Living like a Crucian

what it was like to be a prison guard in Siberia

There is an expression that the civility of a society is determined by its prison system. Not sure if I am quoting correctly, but it's something along these lines. That's why I inquired into the Golden Grove facility on STX. I was drafted to the Russian military when I was 18. I was sent to Siberia to guard the prisons. In the Russian military, you don't get a "time out". You live in the barracks for two years. The only way to get out is to kill a prisoner if he attempts to flee. You get a month off the base as a reward for that. The problem is, when it's minus 50 Fahrenheit outside, and you are in an unheated guard tower around the prison perimeter, it's so cold that you experience one of the the last phases of freezing to death, which is stupor. You are unable to use your limbs. The AK-47 is an amazingly reliable weapon, but you would not be able to pull the trigger when you are in stupor. That's how it was like to be a prison guard in Siberia.

, how long he has been living in North Carolina

About 4 years. I lived in Massachusetts for the previous 15 years. Moved to NC for warmth.

why does he want to live on St. Croix

Probably the same reason as everyone else: escape the Babylon.

and does he still want to relocate to St. Croix

I have not made my mind yet.

what beach does he like best

Sandy Point, by far, is the best for me. I am very sensitive to space around me, and my position within that space. There is plenty of space on the Sandy Point beach.

I enjoy Robert Frost but who is Doroshenco? I don't know if I am just tired or in a state of sterile stupor.

I believe it is a reference to an old Charles Bronson movie - Telefon about Russian sleeper agents.

Day 19.

My cottage is about 50 yards from a (minor) road, and I swear to you that the cottage walls vibrate with a frequency of about 30 Hertz, whenever a local mashugana passes by in a car with the windows rolled down, playing some low frequency noises which I can't identify as any type of music. I estimate the power to be at about 300 Watts. It puts a surprising amount of air pressure on my ears, making me feel as if I am diving about 15 feet under surface of the sea.

What the hell is going on? Who are these audiophiles, and what are they "listening" to?

Day 20.

On the beach, at 6:30pm, after the sunset, the air temperature is nearly perfect at 80 degrees Fahrenheit. The pure perfection is 77 degrees. The clouds are shapeless and low. The Caribbean sea is still. At the horizon, the world appears to go 2-dimensional and vertical. It looks like a giant wall, and there is some abstract-style painting on the wall, with purple, orange, grey and blue dominating other colors.

The beach is a good place to think, or to not think. If you want to think, you take a walk. If you want to not think, you sit down, and just stare. When you cross your eyes, it shocks the brain, and the thinking stops. I decide to walk.

After a while, I feel a foreign smell, mixed with the smell of the ocean. The foreign agent is a complex smell of expensive perfume, comprised of wild flowers, citrus fruits, almonds, vanilla, cinnamon, dry wood, and a touch of some bitter substance that I can't identify. I turn my head to see. It's some small hotel between the Sand Castles and the "prison condominiums". On the patio, there are 7 people, listening to live music. They are all the same age, about 55. White. Well bred and well groomed. Some are sipping white wine. I prefer red wine. In 1986, I lived about 100 miles from Chernobyl where the nuclear disaster happened. Red wine was thought to be the way to flush the radiation out of your system. Boy, do I have a lot of stories to tell! I feel old. There are way too many stories to tell. I feel old and distinguished, like a tenured professor of the science of life. That's my pitfall. Clarity. The feeling that I know everything there is to know about life.

The revelations come to me in bursts of light which illuminate the dark corners of the brain. "Dark", in a sense of "hidden", not necessarily "evil". Here is my latest revelation. It's a mistake to think that you can escape the rat race by moving to STX. Here on the island, there is a rat race to escape the rat race. It's like you are running an exhausting marathon, and there is a fellow runner near by. He is all tired and sweaty. As he passes by, he waves, smiles, and says "Good afternoon! Nice to be able to escape the continental rat race, eh?"

