“unless, of course, you just don’t like paying it.”
I am on my couch taking a break from the WFH that lights up the computer screen on my desk upstairs. It’s a makeshift desk, I never planned to have a workspace that shared the same living space as the kid’s TV and Xbox den. But Covid taught us that things change, and we adapt.
On my screen, I am watching a Masterclass by Paul Krugman on Economics and Society. He talks about tax policies and systems. His lecture on tax is surprisingly interesting, (yes really,) where he demonstrates with evidence that through the past 40 years of American economic and presidential history, higher taxes and lower taxes have made little difference to the success of the US economic activity. The conclusion is, he offers, the amount of tax doesn’t matter, unless of course, you simply don’t like to pay taxes. Which does apply to quite a few people.
The dog needs a walk, and I coax her along the beach towards D who is pressure washing the restaurant deck. We turn around to walk home and bump into a dear friend who is also on her morning walk. “You’re barefoot!” she exclaims. I look down at my feet, and indeed I am standing directly on sharp edged stones in the restaurant parking lot. I try to walk barefoot on sand at least once daily, and I don’t really notice if the surface is mildly rough. B and A used to walk barefoot everywhere too, and when they were little, this was both a blessing – “Don’t bother with shoes, we’re in a rush!” – but also a problem. “Where did you leave your flipflops today?” was a commonly heard phrase in our home.
The friend, on her walk, says she is starting a relocation company, which is a great idea for her, because she will be effortlessly great at doing it. But it gets me thinking, why did I relocate to the Cayman Islands? If a stranger were to ask this question, invariably the assumption is all too predictably that tax will play a part in the decision-making to move to ‘The Caymans’. And yet, it never occurred to me to move here for tax purposes. And so many people I know moved here for numerous entirely un-related reasons to tax avoidance. It is a common misconception – which raises hackles on so many folks here – probably because to imply a country is filled with people running away from their duties to their mother-land is no different to saying the inhabitants are self-serving and irresponsible. Yet the people of the Cayman Islands could not be further from this denigration.
So why did I relocate to Cayman? Well, firstly it wasn’t meant to be a relocation at the time. It was more of a self-appointed posting abroad. My childhood was colorful and interesting, and all over the globe. I wasn’t planning on settling down in any one country any time soon. Sixteen years ago, I had found myself living in London a little too long for comfort. The pollution was overwhelming, the traffic unbearable, and the Prime Minister at that time, Tony Blair, had authorized flyers to be distributed across the London borough that read “A terrorist attack is not a matter of if, but when.”
“I’m out” I said. And my bags were packed. But I didn’t intend to settle here the way I have.
So why should anyone relocate to Cayman? Well the weather is definitely a big draw. Especially during the winter months. Cayman is glorious in what is known here as ‘peak season’ from November through until May. But actually, it’s not that bad the rest of the time, as long as you don’t mind heat, humidity and mosquitoes. Right now, the weather is at its all-time ‘worse case’: we get sporadic thunderstorms, and sometimes the sun is so high in the sky, it is hard to walk outside in the middle of the day. But it is raining right now, and I’m on my couch with a cup of tea, with my dog beside me, and I think the weather is just lovely. So, it’s not just all about sun-seeking and boat days.
I came for the beaches too. I make a point of walking on the beach at least once a day, and at the weekends I take longer walks up and down Seven Mile Beach. It’s heavenly, that seemingly endless stretch of white sand with turquoise water lapping at the edge. The sound of the waves is soothing and energising at the same time, I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but it is. And everyone who walks Seven Mile feels the same paradox.
Last night I met up with a group of friends after dark, in the Cayman Kai lagoon, where the bioluminescence is abundant. We had a mini flotilla, of a small boat, followed by kayaks, and paddleboards. It took me ten minutes to join up with them from our house, around the point, to reach the lagoon on my paddleboard. The moon is weak at the moment, which makes the stars and bioluminescence brighter. It was a magical night, as we chatted and laughed, while the young at heart jumped in an out of the water with whoops of delight, their bodies, big and small, lit up by the tiny marine organisms. It reminded me of all the children’s sleepover nights we have hosted over the years, that ended up with delighted squeeling kids in the sea, lit up in the pitch black. So exciting, so scary, but such fun memories!
This organic form of entertainment makes up for Cayman’s lack of man-made culture, such a theatres and elite sporting events. If you like diving, there’s a whole underwater playground waiting to be discovered here. If you like thrashing around with 20,000 fans to listen to a megastar perform his or her latest album, this island life is perhaps not for you. Right now, of course, even if you fall into the concert-going category when it comes to finding your kicks, you might be reconsidering whether you’re prepared to give island living a go, whilst this pandemic plays out. Cayman has been covid-free for 37 days, and counting. There are very few countries in the world, (and most are small islands,) in this uniquely protected position. Plus, Cayman is whole lot more habitable that the equally covid- free Falkland Islands, unless of course you are a rock-hopping penguin.
Outside my window, as the sunset sets, the sky is awash with orange, pink and purple. As you may have noticed from my Instagram feed, I have rather a penchant for sunsets. The sunsets in Cayman are possibly reason enough to relocate, if you, like me, are aesthetically sensitive.
Last night, as I paddled home, my head was pointed up towards the bright stars, the only other light was the distant glow from our front room where D waited, and the glo-stick bracelet a friend had given me for my journey home. Thinking back sixteen years, I am not really sure I remember exactly why I relocated to Cayman, but I do know now why I stayed. The people. It is here that I found my tribe of multi-cultural folk, of different faiths, different professions, and with humble and brilliant backstories. Everyone is so unique and so kind. And on the topic of “Don’t overthink tax,’.. I would add, “Don’t think about tax, at all.”
