Nov. 18th marks six years since I arrived in the BVI.
I was bleary, sleep deprived (I had spent the previous day flying across the US, then the night dozing on top of my luggage inside the San Juan airport) and was far more focused on getting through the immigration and customs line than on considering what a monumental turning point in life I was experiencing.
Still, it was a day of flashbulb memories. I can still clearly see many things from that first day in Tortola. There was my editor, Freeman, carrying my old-fashioned trunk1 in one hand by the rainbow strap I’d wrapped around it to his somewhat frightening island jeep, Sugar2. Driving up and down the hilly coastal road from the airport into town for the first time. The mid-day traffic in Road Town, even on the “side road” past the movie theater. My relief at meeting Vou and realizing I wasn’t the only lady reporter on staff. There was lunch at The Pub, the paper staff’s favorite lunch spot right on the water, where I had the least satisfying grilled cheese sandwich of my life<sup>3</sup>. There was my delightful apartment with the view of the race track and the sounds of neighboring goats.
The years since have, in some ways, been a whirlwind. I turned 30 here, moved apartments, invested in my first real camera, lost my Dad to cancer, traveled solo to a couple of other Caribbean countries (plus to visit family stateside), moved desks and job titles, had flings and boyfriends and got married, and collected a small but really special circle of close friends.
Over the years, I was asked a lot by my family and friends back in the US when I was coming home. I’m sure that most of them just missed me, but a few ruffled my feathers by hinting that I was on some kind of Rumspringa/gap year/temporary ‘adventure.’ It’s true that my plan when I landed was to stay for two or three years and then move on. But really, it didn’t take long for me to realize I love living here: It’s a beautiful place, the people are friendly and I feel safe.
I remember a few years ago that I applied for a couple of jobs back in the states, and how relieved I was when I didn’t hear back. I didn’t actually want those jobs. I guess that was when I really began thinking of the Virgin Islands as home.
1. That trunk was a gift from my grandmother years and years ago. I think she’d approve of my continued use of it as both a storage item and nightstand.
2. Sugar got scarier over the years. I would later become the third Beaconite to own her and last person to drive her.
3. The Pub is one of my favorite BVI restaurants to this day and I know many of the staff by name. I don’t think that grilled cheese sandwich is on the menu anymore.