The wheel is ever-present. On the continent, the wheel is a complex mechanism of well-oiled parts. It runs efficiently, fast and smooth, propelled by the expertise of the mechanics who have been chosen carefully and deliberately, and by the money, which is the fuel of the wheel engine. On STX, the wheel turns slow, and it's squeaky. Sometimes the wheel maintenance is so neglected that the wheel stops turning altogether. The rats don't know what to do anymore. The primordial instincts, suppressed within the wheel by food and spectacles, kick in. The rats attack each other, driven by the overpowering desire to survive. Survival is the law of the land and of the sea, insular or off-insular. On the island, it manifests itself in looting and random homicides. On the continent, it manifests itself in wars, territorial expansions, and genocide.

What the hell is going on? Who are these audiophiles, and what are they "listening" to?

You must have lived in a small town in NC or a large high-rise in the city. They are un-affectionately called in NM: "Boomers". With the advent of 'gansta rap' the speaker manufactures found a new market. Pevy, JBL and others put on their thinking caps and came up with giant 'woofers' that could be installed in the low-riders back seats. These 18" and 24" 'woofers', coupled with a 300 watt amp produced a kind of out of body experience for the boomers. And given their frame of 'mind', sharing this experience with others seems only natural. I had a neighbor who was paid for doing such installs on vehicles ranging from F-150's to Fiestas. All of which I had to put up with the testing and tweaking, usually in the evenings. Unfortunately my 'hut' had no glass windows to close. And if I closed the shutters they would vibrate against each other enough to set the roosters to singing. A zero-sum gain…

Most of the 'music' I've heard among the booming has been filled with four letter words. I wouldn't encourage you to attempt translations. Resistance is futile…

I too, enjoyed the rants and raves of TRW. The similarity between wanderer and TRW is uncanny, though TRW's went a bit over the top towards the end. Which is not to say wanderer may not follow suit… At least 'w' sends pictures...

So if the 'boomers' and the roosters get you down, ear plugs, another fat bottle of merlot and your favorite CD will help to ease the pain. And, unlike the chained guard dog, I would not encourage interaction with the boomers on any level. Guard dogs only have teeth; Boomers have guns…

Stay safe and keep on keeping on!

Side note:
Interested in watching hundreds of drunks circling the town of Christiansted on floats armed with super-soakers, filled with margaritas aimed at the hot, sweaty throngs and blasting out even larger 'woofers'? Then participate in the annual St. Patrick's Day Parade tomorrow. Fun is supposed to start around 11am but, island time and margaritas all being equal, times may vary. No need to bring your merlot; just open wide and hope they're shooting at you...

You must have lived in a small town in NC or a large high-rise in the city. They are un-affectionately called in NM: "Boomers". With the advent of 'gansta rap' the speaker manufactures found a new market. Pevy, JBL and others put on their thinking caps and came up with giant 'woofers' that could be installed in the low-riders back seats. These 18" and 24" 'woofers', coupled with a 300 watt amp produced a kind of out of body experience for the boomers. And given their frame of 'mind', sharing this experience with others seems only natural. I had a neighbor who was paid for doing such installs on vehicles ranging from F-150's to Fiestas. All of which I had to put up with the testing and tweaking, usually in the evenings. Unfortunately my 'hut' had no glass windows to close. And if I closed the shutters they would vibrate against each other enough to set the roosters to singing. A zero-sum gain…

Most of the 'music' I've heard among the booming has been filled with four letter words. I wouldn't encourage you to attempt translations. Resistance is futile…

Yeah, it all makes sense now. Thanks much, Novanut.

Interested in watching hundreds of drunks circling the town of Christiansted on floats armed with super-soakers, filled with margaritas aimed at the hot, sweaty throngs and blasting out even larger 'woofers'? Then participate in the annual St. Patrick's Day Parade tomorrow. Fun is supposed to start around 11am but, island time and margaritas all being equal, times may vary. No need to bring your merlot; just open wide and hope they're shooting at you...

Sounds like a lot of fun. I'll be there.

Wanderer, you take yourself with you where ever you go. There is no escape.

The wheel on St. Croix may be slow and squeaky but when the wheel stops here the rats most assuredly know what to do. Not looting or homicide. We help each other. You only know what you have read about the aftermath of Hugo. Most of it untrue.

You didn't ask for advice from anyone here and I am not one to offer if not asked but I will give some to you. Write a book about your life. Pour all your anger, hate, pain, rage and disillusionment about the human race into those pages. Pour out your heart and blood and then build a big fire and throw it in. Maybe afterwards you can appreciate your youth, health and beauty of life. You only have one life here. Time to put your big boy underware on.

