The Chronicles of St. John, US Virgin Islands

April 2010

The warm tropical trade winds pour over our elegant screened-in porch home, nestled on a cliff bordering the picturesque, aqua-marine ocean <--living in tropical paradise leads to run-on sentences.

It was a whirlwind journey to reach where I sit today, beginning with the night before my departure. As the queen of engaging in social gatherings at inappropriate times, it was no surprise I hosted several friends that night while simultaneously attempting to pack. Bedtime: 3:00am. Alarm: 4:30am. Fortunately, an excitement-fueled adrenaline rush facilitated my journey home and onto the airport. Two flights and a lay-over later, my mom, sister, and I descended from US Airways onto St. Thomas, the largest of the three US Virgin Islands. The beautiful climate instantly had me grinning but I truly fell in love upon entering the terminal as we were offered free shots of the popular, local Cruzan rum. This is awesome. Having arrived earlier we found Zac at the bar next to luggage claim already two beers into the afternoon. St. John Brewers Island Summer Ale.

Though I was willing and eager to try my hand at left lane driving, Zac assumed the position in our new Ford Fusion rental car. Have you driven in a Ford Fusion lately? This amazingly compact car is able to pack five deep with all associated luggage; note, I said ‘able’. The US Virgin Islands are the only state or territory in the US where cars drive on the left side of the road, a tradition in place from the days of British occupation. Side historical note, the reason the British drive on the left is from the time of battles and jousting on horseback. As most were right handed, that is the side of the horse where they carried the sword or lance; therefore the ponies passed to the left of each other.

The first night was spent at the Frenchmen Reef Marriot, a luxurious mega-resort perched on the southern coast of St. Thomas. After a brief and refreshing swim in the bluest water in which I have ever immersed, we dined at the hotel restaurant in a collective, tired heap, exhausted from the day’s travels. Sipping on freshly blended daiquiris, the first of an onslaught of tropical drinks in the week to come; which I will continue to describe in detail. I love to share my culinary passions through written word and picture, so you have been forewarned. Do you find this annoying? Maybe YOU need a daiquiri; an icy explosion of intense strawberry flavor flooding your mouth and penetrating your soul, releasing endorphins leaving you grinning like an idiot, absolutely satisfied and happy.

While the younger members of the party retired to bed, Zac and I acquired beer from the hotel souvenir shop (where it was sold in the cooler next to Coke), and ambled down the shore to the Havana Blue Lounge, a beach side restaurant immersed in vivid blue hues. Dappling in their array of succulent appetizers, we sampled calamari and black bean hummus-a local delicious take on the classic. Amusing over buying the $175 cocktail, served with a loose one carat sapphire stone, the bartender astonishingly informed us they were currently sold out. And to think how funny it would have been to see Dad’s face when he saw that on the room tab.

The following morning the journey to St. John continued, making our way to the ferry dock but not before stopping at the “Food Store” and engaging in our first series of cultural mishaps. First, Zac turns into the right side of the driveway entrance coming to an awkward head on with an exiting driver, to whom I apologize explaining we are “American” (it is the US Virgin Islands-they are “American” too), to which my sister justifies: “no, they’re not American-they’re brown”. Collective family cultural FAIL. Following the Tetris game of loading several days worth of groceries into the already overloaded Fusion it was onto boarding the ferry.

Popping open a crisp, Carib lager (owned by my buddy’s family in Trinidad) as we pushed off the dock, we were befriended by ex(States)pat, Bob. Projecting the island image with a dark golden tan accumulated over years and long hair, he gave a crash course of St. John’s history and recommendations for the week including the Salt Pond miracle mud. Salt Pond, adjacent to Salt Pond Bay and in view of Concordia Estates, where we were staying, consists of salt water accumulated during hurricanes. Buried under the surface layers, Bob explained, there is a brown muck smelling of sulfur; this mud is used in spas for $100 treatments. ‘I was just out there last week with some friends,’ Bob assures, ‘we rubbed the mud all over, walked along the beach to let it dry, then rinsed it off and rubbed fresh guava all over. It makes you feel like a new person.’ For real buddy? I wonder how many naïve tourists he’s got caking themselves in smelly mud.

