This weekend I went to write about a luxury resort in the Keys. The landscaping was lush, the grounds were immaculate. Racks of spotless shirts and trousers hung in the gift shop. Guests, ample and prosperous, lounged by the pool or drank at the tiki bar. Nearby, a man-made waterfall splashed into a lagoon. In the evening families sat at candlelit tables overlooking the ocean, trying to decide between the fish for $32 or the steak for $55. And then what for dessert? It took a great deal of effort to imagine, a couple hundred miles across that water, the tragedy in Haiti.
When you're a travel writer it's a given that your job occasionally strikes you as trivial. This weekend it seemed worse than that.
