I went to my first few garage sales today. The general atmosphere was similar to Wednesdays at the grocery stores, where a feeding frenzy ensues as soon as people realised that items are priced below retail. People flocked to the sales like vultures to a fresh kill, where "No Early Birds" meant nothing to them or the sellers who stated it. By the time I got to the place a few minutes before the sale was suppose to start, the TV and microwave were both gone already, thanks to over the phone sales. The only thing I managed to pick up was a plant stand. I went to another sale that was not advertised in the paper and managed to pick up an old microwave.

At least it's not as bad as Wednesday evenings at the supermarkets, where a whopping 5% discount is given to cash-paying customers. Executives and blue-collar workers alike, packing the markets and jockeying shopping carts through narrow isles for the groceries so they can get that pitiful discount. What they saved that day they easily waste on a drink at a bar. Maybe that is their real motivation. As for me, I don't have the patience to put up with crowds, long lines, screaming babies and loose kids running around twirling their yo-yos that make 12 different LOUD sounds (the current hot toy on the island).

Rooster crowing is an island-wide problem where free-ranging chicken roamed the hillside, eating up insects, but also endangered lizards and skinks. (For more reptile pictures, look in the photos section.) The crowing often woke me from my sleep, sometimes worming itself into a form of a screeching child in my nightmares. One Saturday morning, as I left the house to go collecting some live rocks to observe in my salt water tank (see more in fish collecting section), I saw a splat on the road with feathers, feet, and a beak. It was my first witness to a rooster road kill. With a sick satisfying feeling, I knew there would be one less rooster crowing that night.

After 3 weeks of riding my moped to work in the fume and gagging exhaust from the mopeds and buses, I decided that I won't last long on the roadways. I remembered that I used to barf after every train and taxi ride when I was younger. I knew the queasy feeling and smoky lung after my commute was definitely not a good indication, so I moved.

My choice was a small studio on a 26-acre island in the Hamilton Harbour. Hinson's Island, a private island where this dwelling is located, is home to 15 to 20 houses, all with a view of the harbour and most have their own private docks. It is serviced by the ferry, which starts early in the morning and lasts until 11 at night (until 7 on Sundays). My commute would now be a 5 to 15 minute stress free and very enjoyable ferry ride into town instead of the 20-minute commute on moped.

My landlord, Phil, a middle-aged Bermudian with a British accent helped me move in his boat. The studio is on the lower section of a house, with a small kitchenette, nicely manicured yard with a winding path down to his dock. I'm planning on shipping my kayak down here so I can do some paddling.

Sure I considered the possibility of missing the ferry, but that is not a real concern of mine because I prepared myself with a sleeping bag, pillow, and toiletry bag at the office just in case that happens. And it did happen - the next day. The sea was very agitated the next day with gale-force wind whipping waves, wind and rain across Bermuda. I braved the weather and went into town to get some food and surf the net. I've never been in such strong wind before. Since Hinson's Island is a requested stop, I had to put a red flag at the edge of the dock to signal the ferry to pick me up. While walking with the flag, I was almost blown into the water by the lashing wind. After spending the afternoon in town, I was ready to return to the island but the ferry service was cancelled for the day. I just camped out at the office and returned the next morning.

It was much calmer today compared to last weekend's gale, and warm enough for me to wear just a T-shirt outside in the middle of February. Since I don't have cable or Internet service on the island, I found myself reading a book for the first time in a long long time. It's a good change from aimless net surfing and TV watching. I walked through the grounds, through bushes of hibiscus bursting with peach and red feathery flowers, giant succulents crawling with lizards, and Loquots ripen to a golden yellow in the sun. I sat on the porch over looking the bay and the distant lighthouse while reading my book. The afternoon sun warmed me and Misha (Phil's cat). There was no crowing of roosters, no smell of exhaust from all the autocycles, and no honking of horns. Birds chirped in the distant and waves lapped lazily against the dock below. It was nice.

That's all for now.