Driving on St. John presented additional challenges to the left orientation. While the road design presents a perfect environment to shoot Jeep commercials, the Fusion groaned up hills so steep you had to stand up in your seat to see the bottom on the other side. The bottom of the car was also constantly scraping the ground on steep driveways, pot holes, and speed bumps. It became a wicked game of Mario Cart, except in the place of bananas and turtle shells there were goats and donkeys. Sharp curve. Donkey. Sharp curve. Steep hill climb then roller-coaster effect: AHHHHHHH-WHERE IS THE BOTTOM? Where is the road going? AH! Ninety degree turn. Where are the signs? Goat herd. 20mph. As if we could possibly go any faster and survive?!

St. John is the least populated US Virgin Island with two-thirds of the island National Park. As a result the island’s beautiful, natural environment has been well preserved consisting of a mix of vine-filled jungley forests and desert terrain of cacti and dry shrubs, and of course miles of stunning white beaches. There are only about 5,000 occupants year round mostly dwelling around Cruz Bay on the west side (the bigger and more touristy city) and Coral Bay on the southeast side. Our destination was Concordia Estates, an eco-resort where we are staying in an eco-tent or as their website describes “upscale camping”. There are more than a dozen eco-tents scattered along the hillside interconnected by a vast network of stairs including 148 stairs from our tent to the car-every day, several times a day. P-13 is perched farthest in the lineup with an unimpeded view of the ocean close below. To the south is Salt Pond Bay, the epitome of all that is Caribbean with calm, pure blue waters hosting a daily assortment of impressive sailboats. Our tent is outfitted with five beds, miniature kitchen with top opening fridge, and porch. The tent is covered in canvas with screen-in zippered windows. The water pump and lights are run by solar-panels off the porch, and microbes beneath the composting toilet turn our waste into usable compost. Above the shower is a giant, black barrel which is heated by the sun during the day; not like warm showers are often necessary in this climate. Over the porch thousands of our little hermit crab friends crawl through the woods, yes crabs in the woods, and gobble up food scrapes we chuck over the side.

The resort is a very peaceful environment, entirely surrounded by National Park. The night cloaks us is extreme darkness, under a magnificent blanket of stars, with only faint lights from the other tents and sound from the tree frogs and hermit crab shells clinking together. Mom, Dad, and I did yoga in the cliff side pavilion overlooking the ocean, wind whipping over our downward facing dogs, just like one of those corny yoga movies. It is a short tromp through the woods to reach Salt Pond Bay, the closest beach to the resort. Snorkeling along the bay edge we admired the amazing reef life. I found the Caribbean waters were filled with the familiar and I began reminiscing about Alaska: long-spined sea urchins, sea cucumbers, and sea stars. Beautiful rainbow parrot, angel, and trunk fish. In deeper water we encountered two spotted eagle rays, four feet from wing tip to wing tip, and a seven foot long tail with barbs; perfectly patterned white dots across a black background and a face resembling a pouting, grumpy, old man. Delighted to find my freediving skills partially intact, I swam with them within a couple feet, eye to eye as they glided along entirely unperturbed. Breathtaking. Next I meandered for a bit with a sea turtle; he finned along stretching his wrinkly neck out, eying me, and occasionally stopping to munch on coral. Zac and I continued snorkeling for several hours, circumventing Boobie rock (type of Caribbean bird), returning with scorched, backside snorkelers tans-stupid white genes. Back at our eco-home we dined on fresh Mahi-Mahi fish, hash browns, and pina coladas. Now those of you, who are currently colada haters as I once was, listen up. This is not that diabetes-inducing syrup in plastic jugs at Meijer; a pina colada should only be consumed in its fresh, raw form. Coconut milk. Lime juice. Little pineapple juice. Lot rum. Phenomenal.

