Why you really stay on an island

Monday I leave for a few weeks to go sift through the shit that has been in storage on the southside of Chicago for over two years. This stuff is the only things out of a 3,800 square foot house that we decided to keep, two pods. 

We had only planned to live here for a year, then move to southern California. According to everyone who knows and loves us (now), they knew we wouldn’t come back that quickly, but it has been a BIG surprise to me. Never would I have thought that I would feel so at home in the middle of the ocean, but this is home. 

It feels final. There is something about having all my crap with me that makes it feel different, this is no longer an extended vacation, this is no longer a pinch myself situation, this is real. 

I hear from people all the time “I came for a month 17 years ago”, this place is so magical for some, going back is impossible for many. 

Basically, I am going to have all this crap delivered to my Momma’s house (how has she not killed me yet?), have it unloaded, sell almost all of it, and have the rest packed up and hauled to Miami to be shipped down by boat.

I have absolutely NO idea what the hell is in there. Toward the end of the process, I was so strung out that I have no idea what I decided to keep. When you are moving you turn into a lunatic, and when you start off a lunatic, you are downright psychotic. 

Keep

Give

Sell

Throw

Whatever.

There are a few things I am pretty sure I am not going to need. My 12 ft Christmas tree is one of them. Who do I think I am? The President? Okay, sometimes I do. 

I’m looking forward to having my brother’s artwork, there is something about looking at it that makes me feel closer to him, and to me? That’s worth the 7 grand it is costing to have this shit sent down here. I would do anything to be closer to him for just one moment. Anything. 

I’ll also have my kitchen gear, the last two years have felt like a camping expedition, and I have to give it to KMart for pulling me through, but it is just not the same as having the stuff you know and love, I mean, there isn’t a knife on this island worth a goddamn, or at least I haven’t found it yet. I will be cooking for anyone and everyone for a very long time just basking in the greatness of my crap.

We came here with 3 duffle bags and a suitcase. 

But here is the coolest part. I’m staying for a while. It feels like a scary commitment, but when all is said and done, this is where I belong. For now at least. 

I belong here because of nights like last night.

We went over to some friends house for a dinner party, these people have turned into “island family”, they're the type of people that are just real, they make you feel comfortable to be yourself. They made seven courses of the most delicious food I think I've ever had, we drank a shit ton of wine, we laughed, we cried, we drank some more. 

I woke up with a head the size of the island itself, loving this place more than yesterday. 

You come here for the beaches and stay for the people. 

How to love Mondays

I fall in love with the beauty of this island every day.

It’s not always the people, the craziness, and the hilarious idiosyncrasies, sometimes it’s the blatant beauty, the raw, real, overwhelming beach, and ocean. Monday I finally was able to get down to ABI Beach.

This place is a mutherfucker to find. We volleyed from road to road until we asked one of the friendliest security guards in the history of the world where it was. Apparently, it is marked with a few hanging flags that are about the size of a postage stamp over what looks like someone’s home gate. The said “abi” sideways in the smallest font ever.

After our adventure in finding the right road, we headed down a gravel road. I’ve heard from many that it is kinda rough getting down to, but I must say, it was really smooth and beautiful heading down. We pulled up, and I knew this place was for me, picture the most perfect beach bar on a picture perfect beach, and it was almost empty.

We talked for a long time to a young woman and the bartender, told hilarious “break-up stories” and had the coldest beers I’ve had on this island, I love cold beer, seriously.

The ocean was the perfect temperature, the sand was powder soft, and there were outdoor beds and loungers everywhere, not that I really moved too far off the bar stool.

This place has some serious magic, not to mention delicious food, my two favorite things.

I love taking a Monday to do "weekend stuff". I refuse to hate Mondays, especially when Tuesday is clearly the bigger loser. It is not a new beginning, there is no humping, it’s not the new Friday, and it sure as fuck isn’t Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. Basically, tacos are the only saving grace for Tuesday, and Hull bay has taco night on Mondays here, fuck you Tuesday.

That’s the amazing thing about this island, I’ve been here for over two years, and on a fucking Monday afternoon, I stumble upon one of my favorite places that I never knew about.

I love that I have been passed that road a hundred times and never knew that there was this amazing diamond down there, and now it will be one of the first places I will take anyone who comes to see me, and is definitely one of my go-tos.

