Time and the Art of the Hitch

This morning while toasting bagels and getting ready for the day, Thor and I were discussing the old adage, "How time flies." We were talking specifically about how my time here has sped on; how each day of his very physical work flies by; how even a day spent trying to get laundry, groceries and lunch done takes, literally, from 8 am until about 5 or 6, depending on where you have to go to get these things done-- you lose a whole day in the blink of an eye.

It's an interesting dichotomy.  The island life is inherently slow and deliberate and yet time slips through your fingers while you're oblivious to the calendar until you're forced to look and realize that you have none of it left. Of course, everything is chore-like on St. John without a car.  There's a public bus that runs, generally, on the hour, every hour.  However, like all other things here, that is ALWAYS negotiable.  

Yesterday, for instance, on my way back from traversing our little part of Coral Bay on foot, I saw the bus pull over by Love City (a semi-skanky local one-stop that has an interesting park across the street where locals perch on rickety beach chairs and hollowed out logs while drinking, carousing and smoking what we lovingly refer to as 'side-salad'), watched as the driver threw it in park, got out, had a pee alongside the thing and then waltzed over to some of his friends beneath a tree, sit down, and have a chat.  I assume the bus was empty.  All I could do was chuckle to myself and wave as I walked past on my way to Josephine's, the only little farm stand I've yet found or heard of on the island. You must learn here, to have deep and abiding patience, if you want to get around.  Or you can hitch.

Now, let me preface what I'm about admit (this is for my family's benefit, really) with this:  I know hitching is muy mal.  I was raised in America on a healthy diet of stranger danger and a fear of unmarked white-vans; suspicious-looking Halloween candy; sullen, unkempt men in dark alleys and people who offer you rides while walking in the street. I get it.  Hitching=Bad. In fact, when I arrived, I told Thor in no uncertain terms that in no way would I ever, ever, ever hitch a ride anywhere without him by my side. Right. Well, like other things I've said to him stubbornly, stamping my foot as I did so, I had to eat those words. And I'm glad I did.

St. John is an enclave unto itself.  There's the Cruz Bay, or Town side (bustling, touristy, and bigger) and our side: little, sleepy Coral Bay.  Where Thor and I live is semi-jokingly referred to as East Appalachia-- a hilly, busted, private little valley nook whose inhabitants are varietal and funky, to put it mildly.  And we fit in rather well, in some ways-- especially when I'm having a stubborn, stamp-my-foot-moment. :-) But despite the differences between areas of the island, one thing is certain: St. Johnians are kind, helpful, open people. From offering info readily, to stopping and asking a red-faced guera if she needs some help as she puffs up a hill with laundry on her back, to cracking bawdy jokes that would make Rodney Dangerfield blush-- the folks in St. John are straight up awesome.  

Hitching rides is part of that culture. Not only is it safe, but it is the mode of transport that allows you to get around fairly quickly and easily.  It makes it possible to achieve two or three goals in one day, on different parts of the island.  And it is incredible fun.  I have made more connections for my story through random conversations with people I've met pointing rides (we don't thumb here, people, we point-- thumbing has nastier connotations). From a family of five in a mini-van to a truck-full of construction workers, me hanging on for dear-life in the back with two West Indian guys, to a ride with Thor in our neighbor Jerry's old Toyota Tercel, going 20 miles per hour while he tells us about his 16-year-old daughter's illegal night at the club and his prize cocks (keep it clean)-- hitching has contributed to making this trip more than interesting.  Of course, I pay attention.  I don't get into cars with single men.  I don't hitch buzzed, or at night, alone.  And I listen to my gut.  I also talk to other women (of whom there are many) who also point rides and ask what to look for, where not to grab rides and just learn, learn, learn. That's what this life is about right?  Taking smart risks and learning....

It's all good.

So back to time.  Hitching makes daily life more readily possible, but it doesn't cease the flow of time.  I leave March 11th for the DR and I'm already feeling a little blue.  I'm excited, through the roof, in fact, to be starting the next part of this adventure but I'll be sad to leave this place.  There are the obvious reasons, of course, but that obvious reason and I have been apart before and time seems to only make us stronger and closer instead of weak and distant. But, St. John has an energy and an effect that I've only experienced in islands in Maine in the summer. I've made a handful of friends; I've just gotten to know my way around and feel like it is, in a sense, a bit of home.  But, all that aside, and as I've said before in other instances in my life, something tells me that this story is only at its very beginning.  I can't wait to keep reading, or in this case, writing it. . . .

