So the idea was this: Six days with my wife on an uninhabited, mostly unpowered Bahamian island.
My first thought? Alcatraz is an island too.
For reasons I can’t fully explain, I experience free time as a kind of a provocation, and a week by the ocean, with all of the lying on beach chairs and staring at turquoise waters, has always struck me as less an escape than a kind of feckless surrender. Add to that a chronic need to both feed and be fed by the so-called digital grid — the e-mail, the Twitter, the RSS feeds — and it becomes clear that distraction is my distraction. The last time I got on an airplane without a laptop, there were no laptops.
No more than a small rise of volcanic rock, shells and sand lying all by its lonesome off Long Island in the Bahamas, Little Deadman’s Cay would seem well cast either as a paradise or prison with palm trees. It’s not easy to get to — you fly to Nassau and then take a prop plane for 165 more miles to Long Island, at which point you ...