" I'm sure you are," mused Binta, dawdling by the fire door running her fingers through her long hair. "Look ... erm ... do you want to come for a swi... after work?" A swim?" Yes, in the Brothel Baths. No one would mind you turning up." But I haven't brought a swimming costume with me."Binta laughed. "You'd look pretty out of place in one of those, I can tell you! This is a brothel, remember. No, Ana, you don't need a swimming costume: just your sweet self. Come on! You haven't got anything else. Maartin -- as the Dutch called it -- had to be the easternmost outpost for barbecue going in the New World.We sailed, we shopped in Phillipsburg. We talked to the locals -- friendlier, I thought, than any population I had come across, in my travels, in a place where the locals had to put up with multiple tourists in their midst. These people really seemed to be comfortable with themselves, and with us. Maybe when we left, they made faces at us and called us unpleasant names, but if they did, I. More

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