Novanut the similarity between wanderer and trw is nothing but a public display of pain and sorrow. It is sad that we are all so enthralled by it. Myself included.

Wanderer you don't know everything about life in spite of all the tragedy you have lived through. You never stop growing, learning and experiencing in life. I am constantly learning new things, having new experiences and just when I think all is well something new gives me a slap in the face.

It is not what happens to you in life but how you deal with it.

Don't worry about the booming gangsta rap. It is quickly being replaced by the techno crazy dubstep music my son creates on the computer. Oy. Making me crazy.

Day 19.

My cottage is about 50 yards from a (minor) road, and I swear to you that the cottage walls vibrate with a frequency of about 30 Hertz, whenever a local mashugana passes by in a car with the windows rolled down, playing some low frequency noises which I can't identify as any type of music. I estimate the power to be at about 300 Watts. It puts a surprising amount of air pressure on my ears, making me feel as if I am diving about 15 feet under surface of the sea.

What the hell is going on? Who are these audiophiles, and what are they "listening" to?

On STX do you guys have the dudes that take GIANT like 2x14in speaker boxes and tape/rig them facing outwards in their back seat windows BLASTING "music"? Ive even seen some in the REAR window.. how's that passing inspection I wonder?! Absolutely obnoxious.

On STX do you guys have the dudes that take GIANT like 2x14in speaker boxes and tape/rig them facing outwards in their back seat windows BLASTING "music"? Ive even seen some in the REAR window.. how's that passing inspection I wonder?! Absolutely obnoxious.

We have the cars that have speakers mounted (quiet professionally) in the rear windows of 4 door cars (the passenger door windows) facing outwards... it's pretty unique and I can't even find google images of it; I've definitely never seen it before coming to STX.

I just assume that the owners of the vehicles REALLY like to share, especially their music.

It becomes much more prevalent during campaign season too.

Day 22.

The town of Frederiksted is named after Frederick V, the king of Denmark from 1746 to 1766. Here is how he looked like:

One may wonder why Frederick was dressed like while visiting the tropical island of St Croix and posing for a portrait. The answer is that Europeans like to communicate their social status and wealth by dressing up. To this day, they keep this tradition. If you walk the streets of Copenhagen and Paris wearing sneakers, you'll be labeled as an "ugly American".

Frederick was a hedonist. He didn't care about the state affairs in general, or the infrastructure of STX in particular. He spent his days consuming large quantities of alcohol and fornicating with his mistress. His wife didn't mind the "open marriage" arrangement. In the modern times, the life of a statesman is more difficult. When the voters found out that Newt Gingrich wanted to follow the steps of Frederick V, in the way of having an open marriage between his wife Marianne and his mistress Callista, they booted him out of the presidential campaign.

In 1760, while riding his horse on the East End of STX and intoxicated with the local "Pain Killer" cocktail, Frederick V fell from the horse and broke his leg. Things went downhill from there on. In 1766, Frederick V died at the age of 42, destroyed by his physical and mental illness.

That much is known about Frederick V. There is one thing that totally escaped the historians, however. Being such a Frederiksted freak as I am, I launched my own investigation into the annals of the town history, and discovered that Frederick V, the king of Denmark, was gay. As evidence, I supply the diagram below for your analysis. You may want to enlarge the portrait of Frederick V above, to magnify the proportions of his fingers.

Day 22 (continued)

This amazing creature lives in the trees, 10 yards from my porch. In fact, there is half a dozen of iguanas up in the trees.

Iguanas and crocodiles are frequently used in the theological debates, as a proof of existence of God. The argument goes like this. Iguanas look so bizarre and so out of place, that the probability of becoming an iguana through the process of natural selection and evolution is so minuscule, that it's even lower than the chance of having your phone call returned by WAPA. With accordance to the Occam's Razor principle, which states that "given multiple explanations, the simplest explanation is true", one must choose the explanation that iguanas were created. Therefore, God exists. The atheists' counter-argument is this. If God created iguanas, he must have had a sense of humor. God doesn't have a sense of humor. Therefore, God does not exist.

