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| Painting the town. |
They’re jewelled like Christmas trees by brightly coloured houses scattered through the hills with large, rounded storm doors.
The roads, meanwhile, are filled with so many chickens a local brewery has begun naming beers after them. Twenty or so peck around an alley filled with grain.
It’s conveniently located next to a restaurant called the Chicken Fry.
Shop air conditioning breathes a chill into narrow alleys filled with jewellery stores sparkling with diamonds and other precious stones. They employ a variety of tactics to get you to visit.
“Did you read the news article about wearing open-toed shoes on the island?” one shopkeeper asks, striking a tone of mild alarm. A pause before we realize he’s hoping to create twinkle toes.
“Well-played,” I chuckle. But, not well enough to get me to go in.
Heading back to the ship, a mural outside a housing complex calls to save the reefs.
In what’s likely an apt metaphor, it’s peeling away, too.
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