Enthused by the opportunity this somnolent situation presented, we immediately began to plan the caper that would support our escape. A night spot, something attractive to both locals and foreigners, something tropical, t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops allowed.

So was born Mosquito Coast. Conceived as a Jimmy Buffet sort of canteen, Tex-Mex, tequila and cheap beer, we worked for 10 months with Venezuelan artisans to achieve a truly Caribbean decor where the customers would know they were on a tropical holiday.

However, we made an enormous and fateful mistake. Our opening  night party was a huge success and the restaurant tables got pushed aside for Latin America’s most favourite past time, dancing. The next night we quietly opened expecting to serve some food and drinks and generally get down to the job of dragging in the customers. Such solitude. From the 7 o’clock opening to midnight absolutely nothing happened; then people started arriving; the waiters hustled with menus, but the kitchen stayed idle. An air of expectancy hovered about until a brave soul, a veteran of the previous night’s party, asked when the dance music was going to start. Right away, of course, and we scrambled to put something together -- no DJ, a home changer, and my Yamaha amp. Well, we blew up the amp that night, but our reputation as a disco spread far and wide and for ten more years we led the pack.

That’s part of the escape but here’s some more. When you make money here, you get to keep it. Taxes are easy, living is cheap, restaurants are the best in the Caribbean.  Venezuela has had something like 5 winners in the last dozen Miss Universe contests (hybrid vigour), and although Venezuelans come in every colour imaginable, there is a racial harmony so complete that to call someone black, fat and ugly is construed as a compliment, or at worst, a warm and familiar greeting between friends.

Beer has gone up to 35 cents a bottle and you can buy it everywhere. Rum might now cost you $1.50 a bottle and the really good stuff maybe $6 (tastes like cognac). I mentioned the food; we’ve got decent local markets and excellent supermarkets, cinemas, castles and forts.  I did mention the beaches didn’t I? There's wind surfing and boating, and Miami’s only 3 hours away. Land’s still cheap, and foreigners can own it. 

The island still needs just about everything, so there’s lots of opportunities for enterprising escape artists. And, if speaking English is your only marketable talent, there are several sports books that will put you to work which brings to light one little problem lurking in the shadows. If you want to live here you’re going to have to learn at least the rudiments of Spanish.  But that comes easier than you might think, once you're among the natives.

Margarita is a nice combination of modern conveniences with rustic charm. Of all the Caribbean islands, its one of the few to have maintained a cultural identity and an awareness of its rich and varied past. Margariteñans still go far out to sea in small boats to fish for tuna, wahoo, dorado, snapper and sardines. We have South America’s second oldest church (the oldest is in the town of Coro on the Venezuelan mainland) and high rolling casinos, 5 star hotels and mud and wattle posadas.  Mercedes Kompresors share the streets with ‘57 Chevies. There are forts and castles and acres of colonial architecture, as well as the blight of towers and uncontrolled urban sprawl.