It's a pity that iguanas are exploited in such a way that leaves big holes in both theological arguments. As shall be seen later in these STX chronicles, the dilemma about the existence or nonexistence of God can be resolved in a much more natural and logical way, which would satisfy both the fundamental Christians and the believers in the flying spaghetti monster alike.

How'd you like the parade? Thought you'd post a ton of pictures. Were you the one with the big wings and tail???

There's another photo-op tomorrow evening at The Palms at Pelican Cove. It's called Caribbean Night. Mocko Jumbies, Kiki and the Flaming Gypsies and good food. Reservations suggested. A taste attached:

https://vimeo.com/77418842

How do you know they are well bred? Do you know them and how they were raised? Just saying.

How'd you like the parade? Thought you'd post a ton of pictures. Were you the one with the big wings and tail???

Haha. No, I didn't make it to the parade. Thought I'd go, but then I visualized myself in the middle of the stampeding crowd. That's the worst thing that can happen to a human being. I decided to give myself some space instead.

There's another photo-op tomorrow evening at The Palms at Pelican Cove. It's called Caribbean Night. Mocko Jumbies, Kiki and the Flaming Gypsies and good food. Reservations suggested. A taste attached:
https://vimeo.com/77418842

Yeah, thanks Novanat. It doesn't say anything about the data and time. How do I make a reservation?

Day 22 (continued).

I've been studying the Crucian dialect for the last 10 days. Here is a sentence in the Crucian dialect: "Weh yoh muddah deh?" Translation: "Where is your mother?"

The path of the least resistance is to immediately dismiss it as broken English. And it is, indeed, broken English. However, it's broken in a very particular way, which requires some thought about why it is broken in that way. If English was your first language, you'd probably never understand the specific phonetic patterns in Crucian.

English is my fourth language. The most difficult phonetic compound in English is the "th" sound. To make the th sound, one must place his tongue flat between the teeth, stick about 1/8 of the tongue out, push the air out, and then very quickly jerk the tongue back in preparation for the next sound. The production of the th sound requires an enormous amount of awkward stress on the muscles of the face, jaws, and tongue. For those of you for whom English was the first language, try to pronounce the word "thlongths". I know it's not a word, but I made it up for the purposes of the argument.

The second most difficult sound in the English language is the "s" sound, when the word ends with that sound (such as in the word is). To make the s sound, one must curve the tongue, press the edges of the tongue against the upper teeth, allowing the concavity to hold air, and then push the air out. Again, the production of this sound puts an undue stress on the muscles, requires a lot of movement, and interferes with the normal flow of air in and out of the longs.

The third most difficult sound in the English language is the "r" sound. I am going to leave it to you as an exercise to describe what's involved in its production. The r sound is notoriously difficult, even among the native English speakers. In fact, if you move from Boston to Minneapolis (or the other way around), your first instinct would be to teach the locals how to pronounce it properly.

As can be seen, speaking in English requires a lot of physical effort and mental concentration. What's the point? Why torture yourself if you could just speak effortlessly, and everyone can still understand you?

Now, say it with me again, and pay close attention to the movements of your facial muscles, lips, tongue, and the air flow:
"Where is your mother?"
and
"Weh yoh muddah deh?"

See how smoothly the Crucian speech flows? When you speak it in the "proper" English, it feels like pushing out the bowels. When you speak it in Crucian, it's as natural as the movement of the ocean wave. It's because the th, s, and r sounds are no longer there.

wanderer with all due respect if "we" readers and posters on the usvi relocation message board in accordance to the Occam's Razor principal were analyzing your posts on this thread, what would be the most logical explanation of your postings to date. In comparison to other posters who have posted while visiting here for the purpose of relocating. You are very different. Why? You don't seem to want advice or ask the usual questions only to give your perspective of our lives based on various information from your reading and research. I would think that "real" interaction with the people on this island would give you a more realistic idea of our lives here. You seem to be analyzing us without any social interaction and making judgement by reading articles. It feels more like some sort of social experiment on your part rather than an effort to get to know this island and its people for the purpose of relocating. It is a bit insulting.

