Ilse of Man -- On Island Time (part 2 of 2)

(random internet image of a rainy day -- we had plenty of those on Isle of Man)

(random internet image of Caribbean island -- what does this have to do with Isle of Man?)

We knew about "island time," the well known man~ana attitude, from our time in the Bahamas and Caribbean. Patience, flexibility and a relaxed attitude is mandatory, while the calendar and clock are just suggestions. The mail boat is a great example -- it has a schedule, in theory, but in reality, it comes when it comes. When we were on Staniel Cay that (theoretically) was every Thursday. Only. No Amazon instant delivery and few other opportunities for connection to the outside world. If the weather was rough or things took longer at a port further upstream in the route, it might be Friday. Or even Saturday, or not at all that week. If what you were expecting wasn't on the boat that Thursday, you'd simply shrug and make do until next Thursday. We watched everything from clothing, medicine, books, tools, food, and once, someone's new pickup truck, get unloaded on Thursdays. That included groceries as well -- they only came on the mail boat so fresh groceries were only available on Thursdays. You had to come to the store that day or maaaybe early next morning if you wanted anything except dusty canned or dry goods. People just had to learn to be flexible about it all. Cabbage, onions, potatoes were prioritized for their sturdiness compared to broccoli and spinach. We overheard one cruiser asking a shopkeeper when the fresh milk arrived, only to be told that the only milk was dried or box because fresh would spoil on the multi-day boat passage over. On Bonaire the market was Tuesdays, with fresh fruits whose names I couldn't pronounce offloaded directly from the boat from Venezuela.

There wasn't any obvious reason for me to connect Isle of Man with our time in the Caribbean. Isle of Man, of course, couldn't have been physically more different than the Caribbean. Isle of Man was rocky, blustery, and gray, not sunny and green. The water was chilly and dark, not the crystalline turquoise we sailed Cinderella through. In fact, summer at Isle of Man was chillier than winter in the Caribbean. That physical difference fooled me into thinking the attitudes would be different also. But instead, I was surprised and pleased to have a sense of recognition when I found this same island time vibe at Isle of Man. I don't really know why I was surprised, after all -- an island is an island, and patience is mandatory, waiting for the mail boat or ferry that connects you to the outside world. Isolation, resilience, self-sufficiency -- those island characteristics seem to be universal. Isle of Man folks ("Manx," as I was told they call themselves) wait for the ferry that takes 4-1/2 hours (weather permitting!) to arrive from the mainland. What they called "island time" or "manana" in the Caribbean became "Traa dy Liooar," in Manx Gaelic, which translates to "time enough" on Isle of Man, and visitors to the ship were delighted when I told them I had learned this phrase already, that they said was basically the unofficial motto of the island.

(For the record, another dramatic difference is that the isolation of Manx meant they'd been self-governing for 900 years (the celebration we witnessed of the parliament I mentioned in the previous post, 900-odd continuous years) versus most islands in the Caribbean being taken over by European powers who changed every so often. The harsh weather and isolation had its advantages! We weren't on island long enough to really dig in to how this affected attitudes, though. Ah, sigh. Another idea to leave on the list for future visits.)