Island Time

I had the opportunity to tag along with my husband on a business trip to the Miami Boat Show. I love Art Deco and Spanish Architecture. We opted to stay in SOBE's Art Deco District. I would have gone about anywhere to get out of Michigan's single digit temperatures in the month of February. 

The perfectly manicured sugar sand, Miami skyline and colorfully painted lifeguard stands are truly a sight! Ocean Boulevard's restaurants, umbrellas and Latin music are  a destination for American snowbirds, Canadians, and Europeans alike. 

Three nights of clubs and restaurants were plenty for we middle aged dorks. That, and the sirens, early morning garbage trucks and hotel neighbors coming in at 5 am made for some sleepless nights. Yes, bars are open until 5 am! Our last night we got a 3 am wake up call to a pounding on our door due to the front desk getting a disturbance call to a room number transposed. As we headed to our rental car at 6 am in the parking garage we passed characters who were either closing a club or finishing a work shift. Whether working or partying, most were clothed in fishnets and exposed butt cheeks: a look I could neither pull off nor be comfortable in. 

We were on our way to the relaxing part of our journey. My husband was able to tack on a week of vacation, so he booked a condo for us in the Bahamas. We needed it! The plane from Ft. Lauderdale to Freeport was a 32 seater that sounded like an old fighter plane from WWII. Although only 20 minutes, the ride was an anxietous adventure. 

We landed at 10 am Island Time. A band playing Bahamian music welcomed us near the immigration check-in. Sea life murals were painted on the walls. It was a beautiful welcome center and a wonderful first impression. 

On the curb, a taxi driver offered us a ride. We followed him to his van. It was sun faded and duct taped. Carpet scraps covered the tattered upholstered seats. We rode through desolate neighborhoods that had not yet been repaired from the hurricane of 2004.  I was scared. My husband apologized. He had used our vacation club points to book a vacation after his work in Miami and basically threw a dart. 

24 hours previous I confirmed our reservation and was assured we could check in upon arrival. Turnetta, the Queen Bee of the resort lobby, said unapologetically, " Your room not ready. Go to the beach. I find you." A few hours later she said, " Come back in 30 minutes." She repeated to us and several other guests about 5 times, " Maybe your room ready in 30 minutes. Go to the beach. I find you."

The website indicated that check in was 4 pm. As long as no one cared if the room had towels or a made bed, that was pretty accurate. Funny thing, though, no one was bitching. All the guests were chatting and laughing as much as the resort staff. We made it. We were on Island Time and our toes were in the sand. Turnetta finally hooked us up. Our condo had two balconies, terra cotta floors, a fully equipped kitchen, and views of the Carribean Sea, courtyard pools and rock wall fountains. Paradise found!

A guy named Adriene had the job of raking the beach in the morning and putting out the chaise lounge chairs for the guests to sit down. He promised that "for a little gas money" he would show us around town and take us to a liquor store. Resort cocktails are pricey! Grand Bahama is 180 degrees from Miami Beach, and I do not mean in temperature! I wasn't yet sure where I was more scared. We made a joke with other guests that if the couple in condo 3014 doesn't return, tell the front desk that we were last seen with the beach attendant. 

Adreine's car had an empty dashboard and a muffler hanging on a shoestring. After driving out of the resort he must have tooted his horn every 100 yards, waving out of his open window and yelling, "Hey, Mon" or "Where you Goin?" He knew everyone. He gave us a tour and a history lesson of the Island of the Grand Bahama. The largest resort and International Bazaar Market  closed years ago after the large cruise ships discontinued Freeport as a stop due to a political issue.  Locals do not buy local art. Jobs in the resort industry dwindled. We passed by building after closed building. Three foot weeds grew in parking lots. A group of old men were playing dominoes at a picnic table at a desolate park. Adriene said they were there every day just to pass the time. He added, "Iz ok mon, we gettin by."

We finally arrived at the liquor store. Iron bars surrounded all 4 sides. When the owner saw Adriene, she buzzed us in. While we shopped, other locals were buzzed in, chatted, and bought one beer to go. As I tried to hand the owner my visa card, she put her hand up and said, "Wait juz a minute, I still ringing." She was right. I had not yet adjusted to Island Time. I was a little embarrassed that I appeared in a bit of a fucking hurry. 

On the way back to the resort, Adriene cracked a beer. He said, "Iz ok, Mon, you can drink and drive here." I guess it was ok, he was on his lunch hour. 

It took us a good 24 hours to understand Island Time, but we did it. We learned we shouldn't wait 'til we are starving to go to dinner, not to expect the wifi to work, and basically not to expect anything on time. There IS no time on Island Time. 

We tipped Adreine much more than "a little gas money." He said,"I have a son. I will buy him alot of Burger King. He like that."

I want to bring the Island hospitality back home with me. I will ask, "How you doin?" and really want to know. I will be happy when the sun is shining. I will be happy to be gettin' by. I will be happy to make someone else happy, just like Adriene, even if it is just to give someone a ride to a store or set up a chair for someone to sit down.