Tortola: Snubbery in Paradise

Tortola in the British Virgin Islands is a paradise. Perennially 85 and sunny. Rain sudden and brief at dawn and dusk. Lush verdant mountains and heady perfumed evenings. Captivating sunset skies filled with the Sahara Dust. Full moon craziness at world-famous Bomba's. Dizzying Pusser's Rum Painkillers. Pusser's Painkillers . . . mmmm, Painkillers. (To paraphrase Homer, Does rum count as beer?)

Silly drunken dancing aging white yachties. Snubbing hostile locals . . . mmmm, hostile locals.

Waydaminute. Let's backtrack.

Aside from setting, the indifference , let us say charitably, of the locals struck my wife and I with palpable emotional force. It is one of the most indellible impressions of our trip.

Since of course cultural interactions are always on this blogger's mind, I've considered it a lot both during and after our stay, and yes even
Googled it. Rudeness Tortola.

In the next few entries I'd like to describe some incidents of culture clash, offer some incredibly inciteful explanations, have a little fun with providing The Real Rough Guide to Tortola, and remind myself and you before I get accused of cultural insensitivity that Tortola is a pretty fun (and very safe), gorgeous place, and I do not intend to mistake a few creaky trees for the forest. I am meself creaky at times, especially with shoddy Ferry operators who drop us at Red Hook when they said they would drop us at Charlotte Amelie (but I digress.)

Oh, and post more pictures.