Down to the Banana Republics
Down to the Banana Republics - by Jimmy Buffett
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Down to the Banana Republics
Down to the tropical sun
Go the expatriated American
Hopin' to find some fun
Some of them go for the sailing
Brought by the lure of the sea
Tryin' to find what is ailing
Living in the land of the free
Some of them are running to lovers
Leaving no forward address
Some of them are running tons of ganja
Some are running from the IRS
Late at night you will find them
In the cheap hotels and bars
Hustling the senioritas
While they dance beneath the stars
Spending those renegade pesos
on a bottle of rum and a lime
Singin' give me some words I can dance to
Or a melody that rhymes
First you learn the native custom
Soon a word of Spanish or two
You know that you cannot trust them
Cause they know they can't trust you
Expatriated American feelin' so all alone
Telling themselves the same lies
that they told themselves back home
Down to the Banana Republics
Things aren't as warm as they seem
None of the natives are buying
any second hand American dreams
Late at night you will find them
In the cheap hotels and bars
Hustling the senioritas
while they dance beneath the stars
Spending those renegade pesos
On a bottle of rum and a lime
Singing give me some words I can dance to
Or a melody that rhymes
Down to the Banana Republics
Down to the tropical sun
Go the expatriated Americans
Hopin' to find some fun
Down to the Banana Republics, down to the tropical sun… Every time I gaze upon the banana leaves that shade my San Pablo backyard, the calypso beat and steel drum rhythms that accompany Jimmy Buffett’s twangy tenor vocals, play on repeat, through my mind.
I hadn’t heard the song in almost 20 years. I played his album, Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes, religiously when I was a teen, painting in a makeshift garage art studio, fantasizing about life in the tropics, totally buying what Mr. Buffett was selling. Having been born in New Orleans, and lived as a young girl, along the coast of Mississippi, I’ve always felt innately connected to the tropics and subtropical regions of the western hemisphere. My father, a retired commercial airline pilot, raised me to find inspiration in travel and adventure.
I was probably seventeen when I last listened to the song, but the melody was seductive enough to stay ingrained in my mind. I couldn’t remember anything other than the chorus, but the sultry melody rolled through my mind, and I remembered it being a musical illustration of the sexy, tropical magic, that I have grown accustomed to. So when I finally sat down and listened to the it again, after 20 years had passed, Not only was I disappointed… I was kind of disturbed. I couldn’t connect to the song, at… all. It is so far from anything I’ve experienced in the Caribbean.
I have been living in Belize for a year now, blurring the lines between US citizen and ex-patrioted American, falling in love with the climate, the culture, and my “international love,” as I refer to my San Pedrano boyfriend, Pancho.
Jimmy Buffett has flourished, singing for decades, about ideas of escapism, and I understand that not everyone travels to run from their worries, but, for whatever reason one finds themselves in the Caribbean, the song paints an unfair image of life in the tropics. The song tells only one story, when there are many to be told.
Down to the Banana Republic, down to the tropical sun, go the inspiration seeking Americans, looking to find passion… that’s how I would rewrite the chorus.
The first time I flew down to Belize and stepped out of the single engine Cessna, onto the only paved surface on the island, I knew I was home. I had entered a new world, one of waves and tides and endlessness. I was writing my first novel, part of which is set in Belize, and I wanted to experience the country from a place of authenticity. I wanted to feel it. I wanted to soak up the blazing Caribbean sun, as the warm trade wind breeze, caressed my soul.
I had no other agenda, other than to write. My first Belizean adventure fueled months of creative inspiration, but it wasn’t until my second visit down to the Banana Republics, that a new chapter of my life would begin to unfold.
Two nights before I left Dallas, headed to Belize for the second time, I made a declaration that, while there is no shortage of attractive men in their country, I had zero intentions of letting any of them romance me. I was returning to learn more about the culture so that I could continue to write about it, authentically.
With my laptop set up in my condo, facing east, toward the reef, I tapped away at my keyboard, dreaming up a cacophony of adventures for my protagonist, Mona Lamar, who was in fact running from a shadow of despair. I wrote about her sailing through the deep blue waters, struggling through tempests, and entering new lands across the Caribbean, while a seductive Creole man ignited her soul. I sat alone in my condo, staring out at the sea, writing the love stories that I wanted to experience. It was safer for Mona Lamar to experience them, than myself. Regardless, I wrote what I longed for, and what I dreamed about. Still, I stayed true to my declaration. I was there to write, not to find love.
Several days into my trip, I managed to avoid the charms of the sunkissed, chiseled, Caribbean men. But then, one sunny day I sauntered down a pier and passed by a man with cocoa skin and a deep, brooding energy. He stood on a boat, midway down a pier, filleting a fish, tossing the carcass out to the frigate birds that hovered above. His energy vibrated through the heat and ignited something in my core, something unfamiliar, but clear. It was an undeniable knowledge that he and I would connect. I didn’t know how, or to what degree at the time, but as this past year continues to unfold, Pancho and I have not gone one day without expressing our love to one another.
As our relationship began to grow, I started traveling down to the island, more and more often. Since I have been blessed with his love, I have found opportunities to indulge in the culture, build friendships with locals, both Belizean’s and ex-pats, and educate myself on how to contribute to the community and the business climate. Contrary to what Jimmy Buffett describes, the Banana Republic that I know is a community built on supporting one another, rather than deceit.
Because English is the official language of Belize, and the US dollar is accepted, it can be easy to forget that you’re in another country, but the reminders, as obscure as they may be, are humbling. Settling into a relationship with someone from another country is an adjustment. I had to learn that there are different expectations. I had to learn to look at life from a different perspective. But the payoff has been rich and fulfilling. Pancho and I spend our days off doing nothing but drifting along in his boat, relaxing to reggae beats, and sipping Belikin beer, finding secluded places along the reef to indulge in intimate connection under the Caribbean sun, embracing the tropical warmth.
Jimmy Buffett claims:
Expatriated American feelin' so all alone
Telling themselves the same lies
that they told themselves back home
Down to the Banana Republics
Things aren't as warm as they seem
None of the natives are buying
any second hand American dreams
Everything I have imagined, everything I’ve dreamed, everything I’ve written about feeling love in the Caribbean, has come to life, effortlessly, and each time that I return to the Banana Republics, as soon as I step off the Ocean Ferry, into the dense island jungle, I’m greeted by locals with the same two words: welcome home.