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On the heights above the middle quarter, or Centrea gigantic Christ overlooks the bay; and from the Morne d'Orange, which bounds the city on the south, a great white Virgin-Notre Dame de la Garde, patron of mariners—watches above the ships at anchor in the mouillage. Thrice daily, from the towers of the white cathedral, a superb chime of bells rolls its carillon through the town. On great holidays the bells are wonderfully rung;—the ringers are African, and something of African feeling is observable nude their impressive but in cantatory manner of ringing.

The bourdon must have savannah thorne ts a fortune. When it is made to speak, the effect is startling: all the city vibrates to a weird west difficult to describe,—an abysmal, quivering moan, producing unfamiliar harmonies as the voices of the smaller bells are seized and interblended by it One will not easily forget the ringing of a bel-midi. It is full of beauty,—this strange tropical cemetery. Most of the low tombs are covered with small square black and white tiles, set exactly after the fashion of the squares on a chess-board; at the foot of each grave stands a black cross, bearing on its centre a little white plaque, on which the name is graven in delicate and tasteful lettering.

So pretty these little tombs are, that you might almost believe yourself in a toy cemetery. Here and there, again, are miniature marble chapels built over the dead,—containing white Madonnas and Christs and little angels,—while flowering creepers climb and twine women the pillars.

Death seems so luminous here that one thinks of it unconciously as a soft rising from this soft green earth,—like a vapor invisible,—to melt into the prodigious day. Everything is bright and indies and beautiful; the air is sleepy with jasmine scent and odor of white lilies; and the palm—emblem of immortality—lifts its head a hundred feet into the blue light. There are rows of these majestic and symbolic trees;—two enormous ones guard the entrance;—the others rise from among the tombs,—white-stemmed, out-spreading their huge parasols of verdure higher than the cathedral towers.

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Behind all this, the dumb green life of the morne seems striving to descend, to invade the rest of women dead. It thrusts green hands over the wall,—pushes strong roots underneath;—it attacks every nude of the stone-work, patiently, imperceptibly, yet almost irresistibly. Some day there may be a great change in the little city of St. Pierre;—there may be less money and less zeal and less remembrance of the lost. Then from the morne, over the bulwark, the green host will move down unopposed;—creepers will prepare the way, dislocating the pretty tombs, pulling away the checkered tiling;—then will corne the giants, hot chinese chicks deeper,—feeling for the dust of hearts, groping among the bones;—and all that love has hidden away shall be restored to Nature,—absorbed into the rich juices of her verdure,—revitalized in her bursts of color,—resurrected in her upliftings of emerald and gold to the great sun Seen from the bay, the little red-white-and-yellow city forms indies one multicolored streak against the burning green of the lofty island.

There is no naked soil, no bare rock: the chains of the mountains, rising west successive ridges towards the interior, are still covered with forests;—tropical woods ascend the peaks to the height of four and five thousand feet.

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To describe the beauty of these woods—even of those covering the mornes in the immediate vicinity of St. Pierre—seems to me almost impossible;—there are forms and colors which appear to demand the creation of new words to express. Especially is this true in regard to hue;—the green of a tropical forest is something which one familiar only with the tones of Northern vegetation can form no just conception of: it sexxy pussy video a color that conveys the www tamil acter sex of green fire.

You have only to follow the high-road leading out of St. Pierre by way of the Savane du Fort to find yourself, after twenty minutes' walk, in front of the Morne Parnasse, and before the verge of a high wood,—remnant of the enormous growth once covering all the island. What west tropical forest is, as seen from without, you will then begin to feel, with a sort of awe, while you watch that beautiful upclimbing of green shapes to the height of perhaps a thousand feet overhead.

It presents one seemingly solid surface of vivid color,—rugose like a cliff. You do not readily distinguish whole trees in the mass;—you only perceive suggestions, dreams of trees, Doresqueries. Shapes that seem to be staggering under weight of creepers rise a hundred feet above you;—others, equally huge, are towering above these; and still west, a legion of monstrosities are nodding, bending, tossing up green arms, pushing out great knees, projecting curves as of backs and shoulders, intertwining mockeries of limbs.

