American Paradise (Part 6 of 17)
(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)
I finished out the damp evening by going over to the bridge, just 50 yards away, and climbing up to the concrete ledge where my backpack and duffel bag were stashed. I didn’t sleep much, but at age 38 I didn’t tolerate laying on hard surfaces as well as I did at 25.
At first light I gathered my stuff, including the soaking wet sleeping bag, and headed in the general direction of the hiring office for shipmates. I stopped and hung out in a park as I killed time until the office opened at 9am. I met a person in the park and we swapped pleasantries. Soon I was relating my attempt to find a ride to the US Virgin Islands.
“Why don’t you fly?” he said. “I just did it and it only cost $79″. That didn’t really interest me. Besides, I don’t like heights and hadn’t flown in 20 years.
Finally, at 9 o’clock the office opened. I told the woman, a real sourpuss, that I wanted to work my way to St. Thomas. She wasn’t very encouraging, saying it would be a week before there were any openings. She handed me an application and I left. I opened the 8-page form outside as I walked, frowned, and dropped it in the nearest trash can.
I spent the rest of the morning and half of the afternoon hanging out in marinas looking for a ride. The 75-foot yachts, 150-footers, the 200-footers, I tried them all. No dice. The designer clothes crowd wouldn’t budge.
By 4 o’clock, I was frustrated. Then I thought of my friend in the park. Maybe I should fly? Heck, I had gotten from North Carolina to here on less than $20. My only expenses were calamine lotion, cotton balls, a couple beers, and two quarts of chocolate milk. And I did have $1,200 hidden in my socks.
I kept rationalizing until I won myself over. I called the airport and found a $79 flight at 6:00am directly to St. Thomas. I booked it. By 7pm, I had hitchhiked to the airport, where I spent the night sleeping on the floor with folks who had missed their connections and were waiting for the next flight. I came at night because I didn’t want to risk thumbing at 4am and missing my flight.
At 5:45, they loaded us into one of those little puddle-jumper planes. It was small and intimate and only about 30 people. And hopefully less scary than one of those jumbo jets. Soon we were airborne, and in an hour and a half we were preparing to land in St. Thomas.
I was ready to explode from anticipation. I was about to live out one of my 10 goals. Cross another off the list. As we dropped down toward our runway, I could see the palm trees, the towns, the harbors, the blue-green Caribbean waters, the hotels, the shops, the natives, the culture. Touch down. I took a deep breath. I was in the American Paradise!
- Mountain Man