Finally a Post

It’s been months since I have made the time to write about all my current adventures. Reflecting on the past few months, much learning, growth, struggle and just plain fun has occurred. When I first stepped onto Catatonic January 10^th, I couldn’t have been more excited. Overwhelmed with the unknown, excited for adventure, I naively believed I knew a lot more than I did.

The galley, pantry, and overall organization of my new territory scared me but, I quickly got to work labeling and alphabetizing the spices. I stayed up most of the night organizing and preparing for our passage down island to St. Martin. Owen and I left Christmas Cove around 5 p.m. As we headed around the corner into “Seasick Alley,” I had no idea what I was in store for. Three hours into the adventure, as I was puking into the trashcan in the cockpit, I questioned my motives for wanting to pursue a job in this field. I tried to hold myself together because I didn’t want Owen to think I was incompetent. With our nose directly into the wind, we motored pretty much the whole way. I slept mostly and tried to keep Owen company when I could. Numerous pots of coffee, a few rain showers, nearly loosing Kittytonic (the dinghy), and 18 hours later we approached Port Marigot. In our zombie state, we took the dinghy into customs, grabbed a bite to eat, and hooked up with Paul and Carolyn (friends of the owners). They took us provisioning for some last minute produce. At this point I still had no idea about proportions, keeping food fresh on the boat, or the concept of menus not going exactly as planned.

We then had to sail around the east side of the island to Oyster Bay where we were rendezvousing with our guests Chuck and Marie the following afternoon. All we knew about them was that he was a nudist that worked for the pentagon and they were returning guests. After living in California, this information did not intimidate me. I was just thankful that I was only cooking for 4 people instead of the max of 8.

Looking back on this passage I can only laugh. I honestly couldn’t have asked for better guests or a more beautiful location. And nothing went too seriously wrong.a Since January, I’ve gotten my menu on lockdown. I’m comfortable handling the lines. I’m making friends with the locals at all our BVI pit stops. I’ve had 6 charters and each one has become an extension of my family. Honestly, Catatonic has become more of a home to me than Lloyd’s Place, my studio Up De Hill.

Caribbean Breeze

My heart once again light, flutters with excitement.
As I embark further on this adventure, sitting at Joe's Beach Bar at Honeymoon Beach on Water Island, I can't help but to once again possess THE STOKE. Things are looking up and not just my walk home.
I am waiting to watch an outdoor movie that plays every Monday night on Water Island. The only way to get to Water Island is by boat or a small passenger ferry from Crown Bay in Charlotte Amalie. There are only 130 residents and everyone gets around on golf carts. Water Island feels safer than other islands, I guess because it is so secluded and the only people living there are the elite and vacationers. I took the ferry over early and met some vacationers from Canada, they told me I looked lonely and insisted I join them. I've actually gotten very comfortable flying solo, but it is just assumed that if you are alone, it's not by choice. I was glad for their company and chatted with them for a while.
After the movie, I hitched a golf cart ride with two older fellows back to the ferry dock, and waited there with the rest of the St. Thomasers. Usually the ferry ceases to run after 6:30 but a special exception on movie night allows riders to get back to St. Thomas 15 minutes after the movie. A half an hour after waiting (everything is island time), Bill, our captain docked up and helped us all board.
In all the time waiting, I met a crew of boys that happened to be room mates with one of my Coco Blue co-workers. Calling my Rose, because of the print on my romper, the offered me a ride home to Red Hook, because they were headed their to party anyways. I gladly accepted. When we arrived at the parking lot, a predicament arose. With 9 passengers and a Jeep Wrangler, the ten minute car ride was transforming into a scene from a circus. I opted out and went to call a cab. Unfortunately, the cabbie told me to wait in the parking lot next to the jeep. The boys insisted that I help them reach maximum capacity. So, I looked around, ran over, threw my back in, and hoisted myself in. Ridiculous. Fun. Unsafe. But, we all survived.
I meet with Pamela tomorrow to discuss the potential chef/mate position on her private, luxury 44' Catamaran. And before I hung up asked if I would be available to go to St. Maarten (Dutch and French East Caribbean Island) next Tuesday.
I love it here, the islands are captivating my heart, and I am finally nestling in.

