I was looking back and thinking the other day. I was pondering how I came to be living on Bonaire. How an Englishman, working in Germany, ends up on a Dutch owned, Papiamentu speaking rock?

I guess it started in 1999, before I even visited the island. It was a holiday in Mexico that decided I want to qualify in Scuba Diving, having seen so many beautiful fish on a try dive. I can still remember the colours today – the yellow, golds, reds and blues all whilst I was embraced in the clear, warm waters of the Caribbean. I was also just prompted by a friend’s FB posting in remembering my discovery of real Tequila, not the s**t that I have drunk in Europe. God it was wonderful.

On my return from holiday, I decided to do some research on where to learn to dive. This was early internet days, I’m not sure I used it much as there wasn’t so much content. So I resorted to paper and ordered a Dive magazine; one of the issues had a review of the best places to dive. Of course, Bonaire was #1 for Shore Diving. I had already rejected the German way of doing the exercises and theory in a chlorine pool in the winter and a shorter course in the sea later. The smell of changing rooms is as bad as a cheap Tequila!

So the following year, a holiday with my son was organised and we all certified as divers. A couple of years later, my daughter and her, then, boyfriend joined but didn’t certify as divers due to sinus issues. Over the years, diving holidays also happened in Thailand and Fiji. I wasn’t having a closed relationship with Bonaire, in fact I travelled to lots of other places, not all of them on the beach. I was happy to holiday anyway, exploring new venues as there was so much to see. I slept around!

Around 10 years before my planned retirement, discussions came up with my, then, German wife. [I was just looking at the last sentence as it seemed to read she changed nationality rather spousal status!]. She would prefer to live in England and I, rather stay in Germany. So that didn’t work and so we looked at an atlas. Of course, we started looking round the Mediterranean. Spain was out – too many foreigners, France would be difficult – the Côte d’Azur too crowded and expensive, Dordogne full of Brits, Italy – lovely country but I think the Italians need to chillax! We seemed to have overlooked Portugal and Greece, or I can’t remember the justifications!

The key was to be able to fly home, within 24-36 hours, in an emergency, so that ruled out Australia and New Zealand. Also Fiji went due to the lack of direct flights, always to having to change somewhere like Australia (see above) or South Korea.

I suggested a large bush plot in Namibia but they were going a bit Mugabe at the time. So Bonaire which had always provided a calm and easy life style, with 5-6 overnight flights per week to Amsterdam was a strong option.

In 2006, having done lots of research, this time on the Internet, we had a good idea of housing, taxation, limitations on shopping – just one main, half empty supermarket, a holiday/shopping trip was planned. In case we found a house, we had already agreed how to borrow money, freed up sufficient capital so we could put make a down payment immediately.

It was weird weather when we arrived: there had been a wind reversal and it had rained from an unusual direction. Of the 26 houses visited, many had water streaks or puddles. These were immediately dismissed in mind as I didn’t want known long term maintenance issues being dealt with at a distance.

Talk was rife that the Netherland Antilles was about to break up, this happened 4 years later, and Bonaire would return to Holland. So the first choice house was taken off the market, by its Curacaon owner as he thought he would make a killing in the years to come.

Another house was chosen, an offer made and accepted and job done. Except I had to go back to work for supposedly another 10 years.

Then the iPhone was launched! I wasn’t a very early adopter, having used Motorola, Erikson, Nokia, and Blackberry before I settled on Apple. But I found the Countdown App. Each day I would say something like “only 550 working days left!”. I was even happy to put younger friends’ birthdates into the app and report “Yup 2,715 to go”! I am certain that everyone really needed to know when I was leaving.

In those 10 years, I probably visited the island, every other year with holidays mainly going East (physically or mystically) in the odd years. So Rwanda, Lebanon, Egypt, Tanzania, Mozambique, to name a few, were my new destinations.

Soon the number of days were getting short. With less than 5 years to go, I stopped buying Burgundy and set to the wine cellar with its peak of 750 bottles. Desperate measures were taken – hosting a Cheese and Wine party with bottles of 6 different vintages available to taste/glug! Even though my retirement was actually brought forward, due to a generous offer – we pay 15 months if you don’t come to work next year! – I only had to pack the 32 bottles left over.

Arriving exhausted on the island from rounds of farewell parties, there was so much to do. Renovating the house after 8 years of tenacy, starting to build on the plot next door, purchased with the money that my Father bequeathed to me, unpacking over 500 boxes and wrapped objects, the rounds of Government offices to get papers or get them stamped.

Then once, or even before, we were settled, friends arrived to share our home and experience Bonaire. Life was non stop, never turn down an invitation, meet new people, meet new challenges like block drains and clogged septic tanks.

