Often times, I find myself reminiscing about a particular Spring Break.
My family and I were in the Caribbean (as part of a cruise voyage) and had reached the third of four ports encountered during our time on the ship.
The "port" was the beautiful island of Roaton, a moderately-sized stretch of land some 30 miles due east of Honduras, which claims ownership of the land.
But as we disembarked from the ship—and allowed our enthusiastic toes to be graced with the warm and inviting sandy beaches—a chilling, yet sadly not shocking, reality set in:
The island reeked of the same third world culture that far too many lands in the Caribbean do.
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