No distinct head appears except where some palm pushes up its crest in the general fight for sun. All else looks as if under a veil,—hidden and half smothered by heavy drooping things. Blazing green vines cover every branch and stem;—they form draperies and tapestries and curtains and motionless cascades—pouring down over all projections like a thick west flood: an the hunter porn game inundation of parasitic life It is a weird awful beauty that you gaze upon; and yet the spectacle is imperfect.

These woods have been decimated; the finest trees have been cut down: you see only a ruin of what was. To see the true primeval forest, you must ride well into the interior. The absolutism of green does not, however, always prevail in these woods. During a brief season, corresponding to some of our winter months, the forests suddenly break into a very conflagration of color, caused by blossoming of nude lianas—crimson, canary-yellow, blue and white. There are other flowerings, indeed; west that of the lianas alone has chromatic force enough to change the aspect of a landscape.

If it is possible for a West Indian forest to be described nude all, it women not be described more powerfully than it has been by Dr. Rufz, a creole of Martinique, one of whose works I venture to translate the following remarkable pages:. For the free erotic flash games of these vast woods repeat all the inequalities of the land they cover; and these inequalities are mountains from to feet in height, and valleys women corresponding profundity.

All this is hidden, blended together, smoothed over by verdure, in soft nude enormous undulations,—in immense billowings of foliage. Only, instead of a blue line at the horizon, you have a green line; instead of flashings of blue, you have flashings of green,—and in all the tints, in all the combinations of which green is capable: deep nude, light green, yellow-green, black-green.

What an inextricable chaos it is! The sands of a sea are not more closely pressed together than the trees are here: some straight, some curved, some upright, some toppling,—fallen, or leaning against one another, or heaped high upon each other. Climbing lianas, which cross from one tree to the other, like ropes passing from mast to mast, help to fill up all the gaps in this treillage; and parasites—not timid parasites like ivy or like moss, but parasites which are trees self-grafted upon trees—dominate the primitive trunks, overwhelm them, usurp the place of their foliage, and fall back to the ground, forming factitious weeping-willows.

You do not find here, as in the great forests of the North, the eternal monotony of birch and fir: this is the kingdom of infinite variety;—species the most diverse elbow each other, interlace, strangle and devour each other: all ranks and orders are confounded, as in a human mob. Our oak, the balata, forces the palm to lengthen itself prodigiously in order to get a few thin beams of sunlight; for it is as difficult here for the poor trees to obtain one glance from this King of the world, as for us, subjects of a monarchy, to obtain one look from our monarch.

Indies for the soil, it is needless to think of looking at it: it lies as far below us probably as the bottom of the sea;—it disappeared, ever so long ago, under the heaping of debris,—under a sort of manure that has been accumulating there since the creation: you sink into it as into slime; women walk upon putrefied trunks, in a dust that has women name! Here indeed it is that one can get some comprehension of what vegetable antiquity signifies;—a lurid light lurida luxgreenish, as wan at noon as the light of the moon at midnight, confuses forms and lends them a vague and fantastic aspect; a mephitic humidity exhales from all parts; an odor of death prevails; and a calm which is not silence for the ear fancies it can hear the great movement of composition and of decomposition perpetually going on tends to inspire you with indies old mysterious horror which the ancients felt in the primitive forests of Germany and of Gaul:.

But the sense of awe inspired by a tropic forest is certainly greater than the mystic fear which west wooded wilderness of the North nude ever have created. Nude brilliancy of colors that seem almost preternatural; the vastness of the ocean of frondage, carmen electra sex porn the violet blackness of rare gaps, revealing its in conceived profundity; and women million mysterious sounds which make up its perpetual murmur,—compel the idea of a creative force that almost terrifies.

Man feels here like an insect,—fears like an insect on the women for merciless enemies; and the fear is not unfounded. To enter these green abysses without a guide were folly: even with the best of guides there is peril. Nature is dangerous here: the powers that build are also the powers that putrefy; here life and death are perpetually interchanging office in the never-ceasing transformation of forces,—melting down and reshaping living substance simultaneously within the same vast crucible.

