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As we walked across the well-tended grounds, a laughing young couple loudly bounded out from a bungalow, and quickly caught up with us. Both were wearing crude woven bamboo sunhats, abundant flower leis, and suntans dark as a native's. The tall man carried an enormous bouquet of flowers, and the blonde woman had a smile for the ages.

"You've gone native!" I said when they reached us.

"It's the only way to go!" he enthused.

"We've been here two weeks, and it's been paradise," said the woman with a slight Texas twang. "The people are great, the food's great, the weather… It's been the perfect honeymoon. We wouldn't leave today if we didn't have to." They continued toward the restaurant, where they presented the bouquet to the kitchen staff, with kisses.

We had coffee at the resort's headquarters, an unassuming wood building that might be based on a Grange Hall blueprint, served by tall friendly hostess, or perhaps her brother. A young man raked the pine needles off the white coral sand; the crystal-clear water of the lagoon lapped on the shore, and just beneath the surface colonies of sea cucumbers grazed for microbes with implacable stillness. The proverbial gentle breeze tickled the pines and palms, and the day stretched before us with promise.

An hour later we waded ashore at Bird Island, after a droning ride in a crowded launch. Great crested terns swept and dove over the waters, clouds of brown noddies erupted from the palms, and the distinctive cackle of boobies was heard in the foliage. We spotted the brown, red-footed, and blue-footed species, and if I'm not mistaken close analysis of one of my digital photos shows a masked booby as well, unless the pixels lie.

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