So You Want to Live on an Island? Thirteen Things to Consider Before You Move to Paradise

We live in paradise. It's true. This place we call home, the >>>British Virgin Islands<<<, are frequently touted in glossy magazines as a primo world travel destination and regularly featured on "top ten" lists for one or all of the "three B's" (beaches, bars and beauty). Our pictures make you swoon, our tans make you jealous, and the fact that you are shoveling snow while we are lounging poolside kind of makes you want to kill us. Yes, our lives appear pretty idyllic from our >>>Instagram photo feeds<<< ... but are they? Well, yes and no. While island life ab-so-lutely has it's merits (duh!), it is definitely not for everyone. Might living on a rock be for you? Well, after five years of living on and around islands, here are some things I've observed that you might want to consider:

1. Everyone will know your name. If you love small town living, island life might be for you. Everyone knows everyone here, and if you don't know everyone, chances are they've heard about you or you've heard about them before you even met. While this "small town" nature of island life comes with a comforting sense of community and accessibility, it also comes with the not so awesome side effect of gossip. And holy crap, scandal and drama - real or finely tuned through the "coconut telegraph" - is everywhere. 
2. Power and water run out, regularly. Infrastructure is often lacking on islands. We happen to live at a marina with it's own reverse osmosis water system and a hefty back up generator so we are very lucky to not suffer from this common island affliction. But most folks who live here are very regularly lamenting about power outages which seem to happen a lot. And water? You know, the stuff that pours out of your faucets whenever you want it? Yeah, that runs out too. It is not unusual for entire areas of the island to be waterless for several days at a time. I have one friend who's water went dry mid-shower. And don't even get me started on fast internet or conditions of the roads... 
3. It's harder to get stuff. Second hand shopping is common here regardless of social class or wealth.  Our beautiful island lacks big box stores of any kind and while I absolutely love the absence of blatant American consumerism and the eyesore of it all, it also means many of the things we are used to buying back home are not available here or are very expensive. My hunt for three car seats turned up with zilch (literally could. not. find. three carseats to buy on this rock) that I eventually had to suck it up, buy them online, and have them shipped down from the US (making them the most expensive carseats on the island, possibly in the entire Caribbean, maybe in the world...) From furniture to cars, kids toys to water toys, a lot of your stuff will be second hand. Anything that's not might have to be purchased off island and sent down via traveling friend or shipping company. How much you miss the amenities of the mainland will depend on your ability to be patient and/or flexible (or how many off island visitors you get!), but most people will feel some sort of consumer pang quite regularly whether it be because you can't get something or the exorbitant cost of it.

   

   We've been known to ship everything from boat parts to kids' toys down.
4. You will be behind on a lot. When people talk about a movie or show, I often ask if it came out after 2010 when Scott and I left to go cruising, because we have absolutely no clue about anything that came out after that. Game of Thrones? Breaking Bad? OITNB? These mean nothing to me. Then again, this is largely due to the fact that we don't have television and don't have a good/comfortable place to watch our computer after the kids go to bed but still...living on an island usually means you will be a step behind when it comes to trends, news, pop culture, fashion, and giving a crap about any of it. If you *do* care about the latest and greatest in x,y or z, island life might not be for you.
5. Garbage, trash and litter is up close and personal. The pictures we post of our island are often from the best beaches and the best views, but what you do not see are the not so pretty sides of life on a rock. The side that shows you how serious the issue of pollution, particularly in the ocean that surrounds our home, is. Remember that time our family >>>cleaned up the trash at the park in town<<<? We've been to beaches in the windward islands that are covered in plastic, trash and debris. It's sad to imagine that some people have that little respect for the environment but it's something we've seen on just about every island we've visited. Tortola, however, is very clean compared to others and it's one of the many reasons we love it here. Even still, you will see an impressive amount of trash if you get off the beaten path.

   

   A garbage bag full of trash we collected at a park one day.