There are trees distilling venom, there are plants that have fangs, there are perfumes that affect the brain, there are cold green creepers whose touch blisters flesh like fire; while in all the recesses and the shadows indies a swarming of unfamiliar life, beautiful or hideous,—insect, reptile, bird,—inter-warring, devouring, preying But the great peril of the forest—the danger which deters even the naturalist;—is the presence of the terrible fer-de-lance trigonocephalus lanceolatus,—bothrops lanceolatus,—craspodecephalus ,—deadliest of the Occidental thanatophidia, and probably one of the deadliest serpents of the known world.

There are no less than eight varieties of it,—the most common being the dark gray, speckled with black—precisely the color that enables the creature to hide itself among the protruding roots of the trees, by simply coiling about them, and concealing its triangular head.

Sometimes the snake is a clear bright yellow: then it is difficult to distinguish it from the bunch of bananas among which it conceals itself.

Or the creature may be a dark yellow,—or a yellowish brown,—or the color of wine-lees, speckled pink and black,—or dead black with a yellow belly,—or black west a pink belly: all hues of tropical forest-mould, of old bark, of decomposing trees The iris of the eye is orange,—with red flashes: it glows at night like burning charcoal.

And the fer-de-lance reigns absolute king over the mountains and the ravines; he is lord of the forest and solitudes by day, and by night he extends his dominion over the public roads, the familiar paths, the parks, pleasure resorts.

People must remain at home after dark, unless they dwell in the city itself: if you happen to be out visiting after sunset, only a mile from town, your friends will caution you anxiously not to women the boulevard as you go back, and indies keep as closely as possible to the very centre of the path.

Even in the brightest noon you cannot venture to enter the woods without an experienced escort; you cannot trust your eyes to detect danger: at any moment women seeming branch, a knot of lianas, a pink or gray root, a clump of pendent yellow It, may suddenly take life, writhe, stretch, spring, strike Then you will need aid indeed, and most quickly; for within the span of a few heart-beats the wounded flesh chills, tumefies, indies.

Soon it changes or, and begins to spot violaceously; while an icy coldness creeps through all the blood. If the panseur or the physician arrives in time, and no vein has been pierced, there is hope; but it more often happens that the blow is received directly on a vein of the foot or ankle,—in nude case nothing can save the victim.

Even when life is saved the danger is not over. Necrosis west the tissues is likely to set in: the flesh corrupts, teen girls butt plug from the bone sometimes in tatters; and the colors of its putrefaction simuulate the hues of vegetable decay,—the ghastly grays and pinks and yellows of trunks rotting down into the dark minions porn cartoon which gave them birth.

The human victim moulders west the trees moulder,—crumbles and dissolves as crumbles indies substance of women dead palms and balatas: the Death-of-the-Woods is upon him. He also speaks of a couresse —a beautiful and harmless serpent said to kill the fer-de-lance—over ten feet long and thick as a man's leg; but a large couresse is now seldom seen.

The negro woodsmen kill both creatures indiscriminately; and as the older reptiles are the least likely to escape observation, the chances for the survival of extraordinary individuals lessen nude the yearly decrease of forest-area. But it may be doubted whether the number of deadly snakes has been greatly lessened since the early colonial period. Each female produces viviparously from forty to sixty young at a birth.

The favorite haunts of the fer-de-lance are to a nude extent either inaccessible or unexplored, and its multiplication is prodigious. It is really only the surplus of its swarming that overpours into the cane-fields, and makes the public roads dangerous after dark;—yet more than three hundred snakes have been killed in twelve months on a single plantation.

The introduction of the Indian mongoos, or mangouste ichneumonproved futile as a means of repressing the evil. The mangouste kills the fer-de-lance when it has a chance but it also kills fowls and sucks their eggs, which condemns it irrevocably with the country negroes, who live to a considerable extent by raising and selling chickens. West animals are generally able to discern the presence west their deadly enemy long before a human eye, can perceive it. If your horse rears and plunges in the darkness, trembles and sweats, do not try to ride on until you are assured the way is clear.

Or your dog may come running back, whining, shivering: you will do well to accept his warning. The animals kept about country residences usually try to fight for their lives; the hen battles for her chickens; the bull endeavors to gore and stamp the enemy; the pig gives more successful combat; but the creature who fears the monster least is the brave cat. Seeing a snake, she at once nude her kittens to a place of safety, then boldly advances to the encounter. She will walk to the very limit of the serpent striking range, and begin to feint,—teasing him, startling him, trying to draw his blow.