Monday leads us to Lameshur Cove for a hike and another exciting venture with the Fusion. Up steep and unpaved dirt roads, the undercarriage bangs over riddles of potholes. People passing in Jeeps and Land Rovers offer confused looks. ‘I don’t know why you would need a 4-wheel drive vehicle on St. John,’ Mom recalls the car rental employee explaining in St. Thomas. SERIOUSLY? Were you talking about the same island we are on?! At least we are getting our money’s worth. The hiking trail was lined by giant cactus tangles, vein-draped trees, a cacophony of lizards, deer, mongoose and millipedes over three inches long. We encountered a sandbox tree which, unlike the texture that its name may invoke, is actually entirely enveloped in thick, inch long spikes. The trail delivered us to a dry waterfall bed etched with ancient petroglyphs; the shapes drawn like finger paintings into the smooth stone.

Later in the day the reliable Fusion brought us to Hurricane Hole, north of Coral Bay. Hundreds of mangrove trees line the bay, thousands of roots connecting in elegant interlacing arches, creating a horizontal ladder of sorts. These mangroves act as a marine nursery, housing smaller versions of their counterparts we had seen in the open ocean on the reef. An amazing miniature world existed in just a few feet of water. Juvenile or baby angel fish and barracudas swam around oyster shells and anemones that clung to the mangrove roots. Dinner shortly followed at the Shipwreck Diner with mouth-watering garlic Mahi Mahi and scallops followed by four desserts of inhumane portions and matching richness.

Tuesday big brother and I adventured out solo, leaving the rest of the family to massages and the swimming pool. At the beach we negotiated the rocky shoreline in search of cliff jumping locations. Our first prospect landed us in five feet of water-the force blowing my hair out of a ponytail. Next we circumvented a rocky peninsula we dubbed Phallic Point due to the excessive number of cactus shaped like the afore mentioned. I swear we are not just young and perverse-minded, even Mom said they looked like that. Bailing from cactus point and jumping into the water we swam into what was later referred to as baby sea urchin beach scattered with hundreds of sea urchins of various sizes. Ends up Zac’s wicked barefoot shoes are not immune to spiky marine life.

The afternoon landed us on the north side of the island in Waterlemon Bay. Snorkeling off the beach we discovered multiple turtles feeding in the shallows off eel grass. While relaxing on the beach, I feed bean pods to a visiting wild donkey. Back at Concordia in the café, I dined upon homemade ravioli with gorgonzola and pesto to the backdrop of the setting sun and steel drum music. After dinner in the eco-hut we set about figuring out how to cook the plantains we purchased, a fruit best described a banana flavored potato. Following a two hour assault to manipulate them into something edible, the perfect recipe was engineered: thinly slice, marinate in maple syrup and rum, fry in oil, and coat in cream cheese. Delicious.

Today began with monster omelets followed by a hot, torturous multi-terrain run. Let me explain. First run up 148 steps from our tent to the road, then down a steep cement road to the beach, run for a bit over the rocky shore, then traverse a rocky cliff climbing up into cactus bush then run on a narrow trail avoiding said cactus, continuing onto a rockier beach for a bit, a little more climbing then through beautiful brown prairie grasses, more rocks and cactus-dry and hot, then avoid vomiting as you run along Salt Pond that smells of carcasses, finally you reach Salt Pond Bay and run along the shoreline on the sand, then up a dirt road to the trail, then up and down trails in a wooded area, then up, up, up, until you have nearly passed out then you’ve reached the boardwalk that leads back to the tent. Surprisingly, Microsoft Word is fine with the length of the previous sentence.

Concordia Estates sister eco-resort, Maho Bay, resides on the northwest side of St. John. There today, at Maho Bay we encountered more amazing marine life including a devious pilot fish, the kind usually seen riding sharks and sting rays. At first it was easy to freak out, as he swam next to your skin but I quickly became amused by the 6” long fish clinging to my body contours nibbling gently on occasion; more surprising than painful. I twisted quickly in circles underwater to try and shake him off but he attentively dashed along attempting to stay under or behind me, safe from my line of vision. While I bemusedly played with the pilot fish Zac had shimmed up a palm tree and sequestered two coconuts, cracking one open to drink the milk and eat chunks of the fresh fruit. The day ended in a pottery class, throwing pots on a wheel. Though a fun and education experience, the activity left me scarred, apparently too preoccupied with centering my hunk of clay, I inadvertently scraped off the bottom sides of my hand.

