Upon reading the first of my mass emails regarding my 6-9 month long stint living in St.Kitts, my friend, a self-denying blogaholic, urged me to start a blog about my experiences. I realize this is less likely a compliment of my witty and astute observations and more likely a pursuit for validation for her blog-reading addiction; It doesn’t count if it’s a blog of a friend of yours. Then you are obliged to read it. (Just like when I maintain: it doesn’t count when I drink copious amounts of Absolute Vodka, my friend is a salesman for the distributor, I’m obliged to drink it...!)
Now, I must admit, I don’t think I have actually ever read a blog. I also have never read a ‘tweet” or even visited this “Twitter” site. While I’m at it: my cell phone still has an antennae. That’s held on with masking tape. And my laptop requires an external keyboard. Yup, a good ol’ desktop style keyboard, which rests clumsily on top of the laptop’s own dysfunctional keypad. (I have been the recipient of many a strange looks in the coffee shop when i pull out my “portable” computer to make use of the free Wi-Fi. Should have seen their faces when I then pull out my cell phone.)
So given my apathy to blogging and modern communication devices, why, you ask, have I decided to concede and facilitate my friend’s blog addiction? Well, to put it simply, I am a little bored. That’s right, I have moved to a tropical island in the Caribbean for 9-months, and two weeks in, I am bored.
I know, I know, I know. It sounds ridiculous. And I swear, I am not usually this type of person! Hell, I am the girl who picked up and moved to Ireland for a year on a whim. I have traveled Europe alone, lived in Australia for another year, spent 7 months roughing it in Africa...and I loved it all. I’m adventurous, I love change! But that’s the thing, St.Kitts isn’t enough change to be thrilling, and yet it is too much change to be comfortable. There is KFC, Dominos and Subway; Scotiabank and RBC; and President’s Choice products in the supermarket (“only at Loblaw” my ass, Galen Weston!). And Kittians ( pronounced Key-shins, I thought it was Kitty-ins, which I kinda prefer..), Kittians are much like Canadians. But small town Canadians....from the 1950s. They are ridiculously polite, moral, community-minded, stupendously hospitable, uphold their values and actually attend church. I don’t know how to operate in this society - I’m a Torontonian!
I feel like Reese Witherspoon in Pleasantville. I’m afraid to open my mouth here; I was a waitress for 8 years, I have a mouth like a trucker. And my sarcasm, snide observations and quirky remarks don't go over so well in a place where people guffaw at knock-knock jokes.
The main problem is, I don’t know how to meet people my age without joining a church group. I haven’t seen any bars in town and there is no community centre or intramural teams to join. I knew that creating a social network would be the biggest challenge with settling in here, but I figured I could compensate for it with evening walks along the ocean, or days at the beach. It is a tropical island after all. But here’s the kicker, although it is a beautiful small island, the coast where I live is all cliffs which are bordered by a narrow, windy road much too dangerous to walk along. And the beaches? They are not walking distance, nor are there buses to them, they are an expensive taxi-ride away. There is not even any accessible grassy region nearby which I can take a blanket and book to. At least in Pleasantville there was a lagoon.
So, this blog is to provide me – if not you – with some entertainment while I try to navigate in this culturally different (but not different enough!) country.
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