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