It’s a Small World

It was something that I discovered very early on here, while first getting a feel for Bermuda during a weekend trip in February. Joy and I were in a taxi on our way from the airport when at a stoplight our driver had a short yet meaningful conversation with a bus driver heading the opposite way. “How’s your bruddah?” asked our bearded driver. “Better!” shouted his pal from the bus window. And then we were off, just like that. Of course most island communities are cozy. When I lived in St. Croix, U.S.V.I., I quickly realized that everyone knew everyone, knowledge I kept in my back pocket as a young reporter for the local newspaper. If I needed an interview from the Governor, I’d look up his cousin who lived down the street. If I were searching for a weekend party, I’d head to the waterfront where a longhaired bartender named Choo would spare no detail. And if my car—a $450, 1980’s era Subaru—blew a tire yet again, I’d wave down oncoming traffic for a can of Fix-a-Flat. I’d never wait more than five minutes before a motorist would pull over. Everyone stops and helps. Everyone lends a hand. Everyone says hello. It’s a very similar situation here in Bermuda. I recently met my neighbor, a chipper gentleman named Colin who during our first conversation asked me where I was from. “New York City,” I said proudly. “Ahhh, New Yawk,” he said, “I love it. If you can make it there you can make it anywhere,” he shouted. It’s a common mantra but one that certainly rings true as I learn the ins and outs of my new home. It’s a small world here in Bermuda and that’s just fine with me.