite me having this need for a real adventure there are just some modern amenities I struggle to give up. One: The Bachelor and Two: Hot water. You’re probably thinking “Wow, what a snot. Some people have no running water at all and she’s complaining that her water is a little cold.” I get it. But for this being my first long term trip away from the comforts of home, the freezing cold water that came from the underground cistern was a real shock to the system.
Because of this minor setback I rediscovered how truly resourceful and creative I could be. It may sound stupid but I can’t explain how un-myself I had become. On the days that my hair became so unbearable I found that I could use those handy cereal-less bowls to microwave enough water to rinse my head off without feeling like I was Jack Dawson post Titanic crash. The biggest downfall to this was that the floors became an ice rink under wet feet. If you ever find yourself here and in this situation, I highly advise using extreme caution while running naked across the crocodile floors. The only thing worse than the sub-zero shower situation would be trip to the hospital in St Thomas. I know this for a fact.
This also served as my first lesson in becoming a more grateful person. I doubt that I’ve taken a single shower in the past 4 years where I don’t think of how truly amazing it is to have hot water every single day without even thinking about it.
So “The Ranch” became our home. And The Caribbean slowly became our life. But after a month of partying our savings away at yachtie bars and nearly being robbed at gunpoint outside our room, it was time to move and find jobs.
To be continued ….