6. Goodbyes are a regular occurrence. Aside from the fact that most of us are away from our families and have to say "bye" to our visitors, island communities are often very transient. While some people come here and stay forever, most do not. They are here on contract, for a few years, or as part of a temporary adventure. Add in the fact that we are host to vibrant yachting and cruising communities and"...people come and go so quickly!" Maybe for this reason or because of it, it can be hard to find friends and some people can find island life very isolating. If you are single, finding a mate can prove very challenging as well.
7. "Island time"is legit. In the day and age of "instant gratification", this is a tricky one for many to handle. However "island time", while not a scientific measure, is 100% real. Urgency is not a thing here (unless your are on the road where it is very much a "thing".) Life is definitely s-l-o-w-e-r and while that might sound appealing at first, the reality of it is often a shock to the system. Island time varies from task to task, but is - on average -  two to three times longer than you would expect to do/accomplish/finish said task. It can be as simple as a painfully slow clerk at the grocery store who takes no fewer than 10 minutes to scan your not-in-the-system-for-some-reason strawberries or as severe as your husband dropping off a small poster to be framed the week before your birthday, for your birthday (April 27th) and getting said birthday present/poster in the middle of July. Yes, 'island time' is real and if you are a task-master used to fast-paced city life, you will have some serious adjusting to do.
8. Bureaucracy is no joke.  I like to call it bureauCRAZY down here. From immigration to labor to customs, the name of the game is waiting. Waiting in line. Waiting to get a ticket in order to wait in line. Waiting for someone to call your name to tell you to wait some more. Waiting for approval. Waiting for a stamp from another department. Waiting for an official to come back from vacation. So. Much. Waiting. God forbid you try to run a business down here because no matter how many people you hire to get all your legal ducks in a row and no matter how many officials you speak with to clarify things, you will definitely get it wrong. Mark my words. And then you will have to deal with even more bureaucrazy. And then you will have to wait some more. Before you are a legal resident you will have waited no fewer than 262 hours in various departments and will have filled out your body weight in forms. 

   

   Just one of the approximately 1,436 forms I had to read and/or fill out.

9. Weather can be brutal. I will never forget the summer we spent in Grenada while I was pregnant with the twins without air conditioning. It was >>>so. effing. hot<<<. My uncle was just here last month and he walked around with a towel on his person that had one purpose alone: to wipe away/absorb his sweat. It was profuse. I'm pretty sure he lost half his body weight in perspiration and I doubt he will be coming back any time soon. It was very uncomfortable for him. NEWSFLASH: THE HEAT CAN BE AS LIMITING AND OPPRESSIVE AS THE COLD. While our winter's kick your winter's ass in terms of we are drinking rum drinks on the beach while you shovel snow, our summers are brutal and can be ungodly hot. As if the mind-bending heat wasn't enough, we also have the threat of hurricanes five months of the year. This is unnerving and potentially catastrophic, particularly if you live on a boat and own three others as your livelihood (insert emoticon with wide eyes and teeth). 

   

   He showered 3x a day. Still no relief. The heat is for real.