I'll keep you posted. . . .

Friends, Food and "8 Tuff Miles"

A picture of me because I realized that there aren't many posted yet and I like this one.


This is Sam, a good friend of Thor's and now a friend of mine.  A pretty incredible guy, ladies, if anyone is interested :-)!  I figured I should show you who he is, since I've mentioned him a few times. . . . And to the right is the huge crab we saw coming back home after a night out.  It was crossing the road and Sam stopped to pick him up so we could get a closer view. . . . He wasn't too impressed (the crab, that is).

So onto the food discussion: anyone who knows me knows how much I loves to eat.  And that's putting it mildly.  Especially when I'm traveling, it is hugely important to me to try any and all local fare.  Now, in St. John, food is very, very expensive.  For instance, the yummy ribs that Thor is sitting next to (Thursday nights at Big Belly Deli in Coral Bay, every week) cost $32.00 for two heaping plates and four sides, not including rum and coconut water (this is a fine drink, BTW).  A burger is $10-$15.  A box of Triscuits at the least expensive store on the island?  $5.95.  Ben and Jerry's (I learned about this accidentally on a late-night buzzed-out purchase) $8.99!! Ouch.  You have to wait to satisfy cravings until they can no longer be ignored and you shop very, very frugally.  Eating out is a treat. That being said, the portions at restaurants tend to be enormous; good for sharing and saving. But we try to eat at home as often as possible; mostly veggie curries and the occasional piece of chicken or fish, lots of rice and plenty of greens.  However, I've taken it upon myself to try some different delicious treats that are indigenous or infamous on the island and I'll detail some of them here.

Kalulla-- an African stew made from Okra, greens, spicy beans and crispy fried fish.  Bought for $6.00 at a street vendor.  Spicy, hot and delicious.

To the right is a box of incredible chicken parillada, or BBQ'd chicken, from Miss Candi's in Cruz Bay.  The women who own it are from the Dominican Republic and serve this crispy, sweet 

with a hot and tangy sauce called "DiComeback" sauce.  I got to practice my spanish with them and then brought back more than half of the meal, which we ate for dinner that night over, you guessed it, more rice!  Note the ubiquitous Presidente beer in the pic.  It is l

ight, easy to drink and cheap, cheap, cheap.  Also from the Dominican Republic. 

This is Miss Lucy's, a fine spot for Jazz Brunch on Sundays.  The view from the tables is insane-- can you believe it?  We went for brunch, met a very cool couple from Boston and lounged for hours at the table and explored the beach nearby.  Pure joy.

Ok. Lastly: on Saturday at 7:15 am sharp, I'm committing suicide. Not by any traditional means, mind you.  Instead, I intend to run/walk the 8 mile road (called "The Centerline") from Cruz Bay to Coral Bay up huge inclines and downgrades with 899 other people, all in the name of journalism. And sustainability.  The race is in its 13th year and draws more people, from all over the world, every year.  Bands play along the way and people line the road to cheer the runners on.  It is a huge event that generates a ton of business, over 40% of which, not including the money that goes to t-shirts, water, etc. for participants, is returned directly back to the St. John community in various ways.  That's real sustainable tourism.

 Though I'm certainly not in shape enough to run the whole thing , I am, as always, up for the challenge.  My goal is to plain old finish the race, standing up.  I'm sure there will be many disturbingly hilarious pictures to post and a grueling adventure to detail.  Can't wait!

Peep the race at www.8tuffmiles.com

Wish me luck!

I'll keep you posted. . . .

A Cold, Windy Day (And more pics of the cabin)

Today is freezing, by Caribbean standards.  My iphone says it is 82 and raining but it's actually closer to 72 and overcast; windy. We've really only had a few days of fine, perfect, Caribbean-y weather and tomorrow advertises itself to be the same as today.  It is still lovely here but I find myself uttering the annoying tourist refrain of-- "Well, where's all this 'nice' weather I've heard so much about?"

I'm not in St. John for much longer so Mother N

ature 

better get on with it. . . .  Though, in Las Terrenas I'm living 350 yds from the beach so there will plenty of time for acquiring  skin cancer while I'm there.  

(Just kidding mum!  I'm using plenty of SPF!)

Now as, promised-- more pics of the cabin.

The view from our porch. The bed and the outside shower.  No shower today-- brrrrr!

That's all for now.  The storm clouds are rolling in and I have to put pants on.  Plus it's Rib Night at Big Belly Deli and that means lots of rum, live music and greasy pig fat for all. Yummers.

I'll keep you posted. . . .

