June 15, 2013 – The Caribbean Island of Curacao: On one of many late nights in Curaçao, I found myself in a musical tower of Babel. The setting: a sleek iron-and-glass nightclub, Tu Tu Tango, near Willemstad, the Caribbean island’s capital. The crowd: well-heeled local men in their 30s, high-heeled ladies in skintight get-ups, Dutch women in sundresses, 20-somethings wearing gold chains and Yankees caps. The soundtrack: a mix of English, Spanish, hip-hop argot, Jamaican patois, Portuguese — or was that Papiamentu, Curaçao’s native Creole? Beats evoked Puerto Rico, Holland, Brazil, the Jersey Shore. Just when I felt primed to classify, the rhythm morphed and the language veered off to another continent. Click the link below for the complete story of Curacao.
The Master of Disaster