10. You might get bored. I know this sounds insane because when you came here on vacation you filled every day and still didn't see it all, but islands are islands and their very nature means they are limited. There are only so many beaches, bars, and activities to occupy your time. We don't have the museums, theaters, art houses, libraries and music venues to explore. There are only so many shops, clubs and restaurants to frequent and if you are someone who doesn't like to do the same thing twice or needs to be doing "something" all day every day, well, you should probably reconsider island living. While there is much to do for the water enthusiast, people who don't embrace the simple pleasures island life allows (and there are many!) can be somewhat disenchanted and limited by choices. It is, I think, for this reason that drinking becomes an olympic sport here. Day drinking at 3pm on a Monday? Why not!
11. You will inevitably come down with "Island Fever."According to Maui Goodness, "Island Fever is the phenomena of feeling claustrophobic from the close proximity of each shoreline, and feeling disconnected from the outside world. This is a pretty common thing on the islands... Most people move away after a few months to a few years because of a lack of family and the necessity of having all the amenities of the mainland at their disposal." We have never lived on one island long enough to come down with this very real affliction, but have heard many a story about it. For this reason many seasoned islanders recommend getting "off the rock" at least once a year.
12. You will be an outsider. Here on my island you are either a belonger or...not.  As in "You belong" or "You do not belong." I am not joking. "Belonger" is the actual term and if you are one, you have a card in your wallet that says so. To become a "belonger" is only slightly easier than becoming a saint in the Roman Catholic Church. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what it entails but I know it's just about impossible for me to ever become one so I don't really sweat it. Being a belonger has many, many perks that an non-belonger does not enjoy (having to deal with less bureaucracy is a big one) but it is how it should be and I get it. Regardless, I will never "belong" here.   And finally...
13. Living with that feeling that everyone thinks your life is perfect because you live here when in reality you are living with items 1-12 on a daily basis! It's true, once you relocate to paradise you simply are >>>no longer allowed to complain<<< because, obviously, our life is one giant vacation and we should just shut up and be grateful.  (thanks to my friend >>Claudia<<, for this one!)

    

    It's not all sunshine and rainbows, but it's pretty damn awesome if 1-13 aren't problems for you.

All said, I absolutely *love* living as an expat on an island (more in-depth post on this subject coming soon). I find this lifestyle vibrant, inspiring and I truly love my experience here. It's not all sunshine and rainbows (there are a lot of those, of course), and I've never met Jimmy Buffett or Kenny Chesney, but it *is* unique and if you have a flair for dichotomy and embrace the fact that adventure (and not always the thrilling kind you chose) awaits you each day, it just might be for you.

Word to the wise: if you still think that living on an island is for you, read Don't Stop the Carnival: A Novel by Herman Wouk. It is, so far, the best book about living and working in the islands I have ever read. It's a classic and will prepare you for living and working on a rock better than anything. We considered it "required reading" for our crew.

Expat Troubles and Immigration Woes: Time to Flee the Country!

"The kids' visa extensions were denied," Scott texted me while I was sitting at the beach, peacefully collecting shells with the girls. "We need to leave in twenty-four hours." "Shit" I replied. This is not the kind of text that one wants to receive when living as an expatriate on a small island. The word "denied" stung like a personal affront. Had they no heart!? Didn't they realize these were *toddlers* we were talking about?! My phone pinged again: "We'll have to stay for a few days. Should we ferry to St. Thomas or do you want to take the boat?" It took me exactly .02 seconds to respond with: "Sail." Staying in a single hotel room with three kids three and under for three days on a neighboring island, to some, might sound like a nice little vacation. To me? That sounds like the tenth circle of hell. But let me back up and explain...

Scott and I are legal residents of the British Virgin Islands (for a year anyway, we must file for renewal annually which - we are told - is not *too* painful of a process). Our girls, however, have been living here on tourist visas because we were awaiting the government's approval on their status as our "dependents". This small title change would allow them to be residents as well, but not until we got that coveted approval. The confirmation that they were accepted as "dependents" came through a couple of weeks ago at which point we were granted two weeks to take them out of the county, do some medical tests and return. I can’t really explain the reasoning behind the fact that we must leave the island to do these things that could easily be done here, but it’s the rule and if there is one thing you must know about life as an expat on a small island it is this: There is very precise protocol that must be followed when it comes to any governmental procedure (immigration/work permits/residency etc.) Not following these formalities *exactly*  and *perfectly* will project you into a Groundhog Day-like loop of red-tape madness, endless immigration lines, and mind-numbing levels of frustration. So we don't ask questions. We just do what we are told. Side Note: following government protocol "exactly and perfectly" is pretty much impossible since it changes with the wind, so the aforementioned is almost a guarantee. Be warned. 