You never know what is down the road, literally or figuratively in this world.  

Living Your Dream Life?

Everyone knows that I find the beauty in the cracks of the diamond, for there is where it sparkles.

Something I have noticed about the people who live here happily is that they wait, or more like can’t wait for something weird and funny to happen to them, that is the difference between people who love this life and hate it. Oh, and they possess a certain “pirate quality”.

Living on a rock in the middle of the ocean isn’t for all, but the ones that find the humor in the everyday are the ones who find this place real paradise.

There is so much funny on this island, take for instance the time I killed the FUCK out of a spider in front of my child, I didn’t just whack him with my shoe, no, I SNAPPED. Tell it to your shrink kid, that mutherfucker had to go.

The number one thing I hear from my mainland people is “You’re living my dream”. I’ve been thinking a lot about that one, and I have also gotten tons of emails from people that are “seriously considering this life”. So here is what my observations are so far of the people who do it and how.

Most people that live here did not wait until they made their millions to move here, oh HELL no, they just took off, and most of them don’t have their millions yet either, they work just like everyone else.

They ditched the American Dream, and said “Fuck it, I can’t do this anymore’. Some  came with a boyfriend or girlfriend, some came with a job, and the others just decided to get the hell outta dodge.

Sure, there are some that got transferred down here with a job, but those are few comparatively. Some just came for a visit and never left. I love those people.

None of them really had a huge plan except they didn’t want to live the life they were living anymore, and a lot of them got here and just figured it out. There is a real theme of not overthinking the whole thing. I mean come on, you aren’t exactly normal if you want to live this life.

I’ve never once heard anyone who had moved here say that they were just looking for a normal life, go to work, head home, take your kid to soccer, and be in bed by 9. Those aren’t the people that come and stay here, they are the people who come here, freak the fuck out, and leave.

This life is not normal.

I fucking hate normal and look for ways to destroy it. Out of boredom alone normal is not welcome. I mean, sure, being able to ALWAYS flush your toilet is nice, but not at the cost of my soul.

I’ve also noted that there are a lot of people here that, oh how do I say it, don’t give a fuck. They don’t give a fuck about what other people think. They don’t give a fuck about what people do, they only really give a fuck about what they are doing.

They go to church, they don’t, they drink, they don’t, they smoke, they don’t, they workout, they don’t, and they never push their ways on you. There is an addictiveness to that, I mean, come on, why do people give so many fucks about so much?  

I guess what I am trying to say is that the people that want to be here are, they aren’t rich, they aren’t special in any other way than just being themselves, and I suppose in this world that is pretty special.

They come here, work hard, head to the beach, and are living their dream life, and anyone can do it if they really want to.

Thank You Jubal

I’ve written about the magic of Hull Bay many times. When I first moved here it became my touchstone for new friendships, great food, real people, and great music.

It is setup much like your childhood camp with a bar in the front and the back, and every Monday they have taco night, mothers and fathers chasing their children back and forth, people laughing and drinking beers, and in the corner was a one man guitar band, Jubal.

A lot of Mondays for two years our babies played, we ate, and listened to him. Slowly I became friends with Jubal, and we were able to pass back and forth our creativities.

We shared the same thoughts of politics and humor, as they tend to be one and the same, and had the same religious views, or view of religion rather.

But this week he died. I believe that this island is shaking.

When you live in paradise you are not void of sadness, oh quite the contrary, you feel everything, maybe even more than the life of distractions we all ran from.

So last night some of us gathered as his friend streamed his music for us at Hull Bay, and there was an emptiness there, and I wished to hear “Lizzy’s here” as I have so many times.

My thoughts are with the ones that will miss him. I know your heart is shattered.

Thank you Jubal for the many times you gave your beautiful talent to us, our lives are better because of yours.

“I can’t help but think how awesome it will be for your daughter to have such a creative force in her life. It humbles me, your enthusiasm, and thank you for your ears”    -Jubal

It's your story, you tell it.

In light of the recent success of my 4 part series “Wanna Live in The Virgin Islands”, I feel that it is best if I clarify why I write the blog to begin with.

Moving to The Virgin Islands has been my dream for more than a decade and a half. For a small town girl from Central Illinois, it seemed almost unattainable, ALMOST. Year after year I dreamed and longed for the life I caught a glimpse of in my early twenties. Eventually, it became my reality.

