Powerless in Paradise

Living on a tropical island means sunny days and moonlit lights-guaranteed. Electricity is another matter.

The local advice: Get the biggest surge protector you can find and connect everything through it. Hardly a day goes by without a power outage. It can last minutes, hours, or days. When the electricity comes on, the surge takes out any unprotected electronic equipment.

The locals take the power outs for granted. Light a candle or two, keep some bread and peanut butter handy, stock up on canned food (and a mechanical can-opener), use a pail to draw water out of the cistern. Buy a propane or charcoal grill if you want to fix some hot food. Homeowners often fit the house with a generator for extended power outages. Without signal lights, traffic becomes a messy gridlock. Most shopkeepers wait by the entrance to the darkened stores, while others use flashlights to direct customers to cash counters-no credit cards, please. What if you are visiting? Then it gets more interesting-here are a few examples:

At a local hotel, a gentleman was checking out because the heat created health problems for his family. He was headed for a resort facility that had full power while the island was in darkness (one does have to pay dearly for such luxuries). Several guests replenished their beverages and headed to the beach. Others gathered in the lounge, hoping for news and tips about dealing with this unforeseen situation.

The next morning-just another day of being powerless in Paradise. At the airport, the generator keeps a few fans whirring. No computers, no air-conditioning, a few lights. The check-in is on manual mode. IDs are verified against preprinted itineraries brought by the passengers. Connecting flights? No sir, you have to do that on the mainland. Open seating, but please don’t rush the plane. People fan themselves with newspapers and pamphlets, but moving hot, humid air around doesn't provide any relief. Cell phones have stopped working by now, and there is a general sense of frustration. Everyone is ready to leave Paradise, but ….there is a mechanical problem with the plane, and the airplane mechanic has to be flown in from San Juan!!

That’s when you realize that being powerless in Paradise provides an opportunity to empower yourself: to let go of expectations, do the best with what you have at hand, live in the moment. If you can do that, life's journey becomes an adventure. And you become a Pirate of Paradise!!

Hook him up

Once I had a place to stay, getting hooked up for utilities and TV was the obvious next step. Obvious, but with a twist. After all, this is Paradise.

I went to the business office to request a TV connection. That requires a cable box, and to get one, one has to apply in person at the business office. The sign-in procedure was familiar (see: We’ll learn her to wait). The waiting room was a good place to discover customer concerns. I got the wrong bill. I’m not getting the service I signed for. I need another installation time. This cable box does not work. I took notes for the sign-up process.

At the service counter, a déjà vu experience was in store (see: Going Postal): We don’t have any cable boxes. How do I get one? Apply and wait. It was the same routine as the post office. I knew what had worked there; would it work here, too? It was worth a try, especially since Super Bowl weekend was coming up.

Would you take my customer information now? Sure, here are the forms. While returning the paperwork, I added a reminder about the upcoming Big Game. The lady that entered the data into the computer noticed my occupation.

You a doc? Yes, Ma’am. You don’t need a box. I don’t? No, I’ll give you basic service without the cable box. Just a minute. She got on the phone. Doc wants to see Super Bowl. Hook him up. No, not next week, this afternoon. Installation time, cable box and service issues were bypassed in an instant. I set up credit card billing to avoid monthly trips and lines to pay bills.We agreed on an installation time a little later that afternoon.

The cable company truck beat me to the apartment. They didn’t give you a box? No problem, mon!! Apparently, the installers liked this challenge. By the time they were done, I was surprised how many channels one could get without a cable box. I had TV; the utilities could wait till after the Super Bowl.

As with other things, it takes the patience of a saint to get hooked up in Paradise. I found a few short-cuts: wireless for phone and internet service, a cistern for water, and a shared electrical bill. Now, all I needed was electricity.

That’s the next story: Powerless in Paradise

Here comes the Bride

The beaches of Paradise are a popular spot for destination weddings. The wedding parties are usually small, and the occasion is semi-private. The best spots are often popular with tourists, who join in to serenade the couple as they exchange vows. Here is a typical scenario.

Flowers are arranged to demarcate the wedding area, with red, white and pink bougainvillea petals strewn along the bridal path. Photographers check the light and position themselves as the sun dips towards the horizon. The groom, wearing a stylish white tropical outfit, waits for the bride in a coconut palm grove. When the bride arrives to the music of the ocean and gentle tropical breeze, the wedding ceremony begins. Vows and rings are exchanged, kisses and hugs go around and everyone gets caught up in the magic of the moment. After photos and champagne, the couple takes a stroll down the beach, accepting congratulations and leaving paired footprints in the soft sand. Once the beach ceremony is over, some wedding parties get on a boat to continue the festivities. As the boat sails away into the sunset, the sounds of happy times carry over the water and echo off the hillsides. Later, the moon rises to add a silvery backdrop to the twinkling boat lights on the horizon.

