I felt like a highly-paid NFL free agent when our newspaper's publisher took me to my temporary home on the island. The plan was to put me and Brianna (beautiful girlfriend) up in a hotel for a week until I got my act together.
When we pulled up to this posh villa (not sure exactly what a villa is but it sounds cool) on the beach my jaw dropped. Turns out, my executive editor was out of town and we were supposed to hold down the fort. It really was one of the nicest places I've ever stayed so I wondered if all new hires also got the star treatment.
"Nope," Jason, the publisher, said. "You guys lucked out. Just good timing."
I'll link up some luxurious pictures to the blog as soon as I figure out how to do so on my iPhone (my lone source of Internet service on the island so far).
During my first full day on the island, I opened a PO Box, a bank account, direct deposit and started to adjust to driving on the left side of the road. Yes, that's right. I'm not disoriented, drunk. They drive on the left here. Traffic lights are replaced by short horn blasts and walking on the side of most roads is a death wish.
Last night at a Red Hook bar, a typical surfer local named Joe informed me there are no open container laws and a gallon of island rum costs 8 dollars. Very interesting. That kind of info was not documented in the touristy VI magazine I read on the plane.
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