It used to be that people didn't go cruising because they'd have to learn celestial navigation and to sail without an engine. When we started cruising in the early 1990s, engines had become reliable and GPS has just become widely available. Then people didn't go cruising because they'd have to leave behind their comforts and conveniences: refrigeration, fresh water, showers and washing machines. Now that many boats have all of these and more, we think the next big barrier to going cruising will be unplugging from the Internet. One of the boats in this anchorage is named Offline... even though they probably aren't.

Being connected is the main reason why we're hanging out in the US Virgins instead of our favorite anchorages in the British Virgin Islands. After being relegated to the Internet's back roads and country lanes for the past two years, we both had a long list of critical activities that could only be conducted over the information superhighway: researching information for Beth's new book, reorganizing our battered investment portfolios and launching job hunts among other things. We've already discovered that wi-fi, even paid wi-fi, is not good enough when a hundred boats are all trying to download movies and podcasts in the same anchorage. And trotting into the cybercafé with our laptops gets expensive after the third $6 latte of the day. No, we needed to mainline, and we wanted to be able to do it in a lovely anchorage instead of the dirty, crowded harbor at Charlotte Amalie. So we purchased an AT&T Aircard - a sort of data cell phone that plugs into a USB port on our computer and dials us right into broadband internet if we're within AT&T's 3G coverage area. That means the US Virgins, and, more specifically, St. Thomas. This is the natural culmination of a phenomenon we first saw in Mexico three years ago: picking cruising locations by the availability of internet connections and selecting the best anchoring spot in that anchorage based on signal strength.

We are now anchored in a delightful little cove just south of Charlotte Amalie with beautiful water for swimming and a perfect white sand beach ashore within dinghy distance of grocery stores, laundromats, ATMs and garbage dumpsters. Here we have found a group of cruisers working just as hard as we are. Many have had their cruising plans temporarily set back by the downturn in the economy, and they are waiting tables, bartending, doing boat deliveries, studying for their captain's licenses and finding a dozen other ways to earn money without returning ashore. And, if you have to work for a living, things could be a lot worse.

We get out of bed by 6 and go out on deck before getting to work to admire the various shades of teal, green, blue and azure in the waters around us and to check our anchor by looking at it lying on the bottom in the perfectly clear water. We eat breakfast, stroll three feet to our desks and arrive at work. We work in t-shirts and shorts with the hatches open and a fresh breeze blowing in. We eat granola and yogurt for breakfast, work until noon, and break for a salad. Then we go back to work until 2 or 3 in the afternoon before shutting down for an hour-long swim in the beautiful tropical water. Back aboard, we turn on our Sirius radio and listen to NPR and BBC while we do a few boat chores. We prepare dinner and eat out in the cockpit watching for the green flash as the sun slips beneath the horizon. After cleaning up the galley, we both do one more mainline injection of Internet and then relax with a book before falling asleep with a light sheet over us and cool, fresh air coming in through the open hatch. And tonight we're going ashore to eat hot dogs and popcorn and watch Slum Dog Millionaire on a screen stretched between two palm trees on the beach under the stars.

No commute, no pollution, no cubicle, no suit, no boss, no cranky office mates, no set schedule. No car payment, no mortgage, no monthly bills... but also no health insurance, no retirement plan, no vacation days. Well, you can't have everything.