American Paradise (Part 8 of 17)
(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)
Now with the job thing out of the way, I turned my thoughts to finding a place to live. I couldn’t keep paying $35 a night at the hotel. I had to find a house to rent, though that meant I’d most likely need a roommate to share the expenses. I went back to the downtown area, just two blocks from my hotel, to talk to the vendors again. Word of mouth might be the best way to snag a place to hang my hat.
I greeted most with a “Hello again”. Their usual reply, upon finding out I’d already landed a job in just 24 hours, was an astonished “Congratulations”. Then I’d quiz them on the availability of anywhere to rent. I got a couple leads, but each was at the opposite end of the 4 mile by 13 mile island. “I’d rather be here in town where the action is,” was my reply. ”And my job is right up there on the hill,” I’d add pointing to a street just two blocks away.
That night, I headed to the hotel office to pay for an additional two nights. Hopefully, that would be all the time I needed. Optimistic, aren’t I? Or naive?
My first day of work was an eye opener. Always early and never late, I was at Willie’s house by 6:30am. As the locals began walking up the hill to work, I was taken back. Nearly half of the dozen guys had a bottle of Heineken in hand and they were drinking. “You’ve gotta be kidding,” I thought. “I hope they don’t get caught by Willie”.
No worries. Soon, 11 black guys and one white guy were at Willie’s front steps, half casually drinking their morning beer. Willie took it in stride and never said a thing. He was all smiles, a real likable guy. The French guy who hired me showed up, split us into two crews, then dropped us off at two different houses.
The white guy was named Blake, he was from Michigan, and it was just his second day on the job. By noon, we agreed to look for a house to rent together, as roommates. Handsome, well-dressed, and well-spoken, I knew that he would handle his end of the financial responsibilities. What a relief.
That night, Blake and I did a bar tour. At each stop, we’d begin mingling with locals, hoping to pick up on place to live. No luck, but we sure had fun. We shared an immediate bond and I knew we’d become fast friends.
In the morning, on my five-minute walk to work, I stopped to buy the Virgin Islands Daily News from the same woman I had every morning. She stood by the side of the narrow road, hawking her newspapers. I explained my dilemma on finding a house to rent. Casually and without any change in facial expression, she said that I should try that house over there. An old Dutch couple approaching 90 years old had a house in back that was vacant.
The workday seemed to drag on, the thought of finding out about this house never off my mind. Likewise for Blake. We worked late, until about 6 o’clock, then I headed for the house while Blake went back to his hotel to pay for another night.
The old guy was slight, about 120 pounds and 5-feet tall. He was a real gentleman and we hit it off. He showed me the house. Oh my gosh, it had a tremendous view overlooking the harbor. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, living room, and huge deck facing the harbor and hundreds of colorful sailboats, yachts, and cruise ships. We struck a deal and I quickly paid two months rent. This wasn’t paradise, it was shangri-la!
- Mountain Man