Caribbean Time
Embracing the Island Culture
We just got back from a week in St. Lucia, and I’m going to be honest with you: I didn’t want to come back.
Not because of the beaches. It’s because I had fully converted to Caribbean time, and switching back to “normal” felt like someone hitting the fast-forward button on a remote I didn’t ask for.
If you’ve never experienced Caribbean time, let me explain. It’s not a time zone. It’s a philosophy/way of life. Everything happens when it happens. Your food comes out when it’s ready. The shuttle leaves when the shuttle leaves. Nobody is refreshing their inbox or checking Slack at the pool. There is no “running behind” because there is no schedule to be behind on.
And it’s awesome. The food still comes. The shuttle still arrives. Life still moves forward. It just moves at a pace where you can actually enjoy it.
The People Watching
Now, the best part of Caribbean time is watching the folks who haven’t come to embraced it yet.
You know the type. They’re at the restaurant 10 minutes before it opens, tapping their watch. They’re asking the front desk what time the catamaran “actually” leaves versus what the brochure says. They have a color-coded itinerary. They are stressed about relaxing.
Meanwhile, the locals are going about their day with zero urgency and maximum enjoyment. Talking with our driver to the airport about this, he said “Yeah, we just live for today and that’s about it”. Simply beautiful.
I watched one couple practically vibrating with frustration because their taxi was 20 minutes late. Twenty minutes. That’s not late in the Caribbean. That’s early.
It took me about two days to fully let go. By day three, I was the guy telling other tourists, “It’ll come when it comes, no worries.” By day five, I forgot what day it was entirely. And that was perfect.
The Food Surprised Me
Where ever I travel, I ALWAYS ask the locals about the local cuisine. (Insert Meredith and Gracie rolling their eyes in total agreement here).
Going to St. Lucia, I figured the food scene would lean heavily toward Jamaican influences. Jerk chicken, jerk pork, scotch bonnet everything. And while you can find some of that, the dominant influence is actually Indian. I didn’t see that coming at all.
Talking to the locals, I learned about the history of Indian laborers coming to the island, and how their food traditions blended with the local Creole cooking over generations. The result is something really special.
Curried goat. This was everywhere, and for good reason. Tender, fragrant, complex. The curry profiles were different from what you’d get at an Indian restaurant in the States. There’s a depth to it that comes from cooking low and slow with local spices and letting everything meld together. If you know anything about barbecue, you know that time and patience are the two ingredients that make everything better. Same principle, different cuisine.
I had curried goat three times in five days. I regret nothing.
There was also a green fig (that’s banana to us) and saltfish dish that’s basically the national dish. Simple ingredients, incredible flavor. It’s one of those things where the technique and the seasoning do all the work, not fancy equipment or exotic ingredients. Sound familiar?
Why I Think Caribbean Time Matters
I get it. We all have jobs and responsibilities and deadlines. I’m not saying we should all quit and move to the islands (although I’ve run the numbers and it’s not as crazy as you’d think).
But here’s what a week of Caribbean time reminded me: we don’t always have to be in a rush.
I talk a lot about hustle culture being overrated, especially for folks in our generation who’ve already put in the decades. We’ve done the late nights. We’ve hit the deadlines. We’ve earned the right to slow down a little and remember that the point of all that work was supposed to be enjoying life, not just surviving it.
Caribbean time isn’t lazy. It’s intentional. Those folks on the island aren’t unproductive. They’re just not performing productivity for an audience. There’s a difference.
I’ve written before about living as if tomorrow’s not guaranteed. A week in St. Lucia is a good reminder of what that actually looks like in practice. It looks like sitting at a bar for two hours talking to a stranger about curried goat. It looks like watching the sunset without taking a photo of it. It looks like not knowing what time it is and being completely fine with that.
The Takeaway
If you can swing it, get yourself to the Caribbean. Or anywhere that forces you to slow down. You don’t need a week. Even a long weekend of intentionally putting your phone away and letting things happen at their own pace can reset something in your brain.
And if you go to St. Lucia specifically, skip the jerk chicken and go straight for the curried goat. Trust me on this one.
We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled barbecue content. But I needed to get this one down on digital paper while the feeling was still fresh.
Chilling…
-Ed