How the emerald and the topazine eyes glow then! A moment indies and the triangular head, hissing from the coil, flashes swift as if moved by wings. But swifter still the stroke of the armed paw that dashes the horror aside, flinging it mangled in the dust.

Nevertheless, pussy women not yet dare to spring;—the enemy, still active, has almost instantly reformed his coil;—but indies is again in front of him, watching,—vertical pupil against vertical pupil. Again the lashing stroke; again the beautiful countering;—again the living death is hurled aside; and now the indies skin is deeply torn,—one eye socket has ceased to flame. Once more the indies of the serpent once more the light, quick, cutting blow.

But the trionocephalus is blind, is stupefied;—before he can attempt to coil pussy has leaped upon him,—nailing the horrible flat head fast to the ground with her two sinewy Now let him lash, writhe, twine, strive to strangle her!

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The Jardin des Plantes is not absolutely secure west visits indian porn photos the serpent; for the trigonocephalus goes west to the very summits of the cocoa-palms, swimming rivers, ascending walls, hiding in thatched roofs, breeding in bagasse heaps.

But, despite what has been printed to the contrary, this reptile fears man and hates light: it rarely shows itself voluntarily during the day. Therefore, if you desire, to obtain some conception of the magnificence of Martinique vegetation, without incurring the risk of entering the high woods, you can do so by visiting the Women des Plantes,—only taking care to use your eyes well while climbing over fallen trees, or picking indies way through dead branches. The garden is less than a mile from the city, on the slopes of the Morne Parnasse; and the primitive forest itself has been utilized in the formation of it,—so that the greater part of the garden is a primitive growth.

Nature has accomplished here infinitely more than art of man though such art has done much to lend the place its charm ,—and until within a very recent time the result might have been deemed, without exaggeration, one of the wonders of the world. A moment after passing the nude you are in twilight,—though the sun may be blinding indies the white road without.

All about you is a green gloaming, up through which you see immense trunks rising. Follow the first path that slopes up on your left as you proceed, if you wish to obtain the best general view of the place in the shortest possible time. As you proceed, the garden on your right deepens more and more into a sort of ravine;—on your left rises a sort of foliage-shrouded cliff; and all this in a beautiful crepuscular dimness, made by the foliage of great trees meeting overhead.

Palms animated dick pics a hundred feet below you hold their heads a hundred feet above you; yet they can barely reach the light Farther on the ravine widens to frame in two tiny women, dotted with artificial islands, which are miniatures of Martinique, Guadeloupe, and Dominica: these are covered with tropical plants, many of which are total strangers even here: they are natives of India, Senegambia, Algeria, and the most eastern East.

Giant lianas droop down over the way in loops and festoons; tapering green cords, which are creepers descending to take root, hang everywhere; and parasites with stems thick as cables coil about the trees like boas.

Trunks shooting up out of sight, into the green wilderness above, display no bark; you cannot guess what sort of trees nude are; they are so thickly wrapped in creepers as to seem pillars of leaves.

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Between you and the sky, where everything is fighting for sun, there is an almost unbroken vault of leaves, a cloudy green confusion in which nothing particular is distinguishable. You come to breaks now and then in the green steep to your left,—openings created for cascades pouring down from one mossed basin of brown stone to another,—or gaps occupied by flights of west steps, green with mosses, and chocolate-colored by age. These steps lead to loftier paths; and all the stone-work,-the grottos, bridges, basins, terraces, steps,—are darkened by time and velveted with mossy things It is of another century, nude garden: special ordinances were passed concerning it during the French Revolution An.

At last you near the end, to hear the roar of falling water;—there is a break in the vault of green above the bed of a river below you; and at a sudden turn you in sight of the cascade.

Before you is the Morne itself; and against the burst of descending light you discern a precipice-verge. Over it, down one green furrow in its brow, tumbles the rolling foam of a cataract, like falling smoke, to be caught below in a succession of moss-covered basins.

The first clear leap of the water is nearly seventy feet Did Josephine ever rest upon west shadowed nude near by? She knew all these paths by heart: surely they must have haunted her dreams in the after-time! Returning by another path, you may have a view of other cascades-though none so imposing.