The Eco Cabin

I'll add more pictures to this title as time goes on but here's the basics about what life is like:

1.  We collect rain and use it to shower (refreshingly cold and outside) and we boil it to drink.  It is the best water I've ever tasted.

2. A single hot plate to cook on, though we did liberate a junky old toaster oven and are finding it quite useful.  We can bake a mini-lasagna in it!!

3. We have a queen bed, which takes up most of the room in the cabin itself but it is a lovely one (Thor is kind of a bed-hog but he'll tell you that it's me!) with a mosquito net and caribbean blue sheets (how appropriate).

4.  Our bathroom is the great outdoors, an open, leafy pit on the hillside.  And despite the many, many jokes that could be made here, there is something truly fine about communing with nature in such a. . .  personal way.  Of course, I haven't had to do it in a downpour, yet. . . .

5. We have a hammock that Thor hung in the middle of the room.  You can get your nap on in it like nobody's business.

6.  We have a variety of visiting friends-- from little cockroaches to a rainbow of lizards and geckos that show their disdain for us by performing a few furious pushups and puffing out their neck sacks. I've even named one "Chocolate Lovin'" for his copious mating skills.  (Note-- this is not Chocolate Lovin'.  He's a much studlier lizard, by far.)

7.  We spend a lot of time looking at the mountains that hug our little house, protecting us.  And, at night, they make an excellent frame for a dark, clear sky full of more stars then I'v ever seen before. It is truly lovely. The jungle that blankets these mountains is full of ruins, pieces of 200 year old pottery and hand tools and the most amazing collection of trees and vines.  In the picture below, we captured the light coming through the hollows in a tree at sundown.  See if you can find a face in the light somewhere. . . . 

Here's a picture of an old sugar plantation windmill Thor and Sam found in the woods last year that Thor and have been poking around in and the hermit crabs that populate the place. It rained for three days when I first arrived and between bouts of downpour, we explored the ruins in the woods and found many more.  In fact, we found one little structure that to us, looked like something special, something that needed a little TLC-- a place that perhaps meant something to someone else back in the 1700's when the place was built-- the energy there is romantic and unique.  So we've been cutting down trees to let the sunlight in and encourage the grass to grow with plans for a picnic.

Island Life

    Here in St. John there are two speeds-- relaxed and sleeping. The sun's intensity and the lazy way the wind blows your hammock ever-so-gently certainly have something to do with it, I'm sure. Not to mention the large and easily accessible quantities of rum that are always within a hand's reach and mixed into the kinds of beverages that settle a tumultuous mind with hazy midday dreams. Really, though, it's a certain version of well-being that fills you up with a sense of ease so profound, you find yourself peering in the mirror each morning and asking your own reflection, "Are you there, me? Because I don't recognize you with your white smile against that tanned skin and your eyes shiny with happy and rest." You have to pinch yourself for fear of losing the image before you. The islands do this to you-- relax you enough to send you the sleep of the blessed and restore you to yourself.
    This does not, of course, mean that the old world doesn't creep into your daily life. There are still bills to pay back in the states and family members to talk to and concerns for how things will be once this adventure is over. Life is never, at least in my experience, free of those basic concerns. In the end though, all you can do is ask yourself the same questions we always ask ourselves when life dumps its parts upside down and you're left to scrabble around in the dirt assembling recognizable pieces into some kind of dependable whole. Why worry when the world is as blue and green every day as the whole of Maine's summer? Why rush when there's no place to go but work, perhaps, or the beach (even better)? Really, why ask why at all? Just sit back, breathe deep and live. Worry only makes it worse
    That's what I'm trying to learn on this trip. I've spent a lot of time in my life worrying. This worry comes from a fear of losing control of things. Maybe it was childhood drama that made me this way. Maybe it was an inherent, genetic lack of self-esteem. Maybe there's an answer buried in the depths of my birth chart-- who knows. Whatever the case, I'm over it. 

    Thor keeps talking about being able to be "present"; aware, unconcerned, living fully in the now and embracing life for what it is, while it is, as it is. And though he always has many intuitive things to say; and though I am learning life-lessons from him literally every day as we share our little eco-cabin life together-- letting go of fear and worry; being present, is my most important lesson. So I'm running with it. Why else would a woman give up a regular, safe job to travel half-way down the planet to write while she lives off cobbled together savings in an eco-cabin, then a Dominican Republican Volunteer house, all the while fretting about love and her future? Because if all we get is this one life, I want live it. Presently, I am.

Now, let's get down to business....