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. . . .
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