1 December 2004
I had to take the van to the Ford dealership for service today. It was due for an oil change and I wanted someone to check it out before it goes out of warranty in 1500 miles. Also the power door lock circuit shorted out on Monday, a likely victim of either road shock or salt water corrosion. Taking care of those things here is not as simple as it was in La Crosse. You can't make a service reservation -- it's first come, first served at 7:30am. I can't walk back home from the dealership as I could in La Crosse, they don't provide transportation, and Jean doesn't have a second vehicle to come pick me up. So I have time to kill today. I would rather be on Ambivalence repairing a winch that is also a victim of the salty environment.
On the other hand, I walked twenty minutes toward C'sted until I found a path leading down to the bay. Three outboard fishing boats are moored just off shore, and I found a plastic lawn chair under a tree. So here I sit in the shade with a gentle breeze on my face, the sound of the surf on the reef, and both Tortola and St. John just visible on the horizon. A sport fisherman is trolling off the reef, and the Coast Guard has a bouy tender out where a yacht ran aground last week. The seaplanes land right in front of me.
A Crucian fisherman drove up beside me and greeted me with "How you doin' boss." No, I wasn't sitting in his chair, and he was just getting his boat ready to go fishing this evening. He wasn't too optimistic -- the ground sea and full moon were adverse. He hadn't make any money last year or this -- "everythin' be restin'; even the sea." He complained about the thieving people who took a "new 85" hp engine off his boat but left an old one. Now he has "two 40's" and doesn't try to go fast.
The fisherman is a chocolate skinned man with short black hair. He looked to be in his 40's but told me he was 62. He has a significant paunch and two gold teeth.
He took the battery out of his car and then stripped down to his shorts. He waded out to his boat, first carrying the battery, not minding that it submerged, and then came back for a single gas tank for his two engines. He fired them both up before removing the cowls and spraying them with WD-40 -- a universal cure for salt air and maybe even with powers as an aphrodisiac. (Just ask Taj Mahal). Getting back in the water, he uses a scrap of formica to scrape the marine growth off the bottom of his 20' open boat. Then he carries the battery back to his car, drives off, leaving me alone again on this lovely beach.
So I sit here, taking this all in and realizing that this is truly a Caribbean moment, and I want to be able to remember it. Just this moment, just as it is.
Eight hours later, I get the van back after a very expensive oil change and an $800 estimate for repairs. A Caribbean moment too, I guess.