To Run

I feel that coverage of this topic is long overdue since running has evolved into a nearly daily element of my life. Charged from a midnight run I am passionate to share my love with you. Before those of you who despise the very thought of running start sipping on the haterade let me preface by saying it is okay that you prefer the pace of vulnerable prey-it is not for everyone, just for those who want to survive. Only joking! ...kind of.

Running can be equated to many activities, such as one I recently discovered-mountaineering. Any great love comes with hardships and challenges as is the case with the afore mentioned. I may anticipate the event with dread, cursing moments as I drag myself through but also find myself often experiencing pure joy, ending in a heap of sweaty goodness, chest heaving, veins pulsing; so awake, alert, alive.

Running like sex is the best drug. Nothing can quite make you feel so good. You may find yourself sweaty, frustrated, tired, out of breath, but then you reach that spot and whoosh life is incredible and you-undefeatable.

Running is refreshing and stress-relieving with tendencies to turn life simplistic. Brief thoughts flit in and out of consciousness between focused, necessary breaths. Breath in. Breath out. Oh, what is that? Looks like puke. Breath in. Breath out. Creepy person by the bike rack? Nope, just smoking. Breath in. Breath out. Thump, thump, thump, thump-I like the sound of my feet on the wet pavement. Breath in. Breath out. I smells like worms...or dirt? Breath in. Breath out. Worm...worm...worm...ohhh, big worm...worm...oh no, got one... Breath in. Breath out. Man with his dog...oops, man with a short woman.

I do have more complex, and philosophical thoughts sometimes-I swear.

I have come to discover, as with many things of this nature, a bad run is better than no run at all. Don't worry about distance or time or technique or how those $75 Nike shorts display your quality runners ass; relax, breath in, breath out, and just run.

To Consume

Today brings the fifth day of my quest to eat for under $1 per day. Before tonight brings indulgence in much dreamed of and desired culinary delights, I would like to share a few thoughts.

First, the background of this project.

The idea was first born at a lunch between good friends; an observation of the copious amounts of food available and money used to acquire such quantities. This developed into a challenge: if millions of people eat for under a $1 per day, why couldn't we? Incorporating our role as resident mentors in the dorm we created a program to raise awareness about world hunger, collecting food donations and promoting our $1/day diet.

I nervously anticipated our event, imagining myself huddled on the floor every night clutching a bowl of rice and bean consumed by hunger pangs. However, I enjoy a good challenge among friends and of course promoting a worthy cause.

Sunday night we gathered supplies from Meijer:
(Pooling together our $5 for the week, we had $15 between the three of us)
-2 bags of dried lentils: $2.30
-2 boxes of saltine crackers: $2.58
-1 bag of rice: $2.24
-Jelly: $1.66
-Peanut butter: $2.99
-Pancake mix: $2.09

Total: $13.86

Part of the extra money went for homemade noodles and sriracha hot sauce. We could eat nothing else but this food for the week. While we realized there existed additional food close at hand, as any good event on campus includes free food, the object was not just to eat for $1/day but to eat as people who actually live off this meager budget.

Our diet for the next four days consisted of 2-3 small pancakes for breakfast, crackers with peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and lentils and rice for dinner.

It did not take long to realize how easy it was to survive on a little-demonstrating to me that on a normal day I probably eat more food, more frequently then I need. During the day, knowing that food was scarce, I could work for hours without feeling hungry. I was shocked at only experiencing real hunger pangs a few times through out the week. This is not to say that my current diet would be healthy in the long run especially since it was lacking fruits and vegetables-countless important vitamins and minerals. As a result of this unbalanced and lacking diet, I was left feeling unsatisfied, tired at times, and slept more than usual at night. However, t is amazing how the body can cope under change and stress. Surprisingly, I was proceeded through each day accomplishing necessary tasks, almost as usual.

A day or two into the world hunger challenge, I began to notice particular physical changes. Perhaps it was the lack of food that stimulated characteristics of the ancient hunter-gathering in me-experiencing heightened senses. I especially became acutely aware of sounds, making conscious observation of things I normally would not notice.

