Call Doo Doo! Little Dix Bay 2:2
March 19, 2014
If you haven’t read part 1, you should.
We had finished our drinks at the marina-side bar. and I decided I needed to see what the grocery store looked like on the inside. My wife and I were both dressed up for the evening because we were scheduled to go to dinner that night at the Sugar Mill Restaurant at the resort. As we approached the grocery store there were about 8-10 islanders about our age hanging out on the curb. My immediate thought was one of growing up stateside. “Lets avoid trouble by not walking your duded up wife past a group of guys hanging out on the curb in front of the grocery store”.
I didn’t give in. With an exchange of smiles and nods, we went in to browse through the $5 cokes and toiletries.
Dinner reservations were approaching. We needed to get back to the resort. “Now is the time to see if we are stuck in Spanish Town or not”. I thought. As we headed toward the taxi stand, a middle aged local in a stained wife-beater tank top came up to us asking if we needed a ride. My first instinct was to ignore and avoid because I wasn’t sure what kind of scheme may be brewing. I was feeling out of my element for sure, but the voice inside told me to relax. “I was told to ask for Mike”, I told him. At which our helper looked across the parking lot to a well dressed bouncer on his way to work, and said “Hey, call Doo Doo!“. I laughed, unsure at what was happening, as the well dressed bouncer pulled out his cell phone and looked up Doo Doo.
“Hey Doo Doo, there’s a couple here looking for a ride.” Looking at us, “You’re going back to Little Dix?”
“Yes” I replied.
“Mike says he’ll be here in 2 minutes”.
It was at that point I realized that all of people that I had met that evening were friends, and close knit residents of this island, most for quite a while. I was out of my element, out in town on a British Isle, but they were just small town folks who all knew each other. “Doo Doo” probably was nicknamed that for pooping his pants in kindergarten, I don’t know. But my anxieties immediately disappeared as we waited for Mike to show up in the taxi-truck.
We weren’t stranded! Mike pulled up, we hopped on and headed back to the resort. On the way, our taxi-truck was flagged down by a guy on the road. He exchanged greetings with Mike, and hopped aboard next to us.
I looked at him, and as he asked us how we liked the resort, I recognized him. Our honeymoon trip to the same resort, we took a taxi tour of the island, and Nick was our tour guide. I remembered his name, and the conversation we had 5 years prior.
“Is your name Nick?” I asked. As our new passenger was telling us he used to drive taxi cabs on the island.
He grinned and said “yes”, looking at me a little strangely.
“You were our tour guide the last time we were here”. I said.
Nick said that when the economy picked back up on the island, he had quit driving cabs and went back to carpentry.
I don’t know if he remembered us or not. But I knew him, and this was just another thing to make me love this Virgin Island.
Apart from the amazing resort that Little Dix Bay is, the locals outside of the resort were just as tight knit, welcoming and reliable as you could hope for.
I knew I had to remember this story forever. I will and I intend to add to it as often as possible. I love this place for reals.
Written by Joey Blake. You should follow him on Twitter