I was invited to witness a regatta in Barbados a few weeks ago, closely trailing the racing yachts from a giant, bar-equipped catamaran that would sail the calm waters of the island's Caribbean coast. The morning dawned clear, but by the time I arrived at the Bridgetown port to board our boat, I looked up at the rolling clouds casting a gloomy shadow over the town's colonial buildings and, even though my sailing knowledge is limited, I had a feeling it would be an eventful race. Ten minutes out from the harbor, the sea started to swell. As our boat tipped over a giant wave, a flood of water splashed onto the helm; a school of flying fish hovering above the dark blue water appeared as a flash of silver. I looked out at the competitive vessels and saw the sailors rolling from one side of their boats to the other, tacking, trying to use the increasing wind to their advantage. It was time for a drink.