Examining retrospectively, the hardest part of this week was not actually being hungry but being surrounded by food. Although I was aware previously, this week particularly demonstrated the large role food plays in our society. It is difficult to go anywhere without interacting with food in some manner. There are numerous restaurants in any populated area. There is food at work. People's homes are stock-loaded with food. There is food at social events, gatherings, meetings. Not to mention how food is sold nearly everywhere possible including places that should not even sell food like hardware stores.

I was surprised by my own preoccupation with food. While I was not hungry much this week, I was not always full or satisfied with my meal. I spent an embarrassing amount of time and energy thinking about food I would like to eat.

Food is an important part of our lives not just for physical sustainability and performance, but pleasure and cultural reasons. Food plays a central role in holidays and celebrations. Food can be cooked as a gesture of affection towards others.

In a way food obviously has a hold on us.

Is that negative? Not necessarily. I believe awareness is key though.

Food is a marvelous part of lives but do not be consumed by what we consume.

Now, holding a cold Corona and preparing a mouth-water steak, I could not be more happy and appreciative for what I have.



To learn more about world hunger and make a donation to help those who really live for under $1 per day, please visit: www.thehungersite.org

Living with Quality pt. 1

I've been pondering this blog for a while, not exactly sure how to capture all of what I've been thinking succinctly. Plus, I wanted to finish the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (ZAMM) which has influenced so much of this train of thought. The topic for today relates to the very core of who we are and how we operate, it could be considered a personal religion, a belief.

I'm going to start with a brief summary of the philosophy behind it and you will have to forgive me because I can barely grasp it myself. Due to society and the early philosophers we subscribe to, we are raised to believe that everything can fall into two categories: subjective and objective. Objective being the physical attributes of any one thing, subjective being creations of the mind, the way that we witness things. The problem with this scientific approach, is that it doesn't make room for things like gravity. Its not objective right? There is nothing physically there. Point to it. Is it subjective then? Merely a creation of our minds, which did not exist before we thought of it? No, it clearly existed before it was named. So what is it? Another example is "quality" or this idea of "good."

The problem is the dualistic way in which we've been taught our entire lives to think, its either on or off, yes or no, object or subject. Where does that leave the spirit? Almost everyone can agree that we exist in some way other than our physical form. The author of ZAMM suggest that there is a overruling category which he's termed Quality and Quality supersedes these ideas of Object and Subject because it suggest that things have an "essence" (for lack of a better word) to them which is above their physical traits and exists before we "invent it" which thought. It is important to note that because Quality exist above subject/object we can't define it, because doing so would make it subjective.
In ZAMM he breaks Subject/Object down into other more touchable ideas, like the perceived difference between science and art, or the technical and the aesthetic. This is where this idea of living the philosophy ties in: We are all familiar with the idea of Left Brain, Right Brain people (dualistic again right?), he titles them as "Classic" and "Romantic" brain types that people have fallen into. Classic people tend to understand technology, while romantic people fair better in creative endeavors. The author suggest that these dualist mindsets are dangerous to our stability. Classical thinkers cannot live a purely technical life without removing humanity, Romantic thinkers cannot live in modern society because of their inability to use technology naturally. He notes that even something as technical as motorcycle maintenance has an art to it (the nature of problem solving is educated guesses which are not scientific seeing as they are guesses), and that to perform optimally both in motorcycle maintenance and life, we need to break down the walls that have been build between technology and art and realize that even science requires educated guesses - which are an art and not logical at all.

I fear I can truly not do these ideas justice nor am I connecting the dots very well at all so I will skip ahead...

The moral to the story (one of the many) is this way of living which does not require categorizing. Rather it asks that a sense of "oneness" be establish, an idea I'd like to rephrase as living with a subtle consciousness, the idea being that once we've establish that we are not so separate from the things around us and we therefore begin the consider the effect of every action in the greater picture we can live more wholly. Rather than fighting against your motorcycle to repair it, approach it with a sense of calm and control. Live with purpose and the more you can allow quality to show through your work the more holistic and satisfying the work will become for you as well. You've felt the difference between completely a project you honestly applied yourself to and done your best on, and turning in something "that will do" but doesn't have any of you in it. What happens if you take the idea and apply it globally to your life? What ramifications would it have for you, just in terms of the way that you felt if rather than riding your bike just to get somewhere, you were actually there on your bike rather than simply waiting to get where you are going? Think of all you would see! Also, I wonder how much anxiety we could lose if we lived this way? The difference doing what you are doing now and doing it well. From that would seem to exude a marvelous sense of calm because we are the masters of ourselves.