So I write this blog to inspire the ones like me, that have a seed planted inside them that won’t die, the ones, like me, that are not sure how, when, or why, but they HAVE to do it, they have to live somewhere that is almost out of their reach.

I write to them because if I can inspire one person to live their “dream life” by writing my experiences, observations, and insights, then I have changed someone’s world for the better.

This is not to say that I fancy myself a “The Islandologist” or “The Captain of The Virgin Islands”, quite the opposite really, what it says, is that I am a person that moved to a far away land, that I love, and I think there are others that will love it like me.

I write about my experiences and discoveries through the eyes of someone that grew up in small town Illinois, and the suburbs, and I make no apologies for such eyes.

I write with the history of someone who has felt pain and sorrow, and didn’t sit there, she got back up, and she loves hard and strong, and won’t settle for bullshit or scarcity.

I believe that when someone moves here like I did it might be nice to know that things on an island are quirky and odd, and I believe that is where the beauty is, not the opposite. Basically, you have a sense of humor here, or you go ahead and be miserable, same with the rest of life.  

Now, that being said, I refuse to write what others see. I will be doing podcasts of what people love about living here, and I would LOVE to have some volunteers if you think you have something to offer the dreamer out there, some part of this island magic that you could show the world. Please let me know if you are interested in telling YOUR story on my podcast. I would be so honored!

But this, this blog, this is my story.    

Wanna Live in the Virgin Islands? Part 4

This is Part 4 of the “Wanna live in The Virgin Islands” series. 

If you didn’t catch the first two, here are your links. 

Part 1 - The people, precious water, & driving

Part 2 - The bugs & The food

Part 3 - The Weather, hurricanes, & garbage

You ever have one of those trips that change your life? I did.

When I was 24 years old I came here, and right then I decided I would live here, and quit living the way I was. I looked out at this blue sea, and decided that life was not as hard as I was making it. I got home after those 10 days, and cleaned house.

I divorced the man I was with. I moved to Chicago from central Illinois. I went to work and came home everyday for 9 months. Stopping only for groceries and the occasional mani and pedi, a girl’s gotta take care of her feet.

I didn’t have cable. I didn’t have any distractions. I wrote and learned about who I was, who I wanted to be, and then I learned how powerful I was. In just months I changed my entire life. I found friends and lovers worth my time. It would take over a decade more for me to leap here, but here I am.

Being Yourself.

I’ve noticed the people that have moved here by choice are the ones that can’t be anything but themselves. THEY. JUST. CAN’T. I’ve found so many “real” people. They don’t do things because they feel obligated, they do things because they want to. Maybe that is who you have to be to move to the middle of the ocean on a rock. They have just said “Fuck the Jones’, I am moving to an island”. And I think a T-Shirt was just born.

You’re just accepted here. I am not saying everyone will love you always, but I can tell you this, in all my writing I have only had one negative review, and it wasn’t even that bad, she said I “looked like a whore”, which historically “whores” aren’t ugly, so it actually was a compliment.

I’ve always been quite liberal with the FUCK BOMB, you’re welcome.

People just let people be for the most part. As long as you say “Good morning”, “Good Afternoon”, or “Good night” at the proper times, and don’t wear your bathing suit in public areas I’ve found that you can basically be whomever you want. Vulnerability welcome.

Don’t fuck up the greetings.

Don’t You Get Bored?

Well, there is such a thing as island fever, at a certain point you want to get off this rock, especially if they came from somewhere busy like I did. I mean, even if the rat gets free, she craves the race every now and again.

When I get off the plane I remember why I ran. Everyone is in a hurry. Even when they aren’t gonna miss their flight. I think it’s America’s grand expression of cardio. Everything seems very crazy and organized at the same time, and I always forget that I don’t have ADD.

The Retail

Then there is retail. Here we have Kmart, we actually have TWO Kmarts. I have commonly referred my home style as “Kmart Couture”, I have done more with Kmart furnishings than I ever thought possible. Here I spent the better part of my young adult life making sure that I didn’t have to shop at Kmart, only to end up in a place where I only could shop at Kmart, irony at it’s finest. All of our household items come from Kmart, Pricemart, or CostuLess. Sure, there are a few other places, but those are the big choices.

