Life in the Left Lane

Every alluring tropical island has among its inhabitants a small subculture of expatriates from the "real world" who came by choice, survived the culture shock and have adopted it as their home.

They balance the simple pleasures of an idyllic lifestyle with the complex surprises of a foreign culture in an ongoing adventure that is never predictable and usually quite a lot of fun.

I am one of them, a transplant from the cold and crowded northeastern U. S. to the warm and wondrous Caribbean.

My personal paradise is St. Croix in the Virgin Islands, a realm celebrated for dazzling white beaches and clear turquoise waters, too beautiful to believe. A cluster of a hundred small islands and cays in the northeastern Caribbean, the Virgins are roughly one-third British, two-thirds "American Paradise."

St. Croix (pronounced Croy), the largest of the U.S. Virgin Islands, is a well-kept secret. Separated by 40 miles of ocean from the rest of the Virgins, it is nothing like its better-known siblings, St. Thomas the Lively Virgin, the most popular cruise ship port in the Caribbean, and St. John the Pure, a magnificent natural haven that is mostly National Park.

St. Croix is the Gentle Virgin. Its beauty is serene, its manner mild, and its people (Crucians or Cruzans) are, like the climate, mostly sunny and warm.

In this mellow setting the pace is slow, the atmosphere is informal and relaxed, and the prevailing attitude is carefree. "No problem" is a favorite expression.

Among the outsiders living here are a few thousand from the mainland U.S.A. We call ourselves continentals, mainlanders or statesiders. Since most of us are white, Crucians, who are mostly black, call us simply white people. As Americans in an American territory we are not technically expatriates, though we are often as bewildered as they are.

Statesiders who choose the U.S.V.I. precisely because it is American are in for a surprise. It can be quite traumatic to discover that, despite the flag, the islands are fundamentally Caribbean in style and the territory is more like a foreign country than another state.

For settlers accustomed to stateside efficiency and life in the fast lane, island style is full of puzzling paradoxes and frustrating foibles. Very few things start on time, hardly anyone plans ahead, logic is elusive, and simple errands routinely morph into monumental missions.

The phenomenon is called Crucian confusion or, in a phrase that has become a metaphor for quirky island style, life in the left lane. Yes, here in the U.S.V.I. we drive on the left-hand side of the road in cars designed to travel on the right.

Outsiders who embrace the style and enjoy life in the left lane are a special breed: adventurous, adaptable and accepting, with a good sense of the ridiculous.

An often-invoked calypso title that aptly describes the island outlook is "Don’t Worry, Be Happy." I can’t think of a better mantra to live by.