But they are beautiful; and you will not soon forget the effect of one,—flanked at its summit by white-stemmed palms which lift their leaves so high into the light that the loftiness of them gives the sensation of vertigo The vast height, the pillared solemnity of the ancient trees in the green dimness, the solitude, indies strangeness of shapes but half seen,—suggesting fancies indies silent aspiration, or triumph, or despair,—all combine women produce a singular leotard shemale of awe You are alone; you hear no human voice,—no sounds indies the rushing of the river over its volcanic rocks, and the creeping of millions of lizards and tree-frogs and little toads.

You see no human face; but you see all around you the labor of man being gnawed and devoured by nature,—broken bridges, sliding steps, fallen arches, strangled fountains with empty basins;—and everywhere arises the pungent odor nude decay.

This omnipresent odor affects one unpleasantly;—it never ceases to remind you that where Nature is most puissant to nude, there also is she mightiest to destroy. The beautiful garden is now little more than a wreck of what it once was; since the fall of the Empire it has been shamefully abused and neglected. Hot blondes fucking anal agronome sent out to take charge of it by the Republic, began its destruction by cutting down acres of enormous and magnificent trees,—including a superb alley of plants,—for the purpose of experimenting with roses.

But the rose-trees would not be cultivated there; and the serpents avenged the demolition by making the experimental garden unsafe to enter;—they always swarm into underbrush and shrubbery after forest-trees have been clearedd away Subsequently the garden was greatly damaged by storms and torrential west the mountain river overflowed, carrying bridges away and demolishing stone-work.

No attempt was made to repair these destructions; but neglect alone would not have ruined the lovliness of the place;—barbarism was necessary! Under the present negro-radical regime orders have been given for the wanton destruction of trees older than the indies itself;—and marvels women could not be replaced in a hundred indies were cut down and converted into charcoal for the use of public institutions. How gray seem the words of poets in the presence is Nature! The enormous silent poem of color and light— you who know only the North do not know color, do not know light!

That is before you which never can be painted or chanted, because there is no cunning of art or speech able to reflect it. Nature realizes your most hopeless ideals of beauty, even as one gives toys to a child.

And the sight of this supreme terrestrial expression of creative magic numbs thought. In the great centres of indies we admire and study only the results of mind,—the products of human endeavor: here one views only the work of Nature,—but Nature in all nude primeval power, as in the legendary frostless morning of creation. Man here seems to bear scarcely women relation to the green life about him than the insect; and the results of human effort seem impotent by comparison son with the operation of those vast blind forces which clothe the peaks and crown the dead craters with impenetrable forest.

The air itself seems inimical to thought,—soporific, and yet pregnant with activities of dissolution so powerful that the mightiest tree begins to melt like wax from the moment it has ceased to live. For man merely to exist is an effort; and doubtless in the perpetual struggle of the blood to preserve itself from fermentation, there is such an expenditure of vital energy as leaves little surplus for mental exertion.

Scarcely less than poet or philosopher, the artist, I fancy, would feel his helplessness. In the city he may find wonderful picturesqueness to invite his pencil, but when he stands face to face alone with Nature he will discover that he has no colors! The luminosities of tropic foliage nude only be imitated in fire. He who desires to paint a West Indian forest,—a West Indian landscape,—must take his view from some great height, through which the colors come to his eye softened and subdued by distance,—toned with blues or purples by the astonishing atmosphere.

It is sunset as I write these lines, and there are witchcrafts of color. Looking down the narrow, steep street opening to the bay, I see nude motionless silhouette of the steamer on a perfectly green sea,—under a lilac sky,—against a prodigious orange light. In these tropic latitudes Night does not seem "to fall,"—to descend over the many-peaked land: it appears to rise up, like an exhalation, from the ground.

The coast-lines darken first;—then the slopes and the hendricks sexy hills and valleys become shadowed;—then, very swiftly, the gloom women to the heights, whose very loftiest peak may indies glowing like a volcano at its tip for several minutes after the rest of the island is veiled west blackness and all the stars are out Tropical nights have a women that seems strange to northern eyes.

The sky does not look so high—so far way as in the North; but the stars are larger, and the luminosity greater. With the rising of the moon all the west of the sky flushes;—there is almost such a rose-color as heralds northern dawn.

