DOWN ISLAND, PART TWO (A)

We made the trip from Bermuda to the Virgin Islands in seven days arriving on December 13, 1992. The sailing was spectacular and I was sorry that I could not continue to South America, but my wife talked me out of it – vociferously! That's what it's all about; six to seven and a half knots day and night even with reefed main. We ate well this time and, although tired, we are in great shape. Paradise at last!

Paradise
5/5/92 Lat. N 18 20.0'  W 64 57.1' St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands

We have been hanging out in the USVI for five months now. I don't know why. We took a side trip to Culebra, an island off the east end of Puerto Rico, but mostly we've been anchored in Honeymoon Cove.

Why? Maybe we stay because our friends are here. Maybe because we can buy boat equipment and get mail from the States easily. To stock the boat? To have friends visit -- at least Judy's parents came for a week. And perhaps to rest and recover from the trip here. Whatever, the scenery here is great, especially at St. John. I know what is not keeping me here. The islanders! They don't like tourists. They don't like each other. They are rude. Perhaps we have taken their pride away from them and given them good old American dollars to take its place.

An example: We go into the “Tourist Welcome and Information Center” for directions to a store. The lady behind the desk is talking with her friend. After several minutes I clear my throat and move around, hoping to get her attention. Can it be she can't see me standing here? Judy and I have been in front of the counter five minutes now. No, she can see me. She looks at me with annoyance. I am disturbing her conversation.

“Miss Julie ain't got no brains, she think George gonna take care of her more than sexin' her.”

“You right.”

I can't take it anymore.

“Excuse me,” I say. She looks at me with anger smoldering in her eyes.

“What you want?”

“I'm a visitor here,” I say, hoping that I might get welcomed.
Silence. She just stares at me.“I need some information.” I thought I'd try this, since the welcome part wasn't working.

“Well, what is it?” she asks as if I were intruding on her private time.

“We are trying to find Carneba Street,” I said.

“Don't know where that is.”

Silence.

“Do you have a map?”

“There's one over there.” She points.

“We've already looked on that map and can't find it.” The map referred to was only of the downtown section.

“I t'ink it may be in French Town,” says her friend.

“Yeah. Go to French Town. It must be there.”

“Where is French Town?”

“It down the street mon,” she says, looking at me as if I'm stupid.

“What direction?”

She sighs a great sigh as she points behind her. “Go that way. It not far.” She turns back to her friend.

It's time for us to pull up anchor and move on. We've lost paradise here, at least.