After visiting St. Croix in December of 2011, I decided three things:
1) Every single part of St. Croix is beautiful. Every part. The white-sand beaches, the busy streets, the cheap, touristy jewelry, and even the back alleys with graffiti. Beautiful, all of it. The fact that those are all normal, everyday parts to a culture so different than mine is what makes it all beautiful in my eyes. Something new, something fresh, something different. I like that.
2) The chickens of St. Croix compare to the squirrels of Michigan. What do I mean by that? I mean that everywhere you look in Michigan, there is a squirrel. Similarly in St. Croix, there is a chicken. A chicken on the side of the road, a chicken on a hill, chicken on the sidewalk, and even a chicken on top of the table next to you at a cute sandwich shop. Not that I minded it, I enjoyed the comedy and interest that they brought (see point #1). The three that hung around my feet while I ate became so dear to me that I even named them.
|Say hello to Frank, Paula, and Jim.|
By the way, that last picture is proof that my grandpa after strongly stating that "he didn't eat fruit," ate the entire thing. See, I told you. There's just something about fresh St. Croix starfruit that really changes a person's mind.