When that two weeks was up and we still hadn't left the country to get our t's crossed and i's dotted by the powers that be (mainly because Scott works every. single. day.), Scott donned his Sunday best and headed to immigration to see if they would grant us an extension. Having government do you a "favor" down here is not unheard of, but something of a crap shoot. Or Russian roulette. Okay, maybe a small miracle; like witnessing a deer give birth to twins in your back yard or something. Not impossible, but not an everyday sort of occurrence. And this time was no different. We got a big, fat: DENIED and were given 24 hours to leave the territory. Hence: Operation Flee Country.

Point for living in a home that moves and for a US island a mere four hour sail away!

The logistics of packing up three small kids, sailing to a neighboring island, and coordinating a medical test might not sound like much, but given that we run a very busy business and covering Scott's duties as well as timing medical results so that he could return to work ASAP was...tricky. As far as what needed to happen while we were gone, the twins needed simply to leave and come back, but Isla needed a medical exam to ensure she wasn't bringing diseases (typically reserved for 18th century prostitutes) into the territory. The tests were simple enough, but results would take a few days and we weren't allowed back in without them. In a desperate pinch, Scott found trusted people to fill in for him while we were away, and we were told we'd have the results we needed by Friday so he could return to work Sunday morning. The successful completion of this sequence of events was far from impossible, but certainly aggressive. Given that Murphy's Law prevails down here, combined with the "island time" phenomenon, meant the possibility of hiccups was high. The fact that we were traveling with three small children did nothing to ease the situation. Kids - while wonderful, mind-blowing and cute - complicate things.


We, along with our friends the Sunkissed Soeters, decided to leave at 4:30am with the hopes of arriving in daylight when our kids would be waking up. From there we would go ashore, clear in with customs (as one must do when they move from country to country), head to the various medical clinics we needed to visit (there were two), and call it a day. Sounds simple enough, right?


Except that when we started our engine at 4:30am, Haven woke up in a panic of epic proportions which, in turn, woke up Isla and Mira. I helped Scott get us off the dock and went below to try, unsuccessfully, to calm them all back to sleep. Have you ever tried to calm two wailing babies by yourself? It's difficult at best. Isla tried to help, but her presence only excited them. They would have none of it and were much more interested in a cuddle fest in the aft cabin. It was going to be a long day.


We arrived in Red Hook as the sun was coming up and our kids were coming unglued. Scott and I were positively exhausted, but time was of the essence and we needed to get to "Doctors on Duty" ASAP. We dinghied ashore with the Soeters, grabbed some breakfast and some desperately-needed coffee, and after unsuccessfully trying to rent a car for nearly an hour, decided to cut our losses and hop in a taxi. One thing that is a huge pain in the butt for cruisers with small children traveling to the United States Virgin Islands is that everyone aboard must be present to clear in (as opposed to just the captain) which means we ALL had to go ashore (Note for those 'in the know': yes, we are members of the SVRS but we forgot to file a float plan. Won't forget that again!) This was going to not only be a day that began at 4:30am for our normal 7am-ers, but one in which they skipped their coveted two-plus hour midday naps. Oh joy! Wigged-out, poorly-rested, two year old twins are NOT for the faint of heart, I tell you. I prepared for battle with an impressive arsenal of toys, snacks aplenty and took a double dose of patience.

By the time we had cleared in, visited the two medical clinics we needed to visit, and return to Red Hook, it was 5pm. Over *twelve* hours after our day began. That is a lot to ask of little children! While there were some definite meltdowns, lots of deep breathing on my part and a couple of moments where I had to extricate the twins from situations due to toddler anarchy, I was - overall - so pleased with how our kids held up. The twins sat in our (amazing, life-saving) tandem umbrella stroller most of the day, and that is no fun for very active two year olds. Isla was a gem, with her only real low point being the fit she threw when a nurse came at her with a needle to give her the test shot for tuberculosis. All in all, the day was a success, albeit incredibly long. To celebrate, Scott and I took the girls to an early dinner at Molly Malones in Red Hook where they continued to run around like giggling heathens and mommy and daddy enjoyed some (well deserved) rum drinks. We ended up back to the boat around 6pm, showered everyone up on the aft deck and the girls and I were fast asleep by 7:30.


