It is a seasonal ritual. The shops close, the bars close, the restaurants close, and the tourists stay away. Each year from August to October, the island ceases to exist.
Those in the know lay in wait until the tropical storms deplete their fury over the warm Caribbean waters. Battered by the twin hurricanes Irma and Maria in 2017, St. John is still piecing itself back together. The ritual remains as we overheard the exuberant reunion of friends at Woody's Seafood Saloon.
Woody's is a local hangout about a block from the ferry pier. While St. John boasts numerous restaurants and bars, none so captured my imagination as Woody's. I was looking for authentic island food, the place called to me. Multicolored Christmas lights adorned the bar, with a few tables outside on the very busy street and a few more inside. The returning resident young people took up most of the inside tables. We were early enough and lucky enough to capture a two-top by the open-air window. The
The locals sported dreads, flip-flops, and an assortment of torn jeans and t-shirts. The waiters, waitresses, and watersports instructors that I would get to see repeatedly on my wanderings. They greeted each other with heartfelt hugs and the fell of meeting a long-lost brother.
The food didn't disappoint – fish & chips, calamari, conch fritters, and fries left me with enough oil for the next 6,000 miles. The deep-fried offerings, along with some hot sauce, called out for some umbrella drinks and beers. Both of which were cold and satisfying. It steered me to that place sea-air and alcohol combine to entrain my body and mind onto island time.
Soon enough, I was loud and rowdy, exchanging raucous banter with the "kids." As my brain fogged over and my old body slumped, I reluctantly and unsteadily gave up my table to the next waiting couple.