Reflections from Aruba
Last night I came back from a marvelous six-day sojourn in the tropical paradise of Aruba, where I pondered the future of paleoconservatism over many a glass of (Beefeater) gin and tonic. The first thing that stood out in that tiny island of Caribbean Europe (Aruba only became an autonomous part of Holland in 1986) was the absence of the anarcho-tyranny that is so prevalent in this country. The police was only barely and briefly visible, sales tax was non-existent, and miracle of miracles: you could actually smoke in bars and restaurants!
Most of the loud, obnoxious people in sight were... yes, you guessed it, American tourists! These jerks were, thank Heaven, not as all-pervasive as in other Caribbean resorts (Cancun and the Dominican Republic come to mind), probably because the bars only opened at 11 am. I still remember their bemused looks when I came to dinner wearing a collared shirt and pulled out a chair for my wife. Some of the Europeans were not much better. I remember the shocked gasp of my wife when a young Dutch woman lit up a cigarette with a toddler on her lap. And of course, there was the horror of the all-pervasive female tattoo. The less said about that obscene spectacle, the better.
Another thing, which never ceased to amaze me was the lycanthrope-like aversion of the Western tourists to natural water. Perhaps, the Western man, his soul destroyed by the anarcho-tyrannical state, cannot force himself to swim in a sea, where there's no lifeguard on duty. Instead, they chose to soak themselves in the noxious chlorine of the swimming pools or fry themselves into carcinogenic oblivion. Being a native of Sovdepia (as the White emigres called it), I had no hesitation in enjoying in the cool, salty water of the Caribbean, again bemusing the Americans and the Dutch by swimming some 50 meters from shore.
But all good things must come to an end, and very good things - especially. After waking up to the chirp of tropical birds in Aruba, I was jolted awake in NYC by the loud yells of the (illegal) Mexican workers building a scaffolding across the street from my apartment. Talk about a rude awakening.