We all have the same pots and pans, same coffee makers, same everything. So when I get into the BIG WORLD of RETAIL, I have every intention of going apeshit, ummmmm, TARGET, hello? But what really happens is I get in there, and get completely overwhelmed, I even started crying and yelled at my mom once. Sorry Mom.

Around here, you find your own way with what is available, you look for what you need, and make do with what you have, and I believe it is a more simple way to live, when everything isn’t at your fingertips, you appreciate what you have.

That’s living, to be grateful for the things you have today.

The Weirdness.

I think there is a man living in the dumpster closest to my home. I’ve seen him standing in the dumpster for the last five days, I haven’t stopped to ask him what is going on yet, but it appears that he is there at all times of the day, he has placed anything worth taking on the ledge of the dumpster in a retail like fashion. He is merchandising the garbage. It was just a drive by, but I spotted some cute tennies and what looked to be a pretty nice pitcher.

Am I shocked that someone may or may not be living in the dumpster? Not really. I guess this place does that for you, it makes you indifferent to what otherwise would be “really fucked up”. I think back to my first apartment and what I might have done if there was a man living in my dumpster, I probably would have called the police, now, I just want to stop by and ask him if he needs anything.  

If it is not a man living in a dumpster, it is something else “weird”. Brilliant weird, like a full bar at the carwash, I mean, come on? How fucking fabulous is this? Or restaurants just up and closing for a month or so? Why not? Why does having a business have to eliminate all external life?

Living here, really living. . .

Check out the rest of this series :

Part 1 - The people, precious water, & driving

Part 2 - The bugs & The food

Part 3 - The Weather, hurricanes, & garbage

Why I can't live back in the states

Tomorrow I fly off this beautiful island to my hometown, and while my heart always longs for my momma and my family and friends, I always miss this place before I go.

I love my people, I love them hard. I love everything hard I suppose. When I am gone here is what I miss.

I miss the ocean. There is something about the ocean, it makes you feel so small, yet just the sight of it empowers you. When I look out into it, it washes me clean, like my past is so far away, and my future is not mine, and it makes me sit here, right here.

I miss the velvet breeze. The air here feels like silk flowing over your body, and whenever I step off the plane I remember that the air here is better than any air I’ve ever felt. It’s not thick, but it has something inside of it, something Illinois air just doesn’t carry.

I miss the crazy people. Sounds crazy, but I just have no respect for a place that tucks their crazy away, in fact, I don’t even like when seemingly “normal” people hide their own crazy. You all know we have some, and god damn, it is usually funny. Sure, it’s uncomfortable to see at first, nobody likes to see someone take a shit on the side of the road while holding plank on a wall, but every now and again, it isn’t so bad to hear someone screaming “REJOICE” over and over as the walk down the road, and you gotta take the bad with the good.

I miss the sunrise and sunset. I never really gave a shit about seeing the start or finish of the day, but once I did, it’s like a kiss good morning and a kiss goodnight from the universe, and it turns out, the universe is a magnificent make out buddy.  

I miss my friends and knowing people everywhere I go.

I miss the simplicity, there is so much hustle and bustle where I am going, and so many people that are so busy. I am not saying that there aren’t busy people here, hell, some people are even busy trying to look busy, but sometimes it just feels like people are hurrying for nothing, and fucking angry about it. Maybe I don’t like it because I wasted a lot of years being that way.

But I don’t miss the bugs, I’ll never miss them.  

Wanna Live in the Virgin Islands? Part 3

This is Part 3 of the “Wanna live in The Virgin Islands” series. 

If you didn’t catch the first two, here are your links. 

Part 1 - The people, precious water, & driving

Part 2 - The bugs & The food

The Weather

Let’s talk about weather, not in the “weekly call with your Dad” sorta way, let’s talk about The Virgin Islands weather. First, there are literally MONTHS of beautiful, perfect, mind boggling days in a row here. When I lived in Illinois, there were typically about 5 days a year that were as beautiful as 358 days a year here.

I’m not putting down Illinois, hell, I love deep dish pizza like the rest of the world, but, let’s face it, the weather is as volatile as a crack head in a china shop. The average temperature is 82 degrees in the day. The variations are small, and there is no debilitating heat like in Illinois in July or Florida, punch people hot, at least not very often.

