American Paradise (Part 7 of 17)
(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)
The US Virgin Islands can be a culture shock to folks from the United States, which I soon learned the islanders call “continentals”. The race demographics of people are 89% black, 1% Asian, and the remaining 10% are whites comprised of a mixture of old Dutch, Europeans, and “continentals”, like myself.
Stepping off the airport runway and into the terminal, which was the approximate size of a basketball court, I got my first taste of island life. Everyone was smiling, laid back, and willing to help. Oh yes, and more than willing to offer some service that would part you from some of your American dollars.
I hopped on a bus, one of those 20-seat rattle traps, and headed into Charlotte Amalie, the capitol of St. Thomas. I absorbed everything I saw on the ride. I pulled out the list of contacts I had compiled and plotted my first day. Once in the capitol, I departed the bus and searched out the non-tourist hotel I had been told about. I walked through the busy downtown market, where all types of locals were hawking their wares.
I located the hotel, booked two nights, stashed my gear, and wandered back to downtown and the harbor district. My best bet to get the feel of the island was to talk with local vendors, many of whom were transplanted continentals in their 20’s and 30’s. Most had come here, like me, for an extended working visit, and then decided to stay. My looks - 38 years old, bearded, jeans and tee shirt - made it easy for me to quickly be labeled a non-tourist. It would open doors.
I spent the day walking around looking in the duty free shops that were crowded with cruise ship patrons, getting a feel for the local flavor, and talking to as many locals as I could - black or white. My first impressions were that the island was very colorful, drivers traveled on the left side of the road rather the right, the cars tended to be small, and traffic was congested. In Charlotte Amalie, you could make better progress walking.
I was also struck by the devastation caused by Hurricane Hugo. It seemed like every fourth house was missing all or part of its roof. Many windows were boarded up, or at least covered in cloth. There were telephone poles laying every where, with broken lines still attached. Trees were uprooted and toppled over, or missing their tops. It was eerie. I felt for these people, though they bravely seemed to take it in stride.
As a steel drum band played on the square in front of the post office, I sat on the lawn and reflected on my week long trip than brought me from New Jersey to St. Thomas. It had been filled with ups and downs, but here I was at the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. The Virgin Island license plates constantly reminded me that I was in “American Paradise”.
The next morning, I was up early and ready to go. This was the day my job hunt would begin. My first stop was Frenchman’s Reef, a large destination resort located on the edge of town. I hoped to land a job as a waiter, something I have the knack to make a lot of money at. I hitchhiked over there, taking less than an hour. At first glimpse, I was disheartened. The resort was wrecked, with half its windows and doors blown out. I proceeded into the lobby, where I was given an employment application and told that they would certainly hire me at Christmastime, over two months away. That wouldn’t do.
I left, and stuck out my thumb to head to my second choice for a job. I was immediately picked up by a young thirty-ish French guy in a small pickup truck. We talked and he asked what I was doing here. “I came to live here for the winter and be a waiter,” I stated. “I might take a part time carpentry job, too.”
“What if I offered you a full time construction job with good pay?” he asked. “How much would you need to make per hour to forget being a waiter?” That was an interesting proposition. Since I had my heart set on being a waiter, I named at outrageous figure. “Can you start tomorrow?” he replied. I was stunned, “Sure”.
He took me to meet the boss and company owner, Willie, we shook hands on the deal, and I bid them farewell until tomorrow morning. Here I was, two hours into my job search, and I was all set. Yes!!! Maybe this really is American Paradise.
- Mountain Man