With the "business end" of our trip over, we could finally relax, get our darlings back on their normal sleep schedules and simply enjoy being on the water, at anchor (which is bliss, by the way). What had initially begun as a very hectic, stressful and forced trip turned out to be a nice little vacation where we were able to enjoy dinners out with friends new and old, meet up (and party a little too hard) with fellow cruisers who are like kindred spirits, and enjoy the vast bounty of American products and services that St. Thomas has to offer (it felt very much like Florida to us; there's McDonalds, K-Mart, Home Depot, Walgreens, Subway, surf shops galore and even a Cost-u-Less, which is a Costco equivalent!) It was like being in the land of plenty compared to where we live in the British Virgin Islands. We took advantage of the plentitude and, truth be told, it was nice.


The mission was a success, and while we thoroughly enjoyed the time away and the mini-vacation, it was a welcome treat to sail back to our adopted little island of Tortola where the roosters wake us up, where there's not a big box store or chain restaurant in site, and where our girls will finally, hopefully, no longer be tourists.

At least for a year.

Almost  in Red Hook and ready to set the anchor. Tired kiddos.

This child is a gem to travel with. Three years old and fully adaptable and ready for adventure!

Very, very tired daddy.

Sunrise from our boat, anchored in Red Hook, St. Thomas USVI

Customs

This is what two families and five kids look like in a customs office. This is where the twins were falling apart.

They have *NEVER* napped in a stroller. Mainly because they never have to, but this time - they did! I would be lost without this stroller!

Dinner time shenanigans. We eat out very early when no one else is around so our girls can run around and be kids.

"Thank God I have a job I can do from anywhere!" Minus the captain part, of course. Here's Scott taking MORE bookings.

Dinghying back home after a very, VERY long day. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

Bright-eyed and bushy tailed the next morning. Isla loves waving to passing boats. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

My little sweat pea, Mira. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

This was our neighbor. 7am, pipe in mouth, reclined and reading a paperback as the sun warmed up. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

I honestly love that our home is the best jungle gym our kids could ever want. They love nothing more than being on deck.

Mira, mastering a new move. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

This child is part monkey, I tell you! Super coordinated and strong.Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

Putting our dingy in the water with daddy. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

Lowering the dingy in the water. A little lesson in physics. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

Absolutely LOVE our Sailor Bags Back Pack and our Turkish Bath Towels. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

Pippy Longstocking looking on. Red Hook, St. Thomas, USVI

When we got our test results, we decided to sail over to St. John for a change and to break up the upwind sail home.

Sailing for 2-3 hours with these girls these days is a pleasure. We sit on deck and talk, sing songs, and watch the ocean.

Sunset in St. John. It was an early night for all of us. Still catching up on sleep! Maho Bay, St. John, USVI

Mommy made pancakes and sausage the next morning. We love to eat in the cockpit with the breeze in our hair! Maho Bay, St. John, USVI

Seriously, if I loved our three girls any more I might explode. For real. It's impossible to love any more. Maho Bay, St. John, USVI

I rigged up a new line from the bow to the mast for the girls to swing on. It was a big hit. Maho Bay, St. John, USVI

We set sail for Tortola after breakfast. Sir Francis Drake Channel, BVI

This child. Sigh. She is a force. A delightful and joyful one though! Sir Francis Drake Channel, BVI

My little mermaids. Adore them. Sir Francis Drake Channel, BVI

Mira and daddy, enjoying the sail home. Sir Francis Drake Channel, BVI

Home, sweet home. Back at our beloved home port of Nanny Cay, Tortola BVI.