Armchair Traveller

Five little dots on a perfect, sparkling scimitar of sand. That is what I imagined we looked like to the birds that carelessly wheeled above us as we lay baking in the sun. Getting up before sunrise we had made the trek across Grand Anse beach, over the hill and staked our claim to the then uninhabited Morne Rouge beach.
My musings were cut short by the bass beat of a cheesy 90’s club anthem. I turned over to see the twin hulls of the “Rum Runner” cutting through the aquamarine sea and making its way straight towards us.
Watching in some kind of morbid fascination, the boat throttled up and beached itself on the shore with practised ease and with none of the inhabitants spilling a drop of their cocktails.
Gang planks plopped onto the sand and the “Rum Runner” vomited it’s passengers onto the beach, instantly transforming the once peaceful vista into a forced Caribbean party. At the same time an army of hawkers advanced from the treeline offering wares ranging from deck chairs to hair braiding (oddly popular with older, overweight men) and even an aloe rub down.
For close on two hours the beach was the scene of frenetic activity, cruise passengers getting the most of their beach time and all inclusive cocktails to the background beats of Bob Marley.
A 20-something tour group leader signalled the end of festivities with some shrill sharp blows on a whistle and started herding everyone back on board.
While the group lined up and started to board and the hawkers packed up their wares and retreated to the tree-line, I over-heard someone say “Wow, what a great beach”. I slowly turned onto my stomach and as the drone of the “Rum Runners” engines faded into the distance I replied “Yep, but you really should have been here earlier”.