Sorry for the ramblings once again, I appreciate your reading and I would even more appreciate your thoughts as this is a thought process that I am trying to develop.

Love you all.

~Zac

What Should I Do With My Life?

Since the beginning of the year I feel like my mind has been constantly in motion, churning over potential options for my future. With the passing of graduation and most recently my nursing boards, there is a new urgency to figure out my next move. I have given thought to everything from returning to Alaska, to nursing positions in Michigan, to rafting in Colorado, to nursing positions on the west coast, to studying abroad. I declined an offer to work in Alaska again, which also came with a hefty pay raise, to leave the door open for other opportunities. From searching I have found these other opportunities are few and far in between and highly sought after. These tireless hours of application and cover letter productions leave me feeling frustrated and hopeless.

In nursing school I always pictured my dream job at the end of the road, then that transformed into at least having a job, which then transformed into me desperately looking and applying for any position. I do not want to settle.

Last night engaging in another session of Google job searches, I inquired of the mighty search engine: "What should I do with my life?"

Google rewarded my efforts with a NPR article from a few years ago; you can read the whole article here:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=896041

The NPR reporter interviews Po Bronson, who spent two years asking 900 people the same question I had posed then authored a book of the same title. Bronson discussed how most people approach this question with one eye open and one eye closed because we are afraid, then without exploring those fears we allow them to limit us. Like a man at night searching for lost keys only under the street lamp-we narrow our chances of finding what we want.

Bronson discusses how we make decisions from the presumptions we have about the world but often those presumptions are untrue, here are four examples:

(1) That money is the shortest route to freedom.

(2) That we can think (or analyze) our way to an answer of where we belong.

(3) That we are autonomous from the environment that surrounds us.

(4) That our biggest obstacles are external, rather than internal.

After reading these I agree with Bronson that these are the way we want the world to work rather then how it actually does.

Now where to go from here? Sitting and thinking has certainly got me nowhere.

I am just 22 years old and have barely begun to climb the foothills of decisions I will make in this life time. It is imperative to focus on what you do know-where you want to go, what you want to do, what makes you happy. I want to be outside, be challenged, work abroad, be culturally immersed, work hard physically, get a masters degree, get by the mountains or ocean...

At some point you just have to stop the late night searching and pining and head in what direction looks best at the time knowing that at any point you can stop and change directions.

We The Angry

A paradigm occurred to me during discussion in class today, and I wanted to see if you could find a way to reconcile the paradox.
Here's the thought:
It seems the more passionate a person is about any given controversy, the more angry they become. Think about opponents in prop 8, immigration, healthcare. Anyhow the more angry a proponent is, the less they listen, until all they can hear is their own outraged screaming.
The question is, whats the balance? Is it really possible to be both passionate and an honest listener - not just hearing in order to counter argue, but honestly considering the arguments of the opposition. Is it better to be open minded and less of an activist?

Making a Difference

Hey everyone! I'm reading Half the Sky- Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. It's a great book that talks not just about oppression but highlights the great work by many courageous men and women. Anyways, I loved this quote:

The third lesson is that even when a social problem is so vast as to be insoluble in its entirety, it's still worth mitigating. We may not succeed in education all the girls in poor countries, or in preventing all women from dying in childbirth, or in saving all the girls who are imprisoned in brothels. But we think of Neth and remeber a Hawaiian parable taught to us by Naka Nathaniel, the former Times videographer, himself a Hawaiian:

A man goes out on the beach and sees that it is covered with starfish that have washed up in the tide. A little boy is walking along, picking them up and throwing them back into the water. "What are you doing, son?" the man asks. "You see how many starfish there are? You'll never make a difference." The boy paused thoughtfully, and picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean. "It sure made a difference to that one," he said.


As my 2 cents, what a difference it could make if the little boy could convince all of his friends to throw some starfish back, too?