I would think that "real" interaction with the people on this island would give you a more realistic idea of our lives here. You seem to be analyzing us without any social interaction and making judgement by reading articles. It feels more like some sort of social experiment on your part rather than an effort to get to know this island and its people for the purpose of relocating.

you haven't met many people deep in the IT industry have you? mix that with an introvert and you have the OP.

if fitting the mold you wish a person fitted into is insulting to you, life must be very trying at times.... eh?

Not at all LF. I just asked a question. I have a few members of my family "deep" into the IT industry. LOL. Can't wait to meet you and your wife and we are very interested in your horse rescue. We will be back on island soon and had planned to contact you to see how JJ and I can get involved.

Day 22 (continued).

The STXers love controlled substances and old music. On STX, buying ganja is as natural as buying 1.5 gallon of milk. These two products are deemed to be of equivalent value, so the price is also the same, $10. The ganja dealers look as docile and as harmless as the milkmen. They smile at you, and say "Good Afternoon". At the "Coconuts" beach, at 9pm on Sunday, there is a party. After 3 beers and a cocktail, I am the most sober here. I scan the public, observe, and calculate the following distribution histogram. About 50% of the people have the concentration of alcohol in their blood of about 3 times the legal limit. 15% are on cocaine. 15% are on crack. 10% are on THC. The remaining 10% are under the influence of a substance that I can't identify. One guy is passed out in what appears to be a "Hippie Van". His upper body is hanging out from the driver's side, while the lower body is somehow anchored in the driver's seat. I think he is od'ed. A cop drives by and stops by "Coconuts". He chats with the patrons briefly, and drives away to his next checkpoint.

The live band is playing the music from the 1930s. I think it's classified as "Dixieland". The listeners, shirt-less and shoe-less, go wild. I figured that STXers got so disgusted with Justin Bieber, Adele, Lady Gaga, Beyonce, Rihanna, Idina Menzel and even Bob Marley, that they want to plunge themselves back in time, as far as possible. The entire atmosphere is that of an underground club near the end of the American Prohibition Era, circa 1933. I felt like I was watching my favorite movie, "Once Upon a Time in America", all over again.

When asked about their fascination with the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s, the STXers invariably respond in the same manner: "Where else can you see horses on the road and listen to the old music?"

On the island, things are very raw. You get all the tenderness and the juice, and the salmonella that comes with it.

Not at all LF. I just asked a question. I have a few members of my family "deep" into the IT industry. LOL. Can't wait to meet you and your wife and we are very interested in your horse rescue. We will be back on island soon and had planned to contact you to see how JJ and I can get involved.

my wife spent a few hours with Mr Wanderer, so did my oldest son, other than being European-seeming he seemed (hearsay of course..) pretty normal, a little eccentric perhaps.

I for one welcome additional high income job holders here, he seemed pleasant and if he wants to make the island his home it's the kind of thing that we need to start happening around here... just tryin to stick up for the newbie a little 😉

Thanks for the support, we've been pleasantly surprised with all the positiveness we have experienced surrounding our little project, we'd love to see you and show you what we are up to.

we just gelded two of the rescue (former)stallions, they are recovering well, tomorrow is tick spray day (we try to do it at least once a week) goodtimes! haha.

my wife spent a few hours with Mr Wanderer, so did my oldest son, other than being European-seeming he seemed (hearsay of course..) pretty normal, a little eccentric perhaps.

I miss my horsey with a Japanese name. My 2 hours of horseback riding seemed like 45 minutes. Jennifer told me the stories of the horse abuse that goes on the island, and I was happy to part with my $100 to support the Cruzan Cowgirls' cause. I was going to write up in detail about my horse-riding experience and the relationship between me and the horse, but it would be so full of Freudian references that I decided against it. I sincerely hope that your efforts (Liquid, Jen, and Co) would make the island a better place.

Reservations are suggested but folks like me just show up around 6pm. Show starts at 7:30. Soon Come!

Reservations are suggested but folks like me just show up around 6pm. Show starts at 7:30. Soon Come!

cool, uhm, what show?

It's an evening of good food, entertainment and photo-ops. Happens Mondays at the Palms at Pelican Cove. Mocko Jumbies, Fire Dancers, Limbo on the beach. Hundreds attend, including me. :} Show starts around 7:30. Guests start arriving earlier for a buffet supper. Maybe wanderer even made it...

Soon come!

https://vimeo.com/77418842