Wednesday, October 24, 2001
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Wednesday, October 24, 2001 |
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Don't rush me; I'm still on island time By DAVE HAMRICK You'll have to excuse me if I ramble a bit this week. I'm just back from a very relaxing vacation in the U.S. Virgin Islands, and the brain is not yet fully engaged. No, I won't give you a travelogue. There's plenty of information on the Internet or through travel agencies, and I don't have enough superlatives in my vocabulary anyway. I'll make one recommendation, though: if you go, stay on St. John or one of the other smaller islands, rather than St. Thomas. St. Thomas is crowded and busy, not my idea of a great place to relax. It's famous for its duty-free shopping, but you can always hop a ferry and spend a few hours in the shops, or to enjoy the night life. We had such a great time on St. John that I almost lost touch with the gritty goings-on back in the real world. But being a news junky, I had to flip on the TV for a few minutes once a day to check the progress of the fight against terrorism, and the Braves. Well, so much for the Braves. The first thing I noticed after landing in the islands was the prominent display of the Stars and Stripes it was everywhere, at least as ubiquitous as here on the mainland, and maybe even more so. But other than that, and the increased security at the airport, the area is pretty isolated from this new threat. It's not a topic of conversation where people gather. Rather, the talk is about the tings people go to the islands for, mon ... the fishing, the diving, the weather ... with an occasional reference to sports ("You're from Atlanta, eh? How 'bout those Braves, mon."). The second thing I noticed was that the pace there is completely different from anything I've ever experienced. People just aren't in a hurry, except for the taxi drivers. It's comical to watch them compared to everyone else around them, they're like a video on fast-forward, hustling bags in and out, rushing up to passengers just coming off the ferry or out of the airport, weaving through traffic with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the horn. But there's a leisurely grace to the movements of all the other residents, and even the tourists start to fall into the rhythm after a few days. Before I had been there long enough to get acclimated, I was tapping my fingers on the table, wondering when the waiter was going to bring my salad, when I saw a sign in the shop window across the street that said, "Relax ... you're on island time now, mon." Even going through Customs before the trip back home, I was impressed with people's friendly demeanor and unhurried approach to tasks. We stopped at one interview window, where the agent spent what seemed like a long time looking at our identification. "Where is this Yale Drive, mon?" he asked. The question threw me for a minute, since my ID clearly stated that my Yale Drive address is in Jonesboro, Ga. What more information could he need? As I started to stammer an answer, he added, "Is that anywhere near Tara Boulevard?" Turned out he had once lived in this area, and had even looked at houses in Fayetteville. As I reflected on what a small world it's becoming, I couldn't help but tie that thought in with the terrorism war and the tenuous alliances that have developed. Back to the real world. But I hope my colleagues will be understanding if I have less of a sense of urgency as I ease back into the work world. I'm afraid I'm still on island time.
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