ABSTRACT
Fifteen years after those words were written, I am standing on the shoreline at Runaway Bay. It is mid-January, the height of the tourist season in the Caribbean tropical islands. The sea, as its groundswell rushes in, retains those same wondrous shades-the navy blue, the turquoise, the cobalt. Something is missing: There is no sand. No sand, no tourists. The effect is not so much unreal, as surreal.
