“Help,” I cried out just weeks before I was to marry my new bride. No, not cold feet, but a lack of planning in the post-wedding festivities department. What followed was a frantic slash and burning of travel agents, as I searched for a secluded honeymoon destination. The cheesy travel package variety, with drinks and canned happiness, was not the way I hoped to spend the romantic days ahead. Putting my trust in the digital highway, I posted a challenge on web pages and travel chat rooms, asking others to vote on the most romantic and secluded island getaway they’d ever stumbled upon.

When the Bahamas decided early on to comply with the OECD’s wishes to share tax information, several banks and trust companies immediately closed up shop and left. This caused an exodus of both people and money from the banks–and many clients who had set up residence in the Bahamas went with them.

The worst of Las Vegas surrounded by plundered dive sites and a seemingly infinite number of duty free liquor stores.

That’s what I thought of whenever someone mentioned “The Bahamas”. Then I went beyond Grand Bahamas and Freeport, to Abaco–one of the outer islands in the north.

I sit on my sun-drenched balcony listening to the sound of the gently rolling waves of the ocean a mere 40 yards from my front door. The 80-degree weather is absolute perfection–a refreshing change from the subzero weather in my Boston habitat. The breeze gently waves the palm trees in a cheery Bahamian welcome. The empty hammocks patiently wait for the next passer-by to lay back with a good book, and forget about any problems arising “off-island.” The brightly colored villas, along with the multi-colored xylophone fence, and breathtaking rosy orange sunsets, would have delighted Matisse’s palette.