When I moved to the Virgin Islands almost 10 years ago, I found a welcoming community, old-world charm, and pristine natural beauty.
But there was one big disappointment: The territory simply wasn’t very Caribbean.
I knew this because of Jimmy Buffett, the American sailor-musician who wrote dozens of popular songs about his travels in the region.
“Nibblin’ on sponge cake; watchin’ the sun bake all of those tourists covered with oil,” he croons in his mega-hit “Margaritaville.” “Strumming my six-string on the front porch swing; smell those shrimp, they’re beginning to boil.”
Thanks to Mr. Buffett, I knew the Caribbean to be a laidback, palm-tree-dotted paradise whose residents spend their days lounging on beaches and sipping mixed drinks.
Their two main responsibilities are partying late into the night and gossiping about it the next day on the “coconut telegraph.”
Their biggest decision each day, I knew, is choosing what ingredients to put on their “cheeseburger in paradise.”
In other words, the Caribbean was my kind of place.
The reality
Imagine my chagrin when I reported to work.
Beacon Editor Linnell Abbott did not lead me to a palm tree and place a margarita in my hand as I had expected. Instead, she led me to a desk and placed a reporter’s notebook in my hand.
“Ha!” I said, to let her know I got the joke. “That’s funny. Now, where’s that sponge cake?”
She chuckled and rattled off a list of assignments as long as my arm.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but I think you’ve just recited the wrong list: I noticed that it didn’t include the words ‘rum,’ ‘beach,’ or ‘sailboat.’”
She chuckled again and hurried away to her own desk before I could explain that I was serious.
“Umm,” I said to no one in particular. “Why does the margarita cooler appear to be filled with water?”
Not Caribbean
In the succeeding months, my disappointment grew. The longer I lived here, the more I realised that life in the VI was not at all like a Jimmy Buffett song.
Instead, residents had real responsibilities: jobs, families and bills. Though they might visit the beach on the weekend, Monday would find most of them parked at a desk.
Moreover, shrimp was prohibitively expensive, sponge cake was rare, and I couldn’t find a decent margarita anywhere.
Instead, people kept offering me sorrel, pea soup, pot fish or guavaberry tarts.
What’s Caribbean about that?
A good sign
Given my concerns, I was sceptical when I heard that the new cruise pier park is to take the form of a “traditional West Indian village.”
“Yeah, right,” I thought. “They’ll probably just build a bunch of brightly-painted wooden houses like the ones that line Main Street. Or they’ll create another Carrot Bay. ‘West Indian,’ my foot.”
But I was wrong: Officials announced last month that they plan to build one of Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville restaurants!
This is fantastic news, as it suggests that the VI is finally taking steps to become authentically Caribbean, just like Orlando, Nashville, Chicago and all the other cities around the world with one of the singer’s signature eateries.
Soon, instead of oxtail, salt fish and patties, VI residents will be able to feast on traditional regional cuisine like Landshark Lager Fish & Chips® and Jimmy’s Jammin’ Jambalaya®.
More needed
However, the territory shouldn’t stop with one restaurant.
The Margaritaville brand also operates a hotel in Florida and a casino in Las Vegas. Why not here too?
Meanwhile, the territorial outfit could be redesigned to something that better represents the VI’s actual history, such as the Hawaiian shirt and parrot hat worn by the diehard Buffett fans known as “Parrotheads.”
And as long as the territory is getting back its Caribbean roots, how about replacing the national song with “Margaritaville?”
Ultimately, in fact, I see no reason why the VI itself shouldn’t be officially renamed after the song.
Tourism would certainly benefit — Americans are guaranteed to flock to any country named Margaritaville — and the financial services industry would surely flourish under a Buffett-song-inspired motto such as “Oysters and Pearls.”
As a finishing touch, leaders could unveil a new flag featuring the face of — who else? — Mr. Buffett himself.
Put that in your margarita and drink it.
Disclaimer: Dateline: Paradise is a column and occasionally contains satirical “news” articles that are entirely fictional.
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