(This entire 17-part story can be found in the “travel” category.)
After about three months in St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands, repairing homes destroyed by Hurricane Hugo, our workload backed off to five days a week, eight hours a day. It gave me plenty of extra time to expand my horizons. To me, that partly meant more jobs.
I had already begun tutoring Willie’s oldest son, Nathan, a lovable 8 or 9-year old. Like Willie, he had that infectious smile that endears them to everyone. I got paid, of course, but thoroughly enjoyed educating this youngster that had a thirst for knowledge. He had never seen snow, never seen a pine tree or pine needles. Try explaining what they’re like to an inquisitive young mind that had no reference point.
Soon, I was bringing library books to our tutoring sessions, so once the school work was completed, we had bonus time to explore new horizons. I started getting more students, beginning with Nathan’s 6-year old sister. Then a boy who lived in a rickety house up a litter-strewn alley, followed by another brother and sister. Before I knew it, I had five young minds to help shape. It was challenging, and quite rewarding spiritually.
That occupied my time from 3:30 to around dinner time three days a week. I was learning as much about their culture as they were learning their 3 R’s. But still, I had one goal unfinished in St. Thomas. I came here to be a waiter. I had to give it a shot.
Along the waterfront was a second floor, open-air Mexican restaurant. I ate there once and thought it looked like a fun place to work. So, needless to say, I stopped in to try to pick up a couple nights waiting on tables. I was quickly hired. I met alot of interesting people there and since the restaurant closed at 10pm, it didn’t affect my getting to the construction foreman job by 7am.
My education on the Caribbean way of life was on-going. All the kids wore uniforms to school, no matter which school they attended. High school basketball games, to my astonishment, were played outdoors. Yes, outdoors. There were no indoor gymnasiums. Where else can you have a basketball game postponed due to an afternoon thundershower? Boxing was big there, and Emil Griffith was their local hero. Boxing matches, always SRO, were held in the infield of baseball stdiums.
The locals loved their music. Reggae music greeted you on every street. Steel bands were a family affair, with three generations sometimes playing side by side. Red beans and rice were a favorite meal, especially with a side dish of fried plantains. It was such an interesting culture. It opened my eyes to the diversity of our planet’s people.
As winter passed to spring, the urge to head back to the United States crept up amongst each of us. I felt like I’d grown five years in about six months or so. My awareness was elevated, my understanding of others multiplied. Life in St. Thomas was so different from my life in the US, yet each held a special place in my heart.
So I made my decision to leave. My plan was to hitch a ride on a boat, hopefully to Belize. From there I’d travel north through Mexico to Texas. To that end, I filled out a bunch of 3×5 cards asking for a ride. I placed them in a half dozen marinas, then waited for the phone to ring. I was ready to roll the dice again, seeking another adventure!
- Mountain Man
Tags: blog, hitchhiking blog, travel blog, US Virgin Islands