Mini castles afloat in the field of blue,
each flying their flag,
As the sun dips once again,
magnifying a path for me
I gaze out at the silhouettes,
each prospectively facing the wind.
Exactly where I'm supposed to be
my soul, refreshed,
is put to ease,
thankful for the Caribbean breeze.

No More 2011

I’m becoming a night owl again.

With 2011, no longer will heartache be a part of my life. Even though love stories are EVERYWHERE. Goodbye, for now.

As for the great adventure, I like it here. I’m finally settled in my apartment, I like living alone. I don’t want a roommate at this point. I hope I can stay at Lloyd’s place for a while.

Nervous about the prospect of working for Owen on Catatonic, I hope I get the shot to prove myself. I know I could handle the job and I’ve imagined it panning out. I need to start making real money, so my time here is monetarily successful in addition to my growth.

2011 was a beautiful year for me. When I look back on everything that has happened to me, I couldn’t ask for a better year. I successfully survived moving to California, falling head over heels in love with a great community there. I’ve become a more independent, confident, driven woman. The years keep getting better and better, I have great hope for 2012. My intentions this year remain the same as every year, to learn, to grow, to love, to make music, to dance, to read, to write, to meet new friends, to stay in touch with old friends, to make my parents proud, to give thanks for all to be thankful for, to positively influence those that share life with me, to cook amazing food, to share meals, to have fun, to gain something positive from every experience good or bad, and most importantly—to live.

No more caffeine for me for a while.

Ups

Am I a vampire? No, I know what you are thinking, this isn’t the introduction to another vampire saga. Sleep just hasn’t been as regular. I guess it makes sense. As I examine my body, the list of injuries increases daily. At the age of twenty-three, my bruised up legs, cut up feet, weakened knee, throbbing headache, and urinary tract infection have me feeling like an eighty year old woman. At least the bugs and lizards don’t bother me anymore. It may sound like I am complaining but I will not accept your pity, for I am exactly where I want to be.

Let’s rewind a little bit. About two months ago, I left Arcata. A small town in Northern California, Arcata, it sits perfectly nestled between the giant Redwoods and the North Pacific coast. I am convinced that I have and will not ever live in a more beautiful place for the rest of my life, that is, until I settle there for good someday. Aside from the spiritual connection I felt with the geographic location of Arcata, the community I lived in was amazing.

The beautiful family I left makes traveling hard and easy. It’s difficult being away from my beloved friends. I am jealous of their playful shenanigans that I know are still in full action despite my absence. Yet, at the same time, I have their full support and anytime I need anything, they are a mere phone call away. And their encouragement has been invaluable.

As I fall asleep at night I think about how I might live my life differently. And my only conclusion is that I wouldn’t. Even though it’s hard here, feeling very isolated and alone. I really am having the time of my life. I snorkel beautiful reefs, see amazing sunsets, mastered the art of mosquito hunting, made friends with the lizards and bush cats, learned that a gallon of water weighs 8.34 lbs, began to enjoy reading for both pleasure and knowledge, started paying attention to the news again, appreciate my parents more, the list goes on and on. I guess I’m just saying, maybe more for my own benefit than yours, even though I am sitting alone on my futon, in a little pain, I am happy and grateful to be right where I am.

Sleep When You're Dead

As I stand at the bottom of the hill at Secret Harbor, I hear the sound of “Genius of Love” blaring from someone’s car. Surprised that someone else on the island loves the song that Zoe and I always hula hoop to, I look up to see it’s Roy, my taxi driver. It makes perfect sense because I had just given him a CD with the Tom Tom Club finishing the mix.