Some parts of the island are much hotter than my side, I am on the north, and in the first year I was here, we only used our air conditioner 3 times, and I won’t lie, that third time was because I didn’t feel like opening up the house. Some of my friends on the other sides use it daily in the summer. This year has been a lot hotter and earlier which “they say” is a bad sign for hurricanes. 

The Hurricanes

Which leads me to HURRICANES. This is a major concern for a lot of people who are deciding to live here, hurricanes are VERY scary, and the first year we were here, we had two different times that we had to board up, but luckily, at the last minute, the storm turned.

Even when doing my research for this piece, I came across footage of Marilyn, and I couldn’t stop crying picturing the people that I have grown to love going through such devastation. This ain’t no tornado. This is a tornado that spreads miles wide, and sits down on you, and doesn’t move for hours and hours. I remember my friend telling me about her Mom and Dad holding the door with all their might as their children hunkered in the bathtub for hours. Everything destroyed. 

When you drive around this island, you can still see the scars from these fierce storms. You can hear stories of love and kindness and togetherness. My respect for the survivors outshines the respect for the storm. 

Basically, we made sure we had plenty of water, plenty of non-perishables, like beans,and other canned goods. I got stuff like tuna, apples, oranges, brought my herbs and arugula in, and had plenty of popcorn. I made sure I had a shit ton of coconut water and rum. I also know that a lot of islanders make sure they have a little pot on hand in case shit gets too boring.  

We made sure we had tons of batteries for the flashlights, several battery packs to power our phones if they even worked. The power was a main concern since we do not have a generator. Why do we not have a generator? Probably since we have not been through one of these bastards. We rent so we haven’t wanted to invest, but I am starting to think that we need one, because those “they people” are saying this season could be a doozie. 

We put up the hurricane shutters when our neighbors said it was time…. And waited. The winds picked up, and the rain, oh my god, THE RAIN. There is a certain energy in the air, I can’t describe it, but it makes your heart beat in twos. 

The good news is, unlike a tornado, you usually have a long time to prepare. I will be writing a whole piece on how to prepare for a hurricane soon, stay tuned. 

Otherwise, the weather here is magnificent, Illinois was like Sybil, you never knew who you were waking up to, The Virgin Islands is more like that coolest calmest person you know, but you know, one day she could snap!   

Fucking Garbage. 

I’m obsessed with the garbage on this island. First, there is no garbage service (that I know of) that picks up your garbage from your house. You have to take it to a dumpster. This is a real EYE OPENER if you’ve always had a garbage truck pick it up off the curb…. Oh Suburbia…. I’ve learned that my global footprint is a size 12, even though I only wear a size 6.

I couldn’t believe it, and god damn these food manufacturers for always having to put their food in elaborate packages, I used to appreciate marketing, now I am annoyed by it. Next, there is NO recycle. To say that we are about 30 years behind is no joke. Remember when you’d throw your McDonalds bag out the window going down the road? Yeah, we are still there.

There is litter everywhere here. Along with the big ass bugs, we even have bigger litterbugs. You should see the shameful looks I get when I go back to the states and don't know how to throw a water bottle in the recycle at the airport. What's with all the symbols? 

Now here is the fascinating part, because we all get to see each other's throwaways, I get to see what has been in people’s houses. I’m not judging, I can’t believe this stuff still exists. With the way the salty air eats up everything, somehow, the original barca lounger has held up, and even more fascinating? Within hours of it being dropped off at the dump, someone comes along and picks it up.

One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, and so it goes. Hey, it is hard to get shit here, and that lowers your standards. I even nabbed an awesome mirror, and this is no shit, you’d pay $900 for it at Restoration Hardware, SCORE! 

There is even a crazy guy that sets all the big stuff up and tries to sell it to you every now and again, crazy like a FOX. There is also a nutcase that is sometimes there to help you with your trash bags, and if you let him and don’t tip him, he punches you. I like to keep a few bucks in my console because I like my face. 

I’m constantly watching what goes on at the dump, there was that one poor merchant man that I scared to death, (click here for that story). I usually drive by at about 5 mph so I don’t miss anything accidentally. 

There is a certain imperfect beauty here. Sure, we have beaches that rival any in the world, we have picturesque views out the windows and doors of our homes, but I find comfort in a place that we don’t hide all the realities of life, like fucking garbage.     

