Foxy’s Bar

Like sweet, smoky incense—the scent of barbecue hangs in the Caribbean night air. The DJ is black and muscled. A high priest draped in robes of red, gold and green. A lion’s mane of dreadlocks crown his head and drip down his back. He lures the congregants to his dance floor with Jimmy Buffet and Bob Marley. In his tabernacle they are barefoot and sun-burnt.

Colorful sundresses, wrinkled linen shirts, and Bermuda shorts. Real faces—bereft of coiffed hair and cosmetic adornment. They intersect on this patch of soft white sand that sits on the shore of a British Virgin Isle. A shrine to the god of sun, sea, and pleasure. Zion emerges—betwixt the bar and the tables of parishioners that linger over rum glazed ribs and sugary corn cobs. They’re preppy east coast college kids from Tufts and Brown. They’re middle-aged So-Cal professionals on a sailing holiday. They are a flamboyant gay couple from West Palm Beach. 

They’re a homeschooling family that believes a beer and a dance floor on a plat of paradise is great education. They are a retired couple from Minnesota. They’re British “mates” in search of adventure. They’re a circle of sixty year old women from the states that have been coming to escape their husbands for a decade. They dance. Liberated from the constraints of their real lives by the “irie” vibes and rum punch. Young island boys join the sea of oscillating bodies. World’s collide at Foxy’s Bar. Walls dissolve. This unlikely collection of preppy youth, middle-aged mid- westerners, cocky Brits, hipster Cali couples, affectionate homosexuals, young testosterone-amped islanders, and seasoned housewives all conjoin in a ritual: a dance of unity, peace, freedom, and pleasure.

The DJ woos them with Do you Like Pina Coladas and The Electric Slide. But as the night progresses, the Rastafari preacher weaves the songs of Babylon—with the songs of Zion. The white bodies pulse to intoxicating Rasta reggae. Raw and hypnotic. The DJ preaches to his foreign congregation with the religion of music—inviting Babylon to come to Zion. He offers them redemption through rhythm and one love. He heals their souls and baptizes them with a cloud of weed smoke. Tonight at Foxy’s Bar—they are the chosen ones.

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