So you've found your perfect island paradise, far from the freeways, shopping malls and general madness we call civilization?  Before you pack, there are several lessons that I'd like to share learned from more than 15 years of living on islands, St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands and Vashon Island, Washington.

Although both islands are part of the United States (St. Thomas is a US possession and Vashon Island a part of Washington State) and share a common currency, they are as different as, say, Duluth, Minnesota and Tippo, Mississippi.  But they have something else in common as islands with all the quirks and delights that make island life fascinating and challenging.  They demonstrate that becoming an islander is as much a state of mind as it is a physical address.

Despite the familiar eye-popping photos of the Virgin Islands with diamond-clear waters,  cream-colored beaches, and gently swaying palm leaves, don't be fooled about St. Thomas.  It's a bustling, throbbing hub of frenetic life that never rests.  True, there are serene beaches, such as Magen's Bay, where you can find that almost pristine tropical beach with soothing tradewinds not too far from Charlotte Amalie, the commercial and governmental centre where cruise ships from all over the world regularly visit.

In terms of serenity, St. John with its protected national park status is probably the gold standard in the American Virgins.  St. Croix, just a short seaplane ride from Charlotte Amalie, is large, mostly flat, and agricultural.  The town of Christiansted, like Charlotte Amalie, bears a Danish name that reflects its history as a possession of that Scandinavian country from which the United States purchased the islands in 1917.

So, lesson number one is to be prepared for the unexpected when relocating to an island.  There is a powerfully seductive force that islands exert on mainlanders so powerful at times that it can overwhelm what is sometimes referred to as "reason" in otherwise rational folks.    Real estate agents, of course, are familiar with this giddy vulnerability which is why it's probably not a bad idea to rent somewhere before buying, particularly if you haven’t already spent a lot of time visiting your island destination.

Having made that Serious Point, I must confess that when I arrived by ferry at Vashon Island after a mere 15 minute ride from Seattle, I was so captivated by its lush greenery and peacefulness, I muttered to my wife as we approached the dock: "We're home."  Then we proceeded to buy a house on a cliff overlooking Puget Sound after just one day of scouting island properties.  I certainly have not regretted my decision, but if I'd made such a sudden move in my days as a reporter for The Daily News of the Virgin Islands and bought property on St. Thomas, I would have lived to regret it.  More on this later.

One reality that I've found to be true in both my island experiences is the stigma attached to newcomers.  When our heads are in the clouds, or the hibiscus, we may well be oblivious to this at first.  But when I moved to St. Thomas as a white "continental," I was in a racial and cultural minority.  For someone who grew up as a fairly enlightened person in the American South, it was definitely eye opening to be in a barely tolerated racial minority for the first time.  At every turn, I felt the urge to try to explain to natives that they shouldn’t judge me by my skin colour.  Except for my somewhat protected status as a white reporter on the native-owned Daily News, my sense of ostracism might have been much worse.

This dawned on me clearly when, one Sunday morning, I ran to the front door to see what on earth was going on outside.  Impassioned voices boomed loudly over a public address speaker, and hymns were sung in a Calypso accent that roused me from sleep on my one day off.  As I opened the door, I beheld a mobile church service underway on my front yard.  The preacher stood, back to my house, facing the drop-in congregation with microphone in hand, exhorting them to abandon their lives of sin and find salvation.  At 7 a.m.  All around, there was a sea of black faces staring at me as I poked my head outside.  After a quick consultation with my wife, I decided the wisest course was to quietly endure the onslaught with no protest.

And when I moved to Vashon Island, Washington years later, I was stigmatized because I came from California. Once again, I wanted to explain to people that although I'd moved here from California, I wasn't a Californian by virtue of my birth in Virginia.  Even on this lily-white island lingers a resentment against Californians who cash in their Golden State mortgages and use their ill-gotten gains to buy expensive island properties thus inflating the local economy and making life tougher for the struggling natives.  In both cases, unreasoning discrimination that I never anticipated presented unpleasant realities that simply wouldn't go away.

I solved the problem of discrimination in the case of St. Thomas by moving back to the states with my wife and infant daughter, and chalking my Caribbean venture up to "experience."  I 've coped with the California stigma by simply hanging in and becoming a part of the community long enough to be accepted.  At one point, I got so tired of continually being asked the question: "So what brought you to Washington? " that I formulated my own smart aleck answer guaranteed to halt that line of inquiry: "A car."  Another riposte to a query about one's geographical origins: "I'm more concerned with where I'm going than where I've been."  After a period of time, people get as tired of asking you where you came from as you do in answering the question. 

Moving to an island, we confront a strange duality in our natures.  The same need that impels us to seek solitude, serenity, and the peaceful healing we imagine an island will provide, also produces isolation.  If you're a monk, you've pretty much made a vow that holy isolation is your chosen path.  If you're just another frenzied American who wants to get away from the rat race, you need to be prepared to deal with isolation - some of it consciously chosen and some that results from xenophobia.  (Incidentally, if you want a hilarious and entertaining introduction to the experience of moving to a remote island, read "Don't Stop the Carnival" by Herman Wouk. People in St. Thomas are still trying to figure out who the real life models were for his characters that dance on the fictional island of Amerigo).

Isolation can be nurturing for the soul or drive us mad, depending on how we handle it.  That's why it's a good thing to consider before making your move what kind of community or support network you'd like to develop on the island.  If you're religious, it's a good idea to find a church you like. If spiritual, you can learn to transform those walks on the beach to time of prayer and meditation.  If you're a recovering person, there's a good likelihood that you can find AA meetings just about anywhere on the face of the earth.  The important thing is to be aware that you will need your support system as much, or more, after making your move to an island.

Since you wanted an adventure in moving to an island, don’t freak out when unexpected "adventures" occur.  It's important to develop a Zen way of dealing with daily life.  For example, when I lived in the Virgin Islands it wasn't uncommon to be speaking on the telephone while another, phantom conversation was going on in the background. 
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