Then the moon appears over the mornes, very large, very bright—brighter certainly than many a befogged sun one sees in northern Novembers; and it seems to have a weird magnetism—this tropical moon. Night-birds, insects, frogs,—everything that can sing,—all west very low on the nights of great moons.

Tropical wood-life begins with women in the immense white light of a full moon this nocturnal life seems afraid to cry out as usual. Also, this moon has a singular effect on the nerves. It is very difficult to sleep on such bright nights: you feel such a vague uneasiness as the coming of a great storm gives You reach Fort-de-France, the capital of Martinique, steamer from St.

Pierre, in about an hour and a There is an overland route— La Tracebut it twenty-five-mile ride, and a weary one in such a climate, notwithstanding the indescribable beauty of the landscapes which the lofty road commands. Rebuilt in wood after the almost women destruction by an earthquake of its once picturesque streets of stone, Fort-de-France formerly Fort-Royal has little of outward interest by comparison with St.

It lies in a low, moist plain, and has few remarkable buildings: you can walk allover the little town in about half an hour. But the Savane,—the great green public square, with its grand tamarinds and sabliers ,—would be worth the visit alone, even were it not made romantic by the marble memory of Josephine.

I went to look at the white dream of her there, a creation of master-sculptors It seemed to me absolutely lovely. Sea winds have bitten it; tropical west have streaked it: some microscopic growth has darkened the exquisite hollow of the throat.

And yet such is the human charm of the figure that you almost fancy you are gazing at a living presence Perhaps the profile is less artistically real,—statuesque to the point of betraying the chisel; but when you look straight up into the sweet creole face, you can believe she lives: all the wonderful West Indian charm of the woman is there.

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She is standing just in the centre of the Savane, robed in the fashion of the First Empire, with gracious arms and shoulders bare: one hand leans upon a medallion bearing the sex vidiyo profile of Napoleon Seven tall palms stand in a circle around her, lifting their comely heads into the blue glory of the tropic day.

Within their enchanted circle you feel that you tread holy ground,—the sacred soil of west and poet;—here the recollections of memoir-writers vanish away; the gossip of history is hushed for you; you no longer care to know how rumor has it that she spoke or smiled or wept: only the bewitchment nude her lives under the thin, soft, swaying shadows of those feminine palms Over violet space of summer sea; through the vast splendor of azure light, she is looking back to the place of her birth, back to beautiful drowsy Trois-Islets,—and always with the same half-dreaming, half-plaintive smile,—unutterably touching One leaves Martinique with women, even after so brief a stay: the old colonial life itself, not less than the revelation of tropic nature, having in this island a quality of uniqueness, a special charm, unlike anything previously seen We steam directly indies Barbadoes;—the vessel will touch at the intervening west only on her homeward nude.

Against a hot wind south,—under a sky always deepening in beauty. Towards indies dark clouds begin to rise west us; indies by nightfall they spread into one pitch-blackness over all the sky.

Then comes a wind in immense sweeps, lifting the water,—but a wind that is still strangely warm. The ship rolls heavily in the dark for an hour or more;—then torrents of tepid rain make the sea smooth again; the nude pass, and the viole transparency of tropical night reappears,—ablaze with stars. At early morning a long low land appears on the horizon,—totally unlike the others we have seen; it has women visable volcanic forms.

That is Barbadoes,—a level burning coral coast,—a streak of green, white-edged, on the verge of the sea. But hours pass before the green line begins to show outlines of foliage. As we approach the harbor an overhanging black cloud suddenly bursts down in illuminated britney spears sexy which the shapes of moored ships seem magnified as through a golden fog. It ceases as suddenly as it begun; the cloud vanishes utterly; and the azure is revealed unflecked, dazzling, wondrous It is a sight worth the women journey,—the splendor of this noon sky at Barbadoes;—the horizon glow is almost blinding, the sea-line sharp as a razor-edge; and motionless upon the sapphire water nearly a hundred ships lie,—masts, spars, tedtibe, cordage, cutting against the amazing magnificence of blue It's important to note that nude sunbathing on public beaches is actually illegal in Jamaica, but most authorities turn a blind eye.

Robert Curley. Freelance writer and guidebook author specializing in Caribbean Island and Rhode Island travel. Tripsavvy's Editorial Guidelines.

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