July 4, 2011.
29ºC, feels like 41. Partly sunny. 11:54 a.m. (Eastern Time Zone, UTC/GMT -5).
Welcome to Grand Cayman Island!
I stepped off the plane and into the heavy heat. The sweater I wore to fight off airport air conditioning was useless now. Standing in line at immigration, surrounded by tourists eager for a week of sun, I felt out of place — just me, my photocopied work permit, and two suitcases, tangled up in nerves and excitement.
This was the moment to grow up. No chaperone, no companion, no mentor. Just me, in a foreign country, with no one waiting on the other side. Time to face reality, trust my instincts, and stay positive. Yes, I felt lonely. But I also knew this was my chance to push myself, to break out of the coconut shell I’d been living in.
After searching the airport for a currency exchange (and realizing there wasn’t one), I was glad I’d brought U.S. dollars. Tip: if you’re coming from Canada, exchange before you leave. You can use U.S. dollars here, but the exchange rate in shops and restaurants is much worse.
Next step: a taxi. The prepaid stand quoted US$20 for a 10-minute ride to Treasure Island. Pricey. Luckily, the woman behind me was headed the same way and offered to split the fare. Another tip: if you split a cab, let the prepaid stand know, otherwise you risk being double-charged. We weren’t, and had a lively debate with our driver before settling on the original fare.
I’d booked a room at Treasure Island Resort for my first month. At CI$1,000/month (about CAD$1,200), it was steep for my wallet but reasonable by island standards. The perks: a gym, two pools, a beach bar, and private beach access. The room itself was fine — double bed, sofa bed, kitchenette, bathroom, cable TV, and a phone. The balcony faced the parking lot, so the curtains stayed closed, but at least I was on the second floor, which felt safer during hurricane season. All in all, a decent starter pad.
After a shower, I left my bags unpacked, grabbed a map, and walked north along the main road. Subway, pharmacy, fruit bar, coffee shop, grocery store, liquor shop — all within reach. Forty-five minutes and two miles later, I reached my new workplace. Perfect timing: the staff were in a meeting about a new menu. I listened in, had a glass of wine at the bar, chatted with my new coworkers, then headed back “home.” Work would start tomorrow at 4.
A Week Goes By…
The restaurants I’d be working for — Eats Café, Legendz Bar, and Yoshi Sushi — were owned by a Canadian couple. Eats is a busy diner with eclectic décor, Legendz a sports bar packed with tourists and regulars, and Yoshi, of course, serves sushi. The kitchens are shared between them, just like the last place I worked in Whistler. I was assigned to Legendz.
Work was non-stop. With the Westin right across the street and loyal regulars, we were constantly busy. Six days a week, nine to ten hours a day, often in split shifts. So this was the Caribbean work ethic — exhausting, but part of the deal. In one week, I’d barely seen the ocean, my fridge was still empty, and my bags remained unpacked. But I was meeting good people, making contacts, and picking up tips on island life.
Walking those two miles in the heat every day wasn’t sustainable, so I started using the bus. At CI$2 a ride, it’s pricey for the short distance, and the system is unpredictable. They’re private minivans — you wave, they honk, they stop. After 9 or 10 p.m., though, they stop running. Which leaves me walking (not recommended with the rise in crime), overpaying for a cab, or relying on coworkers for a lift. Thankfully, people have been generous, even if most live north and I live south.
Tomorrow will be my first real day off. Kendra, a coworker, and I are planning to swim with the stingrays. It’ll be good to explore more of the island — so far I’ve only seen the stretch between work and home.
It’s only been a week. The first days were hard — I missed my friends, my dog, my life back home. Loneliness is still there, but slowly I’m finding my way.
Footloose Diary 