Anguilla
Well, my trip to Anguilla was...mixed. The island itself was absolutely gorgeous. The girlfriend and I spent every day laying in the sun, basking in the tropical heat. We ate at fine restaurants situated on white sand beaches and laid under palm trees reading. We snorkled for hours and hours and brought home a suitcase full of shells.
However, our hotel was atrocious. Not only adorned with peeling paint but with flies galore and a local populace that acting like little more than teenagers, I was thoroughly unimpressed. We ended up waking up several nights bathed in our own sweat and chugging down ice cold water from the freezer. Our rental car took us to all of the secluded beaches (including one we had to rappel down into) without delay; even if I could pick it up by myself. Driving on the left was also fun...I haven't done that since I left Ireland.
One funny moment though, you know how most shops here have a "Closed, reopen at XXX"? Well, in Anguilla, the signs just say "Closed, come back later.
For all of this though, as Alain De Botton expresses in his novel The Art of Travel, our anticipations and dreams of the glorious vacation we believe we will have never come to fruition. After a vacation, man is usually left wondering, which was better? The fact or the fiction? Are we merely letting ourselves down by actually going somewhere?
Oh, and I spent a lot of time reading Tom Clancy novels...my usual fare when I'm on vacation.
