Image via Wikipedia
In this morning’s New York Times, restaurant critic Sam Sifton decribes the awesome fishing in Los Roques — and the sordid cheek-by-jowl existence of mainlanders just 40 miles away.
“The stereo died with a wheeze, the lights clicked out, and suddenly there was only darkness and the sound of the wind rustling through palm trees. The air was soft and warm, fluid against the skin. Stars began to rise against the inky blackness around them. The moon poured down.”