At nighttime on St. Thomas, you have a car, catch a lift with a local or friend, hitch hike with sketch balls or rely on the taxis—of which, most are “gypsy taxis.” A lot of the gypsy drivers double as full time drug dealers and thieves as well. So getting into a cab here can be just as risky as walking the dark street. My drivers are TJ, Heartbeat and my favorite—Roy. Roy drives the only yellow taxi on the island and is literally available anytime night or day. Once I asked him when he finds time to sleep. “Sleeping is for when you are dead, I am a business man,” he replied with a smile.

Roy and I did not start off on the best foot of friendship. I constantly thought he was trying to rip me off. And ironically, a girl wearing a pink shirt stood him up for a ride five minutes before I called him for a ride. Wearing a pink shirt, I hopped into the car only to receive a lecture about not wasting his time. We were both bitter at each other for a while.

A couple weeks later, I decided to give Roy another chance, and he had forgotten me altogether. After four or five rides of him not remembering my name, our conversations or where I lived, with some sass I told him I was offended. He apologized and promised he would never forget my name was Liz. Roy stayed true to his word. Now whenever I see him, he stops, calls me baby, tells me he loves me, and pounds my fist.

As a retired drummer, Roy loves music. His dream is to visit New York City to buy an electric drum kit, so he can resume his drumming. He hasn’t been to NYC since the 70’s. Roy listens to a lot of repetitive electronic music because as he says it keeps him going. He turns up the music really loud and says, “There, that drummer is a professional. Professional, I tell you.” I told him that, although I appreciated his music, I had to burn him a CD. He got so excited. My goal is to get him to appreciate true bluegrass music.

Gathering Food, Safari Style

($63.96 later...)

Like everything here in St. Thomas, getting groceries involves quite the process. Granite, living in Humboldt County California spoiled me in this regard. My best friend/neighbor in Arcata, a farmer, gave me free fresh organic produce whenever I wanted. During harvest season, arguably the best farmer’s market in the country occurs five minutes from my old house. And even though I thought the groceries there were expensive, at least the products quality was top-shelf.

Here, four grocery stores appear on my radar. The most conveniently located, Marina Market, sports the highest prices. A small package of bacon runs $9.99; a loaf of store-brand wheat bread sets the wallet back $6; and the produce, priced comparably high, would fail all FDA regulations stateside any day. The owner justifies prices with a poster-sized version of the monthly electric bill of $26,000 displayed for all to see when exiting Marina Market. After shopping at Marina Market on several occasions, I went in search of a more reasonably priced grocer.

Luckily a five-minute Safari bus ride down the road toward town (Charlotte Amalie) leads to Food Center. The locals who do not own cars get around by the Safari bus system, which costs $1/in country and $2/to town. Usually, I am the only white person riding. The route loops one direction from Red Hook (east end) through Bovoni to Charlotte Amalie (central) through Smith Bay back to Red Hook. Along the loop unmarked “bus stops” exist, locals know their locations. The driver will stop for passengers to hop on if they just point. Hitch hiking works the same, no thumbs used here. Made by retrofitting typical pickup trucks into Safari busses, passengers enter one of 4 rows of seats from the left side of the vehicle. Once climbing up the 3 steps, I usually scoot over to the right side if no other passengers occupy the bench. This can make exiting a little tricky, but I prefer to look out than be squished in between two other sweaty people. The benches hold 4-5 people, depending on passenger and bench size. Contrary to what I practice, proper etiquette includes first come first serve policy. Meaning it is totally legit to sit on the edge seat, forcing people to crawl over you and your prime real estate seat.

But getting back to groceries. Offering lower prices than Marina Market for most products, I became a dedicated Food Center customer. Their produce wasn’t even rotten! Unfortunately, the Safari bus route only travels one direction. This means, I must hoof it up a steep scary road with no sidewalk, call a five-dollar cab, or hitch. With the risk of death by car, an expensive taxi, or a guaranteed pervert picking me up, Food Center lost two stars on my Best Grocers of St. Thomas rating.

