SOMEWHERE near the Tropic of Capricorn, a gust of warm wind blew down on the old French colonial town of Mahébourg, rushing across strange, jagged brown hills and lightly rustling green fields of sugar cane. It carried the smell of damp vegetation — a result of a typical morning sun shower — as it rippled offshore and gently undulated the translucent curaçao waters of the Indian Ocean around our slow-chugging motorboat.
Curacao waters? Curacao is dark orange*.
* Yes, I know there\’s a Blue Curacao but it is called \”Blue Curacao\” to distinguish it from the dark orange one.