(continued from Part one: The holiest of weeks in Antigua.)

It is dawn. Spiralling upward, a rickety metal staircase presents the first task of the day: climbing up from the kitchen to the rooftop terrace with a full cup of coffee, each step creaking and tentative, and hopefully not losing my precious liquid along the way. As I emerge victoriously to the open air from the shadowy indoor light, the sun simultaneously crests an uneven horizon, casting its first light …