Check out the rest of this series :

Part 1 - The people, precious water, & driving

Part 2 - The bugs & The food

Part 4 - Being Yourself, Island Fever, The Retail, & The Weirdness

What's the American Dream?

This weekend has been packed with magic. First, we had a birthday party of a 3 year old whose mother is nice and sarcastic and real, which to me is very few and far between, and definitely magic. I had committed to bringing guacamole, which was a great idea until I cut open 7 consecutive avocados only to find zero viable ones. Produce is weird around here, you pay twice as much for it, yet it only has a 15 minute window for edibility. FUCK! Why do I say what I am bringing ever?  I made my WORLD FAMOUS dip, well, in my world it is famous.

We arrived on time if you consider “island time” and “bullshit avocado fiasco”, aka, an hour late. The island was misty, there has been “tropical waves” coming in and out lately, whatever those are? What it means to me? I’ll be doing laundry like Julie Andrews in the sound of music. Of course, it downpoured. If I can tell anyone one thing, swimming in the rain is the most beautiful and magical experience, and I regret wasting my life not running to the water every time there is warm rain, obviously I would never encourage freezing your ass off, fuck that.

Out there in the water, it is like a million diamonds sparkling with every raindrop, and I love to get down in the water and watch them drop into the ocean, and there is a silence and peaceful feeling I have never experienced before. If it starts raining RUN to the beach. Apparently, if it does rain too much, however, all the shit runs off the island and renders the water unswimmable, so don’t wait too long!
 

After an amazing and creative birthday party, that was NOT ruined by the rain, we set off home to get ready for a couple of friends to come over for dinner and copious amounts of wine and laughter. These people are my kind of people, the kind you don’t have to “watch what you say” around, you just can’t have enough of these people in your life, not ever. If I had a dime for every time I held back something funny just because I thought someone would be offended, I’d have an island of my own right now. Island Lizzy? I like the sound of that!

Sunday, well, because of mass amounts of wine the night before, I felt like magically napping all day, and did. I’d like to publically thank HULU for making my hangovers much better, I love you HULU.

The 4th of July around here is a lot different. We spent it on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world, cooking out, rumming it up. I plan to write an entire piece on my new addiction to Coconut Rum and Coconut water, and the brilliance of hydrating while dehydrating, I mean basically, it cancels each other out, and may actually be my life’s work. Surrounded by more friends, hanging out and listening to music, relaxing, and I have got to say, this is the American Dream. Fuck Suburbia, fuck 2 cats in the yard, fuck 2.5 children, and fuck cubicles.

Basically, it was much like every other weekend, except it was on a Monday, and most people wore their red, white, and blue bathing suits, which reminds me, I need one of those.    

Wanna Live in the Virgin Islands? Part 2

This is Part 2 of my “Wanna Live in the Virgin Islands” blog series.  

(If you haven't seen part 1, click here)

Living here is really a dream come true, and for the right kind of person, it is the only place to call home, you know, the “inspired pirate type”, and I love it here. I love every bit of it. Truth is, people either LOVE IT, or HATE it, and I have not ever seen someone nonchalant about being here.  

From part 1:

1. The people

2. Precious Water

3. Driving

Fourth, It’s safe to say that before I moved here I had a “Bugphobia”, I could handle ants, but that is about it. It’s also safe to say that I am not really detail oriented so I didn’t do a lot of research (not any) on what was down here insect-wise. I had been here several times and never seen anything other than those flying cockroaches, which I was seriously sweating, but thought I could deal since I had been to Florida several times without being murdered by one. It’s also safe to say I had no idea what I was in for, and that I am now completely cured of my lifelong phobia.

About a week before we packed up my dad turned to me from his laptop (and looked up from his readers) and said “You do know that there are tarantulas there right?”. Dads should not be allowed out on the “world wide web”. I still believe that this was his ace in the hole to keep his granddaughter nearby. You know that point in the movie when the character learns all that he has ever known to be true has ended and the camera spins around him, and the next thing they show is him vomiting? That was me.

