Charlotte Amalie

WAFFLE WARNING: I had a bit of time on the plane...this entry is for the avid blog readers only.

It's painful, coming down from the high that has been the last two months. Losing members of our pseudo family. Losing our home. Returning to the relentless packing and unpacking of bags. Our kitchen and our horse, gone with the wind.

Patrick and Mary (Cats cousins) have a gigantic house in the hills above East End, Tortola. It's filled with their three young kids and little else, at least it looks that way because there's quite simply just too much space to fill. Well that or we've become overly accustomed to the confined quarters of Wind Seeker. Fittingly, the place is located just a few minutes from what may as well be their own private beach. Not bad.

Finding this abode became somewhat of an afternoon activity. First off, road names and numbers don't really exist in the VIs. Houses are located "based on identifying features" ... I'm not joking. Unfortunately, many houses are built without said 'identifying features', rendering them somewhat unlocatable. In particular houses (like Patricks) which are not visible from the road, rely on 'identifying features' of a nearby 'identifying feauture' followed by a series of directions from that 'indentifying feature'. In fact, when you ask for directions the most common response would be "what does it look like?"

To aid our navigation we had a tourist map (read: sketch), a few poorly remembered verbal directions, and what was left of google maps from last time I loaded that area. Now I know a poor craftsman blames his tools, but those are some pretty shitty tools. To keep us on our toes, our rental car had less engine than a scooter and Cat was driving up hills that made Mt Doom look like the Great Plains.

So we got lost. We had no working phone, and what was left of google maps was dismally inaccurate.

Whilst manoeuvring around other cars on a two-way single lane gravel road, our signs of distress were recieved by a lovely lady in a 4x4 - whose name we never learnt. Turns out, she knew a lady who knew where Patrick lived and kindly led us through a maze of roads that looked like driveways to our destination, under verbal direction from her friend on the phone. Her friend was, surprisingly, aware 'his cousin and two friends' were coming to stay - unknown to both Patrick and Mary as to who either of them were. Thank you mystery ladies and your island gossip!

It was a welcome slap in the face: forget the internet and fraternise with the locals.

I feel I've not spoken much about the BVI locals so I'll take a minute to do so.
BVI residents are divided into two groups; belongers and (by default) non-belongers. Belongers are, as you could guess, those born on the island or descendants of those born on the island and they are essentially all members of the same family in one way or another. The head of the family is uncoincidently the Prime Minister, who seems to be able to do what he likes to look after his family and, I guess, his islands - although the former takes priority, often at the cost of the latter. Belongers have the upper hand in the employment market, with both employers and employees having to jump through numerous hoops and wait incredible periods of time to prove that a belonger could not do their job. Taxi driving for example, is reserved exclusively for belongers. It appears to the unsharpened eye of a tourist, that the belongers operate in their own right, and everyone else on the island is an inconvenience.

I don't mean to labour a point but a pair of serial armed robbers have been loose on the island in recent months, and have targeted every supermarket except for the one owned by the Prime Minister. Apparently their identity is common knowledge and their background...well obvious. You get my drift.

I have been disappointed in the friendliness and charm from the locals. Rumour has it they take some warming, and I'll believe that, but they put on a front which appears hostile and often unwelcoming. Few and far between offered little more than the necessary communication and we found far better dealings with non-belongers and tourists on the whole. Customs by far the worst culprit who have no idea what they're doing and punish you for trying to do it right. Of course, there were exceptions, and to be fair I'm not the chattiest of types but my impression stands.

Economic development is not high on the list, and if I may speculate this could be because the only industry they need is tourism, who come by the boat load (cruise ship, ferry or private yacht) and have no other choice for their goods and services. Opportunities to develop good business appear plentiful and at times we struggled to understand why nobody would capitalise on them. Apparently the business permits are about as easy to get as one of Santa's reindeers so businesses go bust before they can even start trading. I feel their frustration.

On reviewing this entry I see I've just unleashed a rant that I've been bottling for weeks. So I'll put myself in their shoes for a second. Why should we be friendly to people taking over our country? Why should we welcome tourists who aren't here to see us but to use us to witness (and often spoil) the beauty of our country? And why should we spend tedious hours stamping and signing the same forms, closed in a box in the island heat, when we could be fishing and diving instead? Why should we share our private beaches with strangers? I suppose it would feel like a constant invasion.

Perhaps it is best the island keeps true to its roots and maintains its island life for which it is so very famous. I just hope that they see the value in what tourism brings to the island.

Our exit strategy to Cuba conprised a ferry to St Thomas, a night in Marvin's Air BnB, a few rides in Marvin's 4x4, a few lectures on 'shaking the foundations of heaven and earth', followed by a flight to Miami, four hours in the airport and another very empty flight to Santa Clara. Sayonara sea legs, we gon' get that walk on!Read more