The guests here are making adjustments also. I’m wary of the ice, for example, as the water pressure is erratic, and the generator takes scheduled breaks for a few hours in the mornings and afternoons. Similarly, the steak tartare that appeared on the menu a few days after the “current,” died raises some gastro-suspicion and I am opting for burgers, jerked fish and club sandwiches. I still marvel at the wood burning brick oven on the beach with its thatched roof and conspicuous fire extinguisher. And the high tea served every afternoon with cucumber sandwiches is a distinctly colonial-inspired affair that seems a bit incongruous while the generator is resting. I was sweating through a cup of hot green tea yesterday wondering… why.
