'It's the island of the hanged," said the young man standing next to me on the deck of the ferry as we passed a rocky outcrop. I'd spotted the island on my tourist map, but I hadn't understood its name, Isla des Penjats. Now, thanks to my fellow passenger, I sniffed blood. Cloudless sky, turquoise waters, white sand beaches, corpses swinging in the wind - thar be pirates! And there wasn't a swivel-eyed Johnny Depp in sight.
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