So recently I moved from the US mainland to the Virgin Islands. I did this ultimately because what I was doing on the mainland could just as easily be done here; I could work, I can find a doctor to make sure I’m in good shape, and I can live largely the same way I lived in the states. The only major differences are that I am trading the comforts and conveniences of the mainland for the semi-rustic environment of a territory. I use the term “rustic” very loosely, because the Islands are hardly ramshackle huts covered in sheet metal and devoid of any conveniences, but there are some distinct differences between what is available here and back on the mainland.

So far, my needs and goals have been very straightforward. Apartment, job, food, sleep. I have to get my health insurance sorted out as well, obviously, but I was focused on just the basics of survival as soon as I set foot off the plane.

It’s been a few months since I arrived, and so far I’ve secured the basics. An apartment nestled in the heart of a complex reminiscent of an old monastery; a job as a trainee chef at a fine dining restaurant; a rough understanding of what days to go to the grocery store for the freshest ingredients; and a few pillows to comfortably lay my head down on. My health insurance is nearly squared away (a somewhat difficult task, given that this is a US territory, which exists in something of a legal limbo,) and all that remains is to get the final piece of establishing myself: my own internet connection. When I’ll be able to secure that is unknown, but I will soon.

St. Thomas has been an instructive island these past few months. The people here are genuine, straightforward, and closely knit. The pace is more leisurely than most places in the states I have visited, and even when people are in a hurry they don’t seem like they’re in a hurry. The weather is warm and sunny; so consistently warm and sunny that the local brewery has a beer named after it. Occasionally there will be a surprise deluge of rain that flies off the ocean for a few minutes, but it passes as quickly as it arrives. The food here is a mixture of Caribbean/Standard American Fare. Most places will have mainland staples, like pastas, hamburgers, and sandwiches, but if you take a quick stroll to a food truck on a neglected street corner you can find deep fried shark and mobi (a local fruit booze; I haven’t sampled it yet.)

The island seems large at first, but truthfully is very small. Most businesses are within a few miles of each other, so in theory you could just get everywhere on foot. In theory, anyway; the reality is that the steep mountains turn a leisurely stroll into a hike of epic proportions, leaving travelers worn out and exhausted long before they get close to their destination. So most people either have cars, take the bus or ride the Safari Taxis, which are converted pickup trucks that can carry between sixteen and twenty five people. While people can be packed closely together during peak commuting times, sometimes you have the whole truck to yourself, and can feel the rush of the ocean breeze unobstructed.

I have met some gifted people while I have been here, and everyone has a story to tell. One of my bosses, an older guy from Ohio, used to be a hustler. He’s now launching his own business for local music artists, and it should be up and running within a couple weeks.

My landlady, a devout Christian, has told me of her previous marriage with an Iranian Jew, and the tumult that caused her and ultimately lead to her salvation.

One of my favorite bartenders and his wife are planning on leaving for Alaska to serve and bartend in the Summer. It’s a part of their five year plan to adventure and make a lot of money. I think they’re well poised to do so.

A fellow at a bar who’s been in the Navy for six years now; he just came down today to administer an enlistment test to some new recruits, and we’ve been chatting about the world, dreams, and good fish.

I’ve met countless other people who’ve arrived on cruise ships and pleasure yachts. A lifelong sailor who has become an aspiring playwright; a couple who came down “just to visit” fifteen years ago and now own a hotel on the mountainside; an old soldier who needed a life saving surgery in Puerto Rico; and a jovial millionaire who insists on having his appetizers without garnish “to appreciate just the dish.” This last is one of our regulars at the restaurant I work at, and has apparently been coming in for years.

Other parts of island life take some adjustment. Occasionally it will dawn on you that you’re literally on a rock in the middle of the ocean, surrounded on all sides by ocean. Not a strange thought to a local, but to a mainlander it can be a troubling thought. Other times, like when the entire island does not have something in stock because a container fell off a shipping barge, you’ll miss the reliability of overland delivery (and in this particular incident, the taste of fresh spinach.) Seeing people casually nursing beers as they drive down the main thoroughfare is also a bit strange.

Overall, I don’t regret coming down here. I always intended to treat this as my modern day Walden Pond; a place away from civilization where I can commune with nature and find myself. While this is certainly no barren wasteland, and tourists slathered in sunscreen don’t exactly count as local wildlife, it’s far enough away that I can get some perspective on where in my life I’d like to develop and grow.

For now, I’ll close this as I closed it each time I worked on it: with a sense of satisfaction and another margarita.