Of course, you all know what happened next. My marriage came to an end and some particulary difficult years ensued. These times are largely now over as a settlement is being put in place in the last months.

So where am I now? What goes before just explains the physical and mental process of choosing a destination. Not in living the dream that I held onto through difficult and challenging times at work or through the divorce.

I am starting to repeat some processes in my life. Almost 3 and half years ago, I would sit and look at my garden, with unfamiliar trees and birds, and think I made out it out alive! This is all mine! Now I repeat the process with familiarity and surety: the house and land is mine, barring some paperwork, the trees and birds are old friends.

Before I would sit and feel the gentle, silky caress of the cat passing under the dining table as I write. Now my toes just got a slobbery lick from my new companion.

Before my mind and temperament was still slowing down from 40 years of being focused on work. Now I am pretty laid back, naturally comfortable, barefoot in old clothes, not so easily moved to temper. I was fixated on result orientated days: sleep was not so good unless I achieved during the day. Today, I potter around on jobs, sleep without angst, with just background nagging thoughts that I should have done more. Luckily, my memory is like a sieve with large holes for nagging items.

I arrived with a partner and no local friends. Now I have a new partner with bonus family, and lots of very good friends. My circle of friends has expanded and changed. Originally it was very much expats, few Dutch or Bonairean, all in a similar situation as ourselves. I should have used my Countdown app so I could rank myself against the other Newbies on the Island.

But we Newbies have changed. We will never reach the status of my partner, integrated fully, speaking all 4 locally used languages, directly involved in their lives as a teacher. But we have become involved in local charities and always support local events, mainly through contributions at the bar.

As a freckly, fair skinned youth who would pink up in any strong sun, I am turning into a leathery old git who eschews suntan lotion, prefers a baseball cap to keep the sweat out of his eyes, only occasionally wears sunglasses as the sunshine is quite normal. Mosquitoes seldom bother me, I don’t often use repellent, which probably explains why I got ZIKA 15 months ago.

When I retired, I did not miss work, just the companionship of colleagues. But I had plans and I was busy. So I suffered no pain.

What I could not control was my head. My thought processes were non stop, in the absence of work issues I worried about or focused on everything else. For work items I was pretty obsessive, rarely forgetting a deadline or history on an issue but unsure of the day of the week.

The first days and months on the island, I had plenty to do and could use my work brain quite effectively. Then everything went wrong as I obsessed over the implications of a difficult financial separation: how I would deal with each scenario of losing the house, researching other destinations, returning to Europe with the Brexit implications.

But over time with the support of some great friends, I found comfort, in finding a new partner, I found strength. I had to get stronger, she told me to move on yet understands me. On my bad days, she would be sympathetic, as emotional deadlines loomed, she would say how well I was doing.

She has shown me new sides of the island and life through her deep relationships with so many inhabitants. Whilst I can’t embrace all of this, I am the better for the exposure and education.

I feel at a disadvantage as I know all of her direct family members, she has yet to really meet any of mine. Is she prepared? Will I lose her? Obsessing again? Just joking!

But I digress. I think I have finally retired. I have started my path to a Buddha like calmness – maybe the first step but a step nevertheless. In parallel, I begin my exploration of eccentricity. I feel it a duty as every Englishman abroad should do. With the loss of the Empire, I feel the British Eccentric Quotient has declined.

My feeble attempts include having 2 very disparate vehicles with my patent logo on each. My pool cleaner has asked what business I run? None, its just me being me.

A friend commented that having a bright red bumper on my truck did not match the logo or the body paint work. Precisely, neither would any of the fluorescent paint colours I had fantasied about but were unable to purchase.

Together with my dawg, sitting next to me on the front bench seat, in a big American pickup, red bumper leading, falcon logos abeam, I get waves of recognition and acknowledgement. Yup, I think I am me.

I still have ways to go. I have to improve my positivity; I am often negative but my inner voices start to question the possibilities. These voices have moved on. before they were always the centre of my worries, now they help resolve issues.

I am untangling my complicated, if you don’t speak the language, German financial life and replacing it with simpler Bonairean and Luxembourg arrangements. Trust me they are simpler. These bring me some peace in understanding I have some financial security, not a big balance after 40 years of work but enough for a beer and a can of dog food.

I think what I am trying to say is that I know where I am, what some of my limitations are but more importantly what I could do. I have plans for the future which are only up to me to realise. Without my partner and friends, I could have been pretty broken or damaged getting here.

Have I answered the title? I think so but it is a bit of a ramble. In essence, its been a bumpy road retiring and finding a new life on a desert rock in the tropics. But if you pick the threads from above, add to my FB posts and pictures, I think you can see I am in good place!

Yup I’m here!