With my bagel supply dwindling, I decided I needed to further explore options this time around. I deemed today grocery day. After a morning nap from 11-12, I scrambled out of the house and down the hill by 12:15, feeling guilty for wasting precious daylight hours asleep. I took the Safari bus to town where Miss J had taken me to The Fruit Bowl. Manageable prices, organic produce and plenty of options make it my favorite grocery store. Unfortunately, before I went to Fruit Bowl, I thought it a good idea to check out Pueblo, another store down the street. They have all right prices too but not the same quality as Fruit Bowl.

The only problem—the ride back to Red Hook on the Safari bus is cramped even without a backpack full of groceries and a plastic bag of eggs and juice. Not to mention some of the Safari busses are smaller than others, like the one I had on the ride back today. Squished between a sweaty West Indie lady and a creepy guy with an extra long pinky fingernail and reeking of marijuana, I prayed for the moment I could crawl out of the bus and hike up the hill to Lloyd’s Place.

The Mosquito Hunter

One word. Mosquitoes.

Honestly, they haven’t really bothered me much more than the occasional annoyance when I am trying to sleep. But this sentiment is far less dramatic, and this, my friends, is a dramatic entry, so prepare yourselves…

(Not suitable for young children or the weak of heart)

The presence of mosquitoes helped passed many lonely times at Miss J’s house. I found myself stalking the little beasts on more than one occasion. It was hunter-gatherer style, minus the gathering. Like many other Caribbean homes, every room in Miss J’s house was outfitted with the Excalibur of mosquito slaying. This fiercest of weapons, known to most as The Jolt, resembles a mere tennis racket. But camouflaged as the webbing of the racket, thin electric bars immediately shock unsuspecting mosquitoes at the push of a button. Powered only by two AA batteries, Miss J says that she only needs replace them once every 2 years, making The Jolt a very practical weapon.

Taking a few days to perfect my technique, my highest record by the end of the 2 weeks was 32 mosquitoes in one day. I was hunting them for sport, leaving no pests behind. Anytime the buzz was in the air, I would grab the nearest Jolt, and stand, sit or lie still until I had the target within sight. Against all intuition, mosquito hunting does not rely on speed. Rather an inner channeling, as if to call them to their death as would a siren to sailors. Using myself as prey, I would wait until the mosquito approached me; tricking it into thinking it was in for a tasty treat, my A- blood is as sweet as it comes. I would raise my Jolt, wave it calmly through the air, then ZAP, it was over. The most gratifying part of the kill came not at the time of death, but a few seconds later when the crisp burnt air of their tiny bodies hit my nostrils.

I am not as lucky here at Lloyd’s Place, even though The Jolt only costs $10.95 at Chelsea’s Drugstore, I can’t justify buying something I won’t take with me on my next adventure. I already have too many possessions for my current lifestyle. Luckily, the presence of Lloyd the lizards keep mosquitoes to a minimum. I hardly have as many bites as my first week here.

If you can’t tell, mosquitoes were a popular discussion along my St. Thomas adventures today. Kevin, the grounds keeper of the East End Plaza educated me on their numbing venom. Apparently, when mosquitoes feed off of their host, they inject numbing venom so their meal is more discreet. It is the venom that irritates most humans to produce the red bump we call a bug bite. Over time humans can become more tolerant to the venom, avoiding irritation from injection. So even though I do not have physical itchy bug bites, I am still getting bitten as much as when I first arrived.

When I consulted Karlsson’s The Wild Life in an Island House, I was disappointed to merely find the history of Malaria and a brief explanation of DDT. Malaria does not exist in the Virgin Islands anymore due to the extensive use of DDT prior to 1970. DDT is not used anymore thanks to Rachel Carson’s publication of Silent Spring. Karlsson did mention in this section the usage of bleach in her water cistern to prevent mosquito breeding grounds. I need to ask Sandra if our cistern is treated with anything since I’ve been using it to cook my rice and pasta. Ugh. Cancer.