The first week was just that, a few of those weird “palmetto bugs” aka “giant flying cockroaches” and after the exterminator came they really minded their own business and stayed away. By week three we had a scorpion that I fucking hunted like Dexter, he met his maker, I enjoyed it too. Other than that, there really weren’t any scary ones. That doesn’t mean that I ever walked without flip flops, and I certainly didn’t take any chances with the dark.

(Funny scorpion Story - The Scorpion Saga)

Of course, mosquitos are a bitch, but I can report that they are nowhere nearly as bad as Illinois in July. In the beginning, the worst bug here was the NO-SEE-UMS. They are the smallest pain in the ass since an embryo. They ate us alive. Seriously, it was awful. Scarlett looked like we were abusing her, she had welts all over her. I thought we had bedbugs it was so bad. So apparently, when you first get here these little “wings with teeth” that you can barely see nosh on you like crazy, but then once you’ve been here a little while they aren’t interested at all, it is a very ugly marriage.  

Over the last two years, there have been hand-sized spiders, beetles that actually bark, lizards of all shapes and sizes, prehistoric centipedes, and many other creepy creatures, but tourists are still the weirdest ones to watch.

Fifth, Food. Back in the burbs I basically had my choice of grocery stores. Trader Joe’s being my first choice, but if I really wanted to get classy Whole Foods was my playground. Now, I like to eat, and I like to cook, and probably more than most, I am obsessed with food. When we got to this island I had fully convinced myself that my food lifestyle would change dramatically.

No more organic. No more goat cheese. Red meat, it was a good run. I thought that we would be eating fish every night, and well, we’d take what we could get otherwise.

Turns out, you can really almost get anything that you want, for a price. I’ve paid $12.99 for a quart of strawberries. I’ve also paid $100 bucks for an organic turkey for Thanksgiving. I’m not really sure what it is for a gallon of milk since that shit isn’t good for you anyway, but I can tell you this, it ain’t cheap. BUT, because I have a little pirate in me I have been able to hack the system a little, and this takes time and creativity.

One, I grow all my own herbs, and even though I kill them quarterly, it is still much cheaper to rebuy the plants. Two, one-stop shops are over. Usually, it is at least two locations weekly, and whatever looks good we eat. Three, organic is great, but sometimes it is not available, and I say, fuck it, you gotta do what you gotta do. Four, vitacost is my best friend. I have all my organic dry goods shipped in for $10 bucks, no matter what size the order is. Five, I found an organic farmer that will give me two big grocery store bags of whatever she harvests that week for 25 bucks! Which gave me a crash course on the local plants. Sugar apples, collard greens, caribbean spinach, and many other things I had never cooked or even heard of. Six, I am resigned to the fact that food is more expensive here, that is one of the prices we pay to live here. The good news is, booze is much cheaper, and as far as I am concerned, it cancels each other out. A bottle of rum is $7, which does nicely over cereal, just saying.

And the restaurants? Oh my god. This has been one of the best surprises. I believe to be a really great chef you have to be a little “off”, in a good way. Do you know that you have to be a little “off” to have the balls to move into the middle of an ocean and live on a rock? This makes this place optimal for amazing food. There are so many amazing places, from the local cuisine to beautiful fusion delights. Between Saint Thomas, St John, and Virgin Gorda, you can find about any kind of food you would want, of course coming from the smorgasbord of Chicago I was scared that our food life was over (dramatic sigh), turns out, not. at. all. From the Kmart Cafe, which I still believe is one of the best casual (really casual) restaurants here, to hull bay hideaway, which is like your childhood camp, on a beach, with live music, a bar, and fucking unbelievable grub, to 13, ambience and dishes second to none. There are about fifty restaurants I could write about here, but finding kickass eats is not a problem here. Don’t get me started on Off the Grid and their smoked meat and ridiculous sweet potato fries with ginger ketchup, just don’t.

I could write for days just on the food here, and I will. I fucking love food.

The last thing I will say about food today. I never knew a mango before living here. Sure, I had eaten them from the grocery store, but until you eat one off the tree, still warm from the hot caribbean sun, you really haven’t ever had a mango. I am literally a more pleasant human during mango season.

(More about the Mango)

More to come on this beautiful adventure called island life.

Check out the rest of this series :

Part 1 - The People, Precious Water, & Driving

Part 3 - The Weather, hurricanes, & garbage

Part 4 - Being Yourself, Island Fever, The Retail, & The Weirdness