I’ve oft been chaffed for my immoderate love of Tobago. Perhaps ’tis just an absurdly insular partiality of mine but I contend that even the hardiest of us can render bewitched by its simplistic charm. A mere cursory aerial glance of the isle on the endearingly short flight over quickly conjures images of idyllic island-life by its vastly being underdeveloped; innumerable visits will alloy not the magic that pervades upon disembarking, one is unerringly warmly greeted by the irresistible and almost impalpable beckoning of island-time and suddenly life’s little vicissitudes seem considerably trivial. As a child, many vacations were spent wiling away the days at the beatific Store Bay beach, nights were spent at the lovely Crown Point Beach Hotel with chin resting on cupped hands listening intently to my father’s resonant voice regale me with colorful stories from his past whilst simultaneously being lulled to the most blissful of slumber by the soporific sounds of a gentle surf. Many years later, a sojourn would prove markedly reminiscent of past indulgences and suffice it to say pleasantly novel in others.
My love for the bucolic gem will endure.
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