Marriages maybe made in Heaven, but for weddings, there is no place like Paradise!!

We’ll learn her to wait

The first thing you need in Paradise is…, you guessed it, the patience of a saint. In case I forget that fundamental rule, there is always someone “from stateside” to remind me.

I walked into the bank, and saw a helpdesk with no one behind it. A book was propped up on the counter. Following a local person’s lead, I wrote my name and time of arrival. That is the way to get in line in Paradise. A few glances were cast my way to see if I had figured out the routine. I did what the locals do-sat on a lounge chair, and waited. Every few minutes, a bank employee would stroll across, call out a name and a person would follow the employee to a cubicle. Everyone waited till their name was announced. No name, no service. No financial problem could be big enough to rush things. It seemed like a fairly typical day at the bank.

Typical, till a New Yorker (at least the T-shirt said so) stormed into the reception area. She leaned over the helpdesk as though she was searching for someone under the chair. Next, she went around it to be sure, and then started pacing the reception area. She peered into offices, called to get attention and demanded service. She intercepted an employee who was working with another client, only to be greeted with a steely glance and a finger tap on the book. She either missed the point or it did not suit her. So she got on the cell phone to make things happen. Apparently that did not go well either, since with every call, her voice got louder. A few calls later, she announced her intention of getting some service, or else…… Through it all, she did not write her name in the book. No name, no service.

My name was called, and I proceeded to one of the offices. After completing some paperwork, I discovered another reason why things work on island time-the notary was in a corner office, the printer was at the end of one hallway, and the copier was at the other end. An official document in Paradise needs to be printed (often in color), notarized (at five dollars a stamp), and copied (sometimes in triplicate).

In an adjoining cubicle, a couple of employees were whispering to each other while watching the damsel in distress. They dispersed, and the word came around: She in a hurry, we’ll learn her to wait. By the time I left a half hour later, the lady was still being “learned to wait”

I wondered how long it would take her to learn the lesson: No name, no service. And learn to wait. Why rush when you are in Paradise?

Going Postal

The mail does not come to you in Paradise; you go to the post office to pick it up. Since the post office box also serves as the local address for all official correspondence, the first order of business in establishing a residence is getting a P O Box.

We don’t have any available. The postal worker’s response to my request for a mailbox was matter-of-fact and nonchalant. I was speechless for a moment. How do I know when one becomes available? Apply, and wait. When someone turns in their key, we’ll call you if you are next on the list. Apparently that is what everyone does. How do I get my mail in the meantime? I had hoped for a better response than a shrug. Next in line-can I help you? I retreated from the counter to consider my options.

There are private mailboxes available at various locations, which serve the clientele that prefer not to go to the post office. They perform the same functions as the post office for an additional charge. Commercial carriers deliver express shipments to a local address. I did not have one (see: Leaving for Paradise) But if you want to ship packages (in Paradise, all things big and small come in packages) the post office offers the best rates and hours. IF you can get a mailbox for a shipping address. I knew I had to start with heart. I got back in line.

I am a doctor taking care of children. I am waiting for medical supplies that need to be shipped urgently. Can you help me find a way? The response was very different this time. Talk to this person when he gets in around 9AM-he knows how to help you. I was still not used to island pace, so I showed up on time. Half an hour later, I met the person who made things happen at the post office. He heard my story, and asked me to write my name on a slip of paper. Then he did the magic trick-he went to the back office and came out with a P O box number written below my name!! Follow me, said the Pied Piper of Paradise.

He headed over to mailboxes, replaced the lock on one of the boxes and handed me the keys. I was glad to get a mailbox so quickly, but something bothered me. What about the person whose mailbox had just been turned over? They haven’t paid the rental fee for three months, despite several reminders. I paid several months fee in advance before leaving the post office. A few weeks later, the supplies began to arrive. Yes, weeks in earth time is regular island time.

The Post office is a social networking place in Paradise. The TV screen behind the counter announces faith-based charitable campaigns, raffles and bake-sales are held in the verandah, people stop to exchange stories and news, and the rhythm of daily activities resonates in the parking lot. Workers, schoolchildren, businesspersons and retirees all have their routines while visiting the post office. Going postal in Paradise is a way of life.