Walking home late at night all by myself, outside of town, over the river and past the last restaurant, past the overgrown properties that are now derelict, but still somehow grand in their silence and stature – albeit a little eerie in the shadows. Past the jungle creeping onto the old cobblestone streets. Up the dark hills, where the only sounds are the cicadas, my footsteps and the breaking of the waves on the sand below, just through the palm grove and the old burned out house that seems to bear the graffiti scars of years of decay and disarray. The only light is the moon on the ocean. No one around. Not a soul. Heading quickly up the last steep hill – as quickly as my Morticia Adams-narrow long dress will allow my strides to go – until I reach our home, and the sound of the kids’ voices. Such joy and relief. But in those 25 minutes, it was a grand adventure.