How the Trips all Started…
My love for travel first happened in St. John.
The Virgin Islands weren’t our first family trip, but it might as well have been in my eyes. The beautiful turquoise waters. The over indulgence of liquor. The fine ass local men all smelling your “newness” to the city. Name me a better way to spend four days? I’ll wait…
We started in St. Thomas. I did very little research on the island. What was I supposed to look up? The only travel I‘d done thus far was the occasional family visits to New York and Florida. You know the drill! When you get to town, You ask your favorite cousin to show you the hot spots in the city. That’s it. You’re done! What I did find out on my own about St. Thomas was water shoes were a must and though we were still in U.S. Territories, the phone services would be hella spotty. Fuckin’ great…I finally burst the piggy bank open to purchase an iPhone, and I can’t even FaceTime my friends? What a waste!
Thank God my nephew’s girlfriend bought those ugly ass water shoes. They weren’t lying about the waters housing some sharp ass rocks. Im talking about mess up your pedicure type of stones. I did attempt to buy my own water shoes, but that sorry selection at Target was sending me into depression. Get the hell out of my face charging $40 for some glorified flip-flops that don’t match any of my bathing suits. Point me in the direction of the snacks.
Since my mom took dictatorship over our housing in St. Thomas, we didn’t eat out much. This friendly ass taxi driver we hired earlier swooped us back up to take us grocery shopping. Now, the market is where all the action happens. Parking Lot Pimpin’ at its finest. And they’re selling everything besides affordable food in this joint. We grabbed bottled waters, bagged salads, and four tickets to the booze cruise happening later on that night. Fuck that Stouffer’s chicken enchiladas frozen family meal. I need all that extra time to get “California Girl” FINE!
Me and my sister looked so extra. Well, that’s my sister everyday, but I had no choice but to enhance myself simply to keep up with her ass. I couldn’t just let all the men gravitate to only her. Or worse. All the good men rush over to get in her face and she leaves me with the leftover Uncle Festers! Nah Fam, pass me that purple matte lipstick.
The booze cruise was lit! Even our taxi driver showed up with his pretty ass wife. My sister unfortunately got hemmed up with some hostage taker. You know the type that will buy a drink and never leave. I laughed over in the corner until it happened to me. But don’t try to play me! My kidnapper was fine as hell. 6’8, you hear me? Six mother fucking EIGHT! I can just hear all the tall girls screaming now. You know they favor us lil’ bitches. I was even struggling to dance with him in my five inch heels. ‘Come on baby. Let’s go find a quiet corner’. Just imagine him if you will: Walnut colored, slanted eyes, a good mix between slim and muscular, thirty-five years old, part-time Baltimore dweller, and a father of five. Insert eye roll here. And yes, I asked about his baby mothers. I have no shame. Shit, he don’t live here! Four of them chicks. And no, none of them were the ex wife or fiancé. He was still babbling, probably trying to redeem himself, but I’d already tuned out. I’m thinking ‘Hmph. I bet you these females thought he was going to the league. They had to put that bid in just in case this dude was the next Kobe Bryant. Damn, it’s a hard knock life. Oh well, let’s get a few more drinks. Three hours later, we were exchanging numbers at the dock. I didn’t mind playing with Mr. Father of Five while I was in town.
Then, there was the St. John day excursion. We each forked over $15 for the most beautiful twenty minute ride on the water. I was so taken with the scenery, I could’ve jumped off the ferry. This just had to be where my girls Ariel and Ursula lived. I didn’t even want to exit the boat. If the captain would’ve allowed me to be the ferry greeter for the day, I would’ve gladly taken the gig. But something told me if the water taxi was that spectacular, I would be in for a treat while on land. St. John didn’t disappoint. Not only was it voted Number One in the top ten islands in the Caribbean back in 2013, but they also have an area where the housing is specifically for women. No men are allowed to own these homes. Where was this type of energy when I was scrambling around trying to put my pill poppin’ ass ex out of my apartment? I fell in love with St. John. I dawdled a little too long in the gift shop just contemplating on when my next visit would be.
We headed back to St. Thomas and I almost shed a tear. I didn’t want to leave. St. John had captured my heart and wouldn’t give it back. The only relief was to call Mr. Baby Daddy and let him show me around his town. He would have to assume the role that I usually make my cousins take charge in. Father of Five did great, by the way. He knows his island. He took me to Coki Beach for drinks and kallaloo and showed me a local liquor store where I was able to get my hands on the ever so coveted White Hennessy. He wanted me to get back to Inglewood feeling’ like The Plug for cognac connoisseurs. Although, spoiler alert, that Hennessy ain’t even worth the hype.
We went out one last time to this tiki hut bar close to the St. John ferry station. I almost got weak just looking at the abandoned boat waiting there. Luckily, the pretty cocktails got me back together. This was new to me because going out for drinks in L.A. is typically a struggle. The drink is either beautiful and watered down or it’s extra strong and just thrown together in a boring ass old fashioned style glass. Definitely not Instagram worthy. But not at this tiki hut. The Bushwacker had an edible pink flower resting on the rim of the tumbler, and the vodka was definitely a triple shot. After about 5 sips, I was up dancing by myself. I would never in sober life! I’m from L.A. where we watch in judgment! I slept so well that night. I am forever indebted to Mr. Father of Five.
I now see how people get addicted to drugs. I’ve been chasing the high of St. John and that heavy raw dick slanger for five years now! Nothing has compared. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some amazing times overseas, but nothing close to the seamlessness and the drunken laughs of The U.S.V.I. I just know a few of you have similar stories. I would love to hear so let’s share! Send me your travel tales to Jualeeah@jualeeworld.com
