Another world? In its heyday, Bermuda deserved the title; Today, Cuenca is a better fit

They used to say Bermuda is another world. That was the slogan. It sounded idyllic, and for a time, it wasn’t wrong.

Bermuda is a small archipelago out in the north Atlantic which became immensely popular with wealthy Americans in the 1920s and 1930s — not just for its climate and charm, but because of Prohibition. When alcohol was banned in the United States, Bermuda, just a short flight or boat ride from the northeastern seaboard, became a refined and discreet escape. It was the closest place where you could legally enjoy a gin and tonic under a palm tree. That reputation lingered long after Prohibition ended.

In Bermuda, you can paint your house any color you like so long as it’s pink.

I first arrived in Bermuda in the very early 1980s, flying in over turquoise reefs and coral outcrops. The airport was on an island — St. David’s — which had long been cut off from the rest of Bermuda by isolation and custom. The St. David’s Islanders were said to be descended from Native Americans, perhaps Mohawks or Pequots, kidnapped and shipped there as slaves in the 1600s. Whether or not the story was true (and there is historical evidence to back it), they had a reputation for fishing, for fierce independence, and for not quite fitting in.

St. David’s was connected to the rest of Bermuda by a narrow two-lane causeway that had no rails, no pedestrian walkway — just low stone walls and a short drop to the rocks or the water on either side. It was the only road in or out, and it had a habit of being partly washed away during hurricanes. You could drive over it on a moped nervously wobbling, while Atlantic spray and gusts misted your helmet visor. For locals, it was just part of life. For newcomers, it was a reminder that the island didn’t quite belong to the 20th century.

Bermuda, like Cuenca today, was a place that clung to its manners and traditions. People greeted each other on the street. The houses were pastel-colored with whitewashed limestone roofs, designed to catch and store rainwater. In fact, after World War I, a law was passed requiring the pastel paint — so that tourists would find it pretty. And they did. Cruise ships began docking regularly. The song “Bermuda is Another World” became a minor classic, sung to tourists and schoolchildren alike.

And yet, over time, the other world became the same world. International banking, big insurance firms, and U.S. television brought American values and pricing. Kentucky Fried Chicken opened a single store — and the legislature immediately passed a law to grandfather it in, but forbidding any other franchises. They knew what was coming.

Later, when the U.S. Naval Air Station was still active, a McDonald’s opened on base — out of sight, behind security gates. It was not open to the general public. But for a brief period, local children were allowed in on Saturdays to buy Happy Meals. That was the compromise: Big Macs for the military, and a taste of American childhood once a week for the Bermudians.

Even now, I sometimes talk to people from Bermuda who I last saw 45 years ago. We pick up the conversation as if only a week had passed. It’s a small place, and bonds stretch across time and water.

I thought about all this the other day while walking past the panadería in Cuenca where the same woman sells pan de yuca every morning from a plastic tray. There’s no franchise. There’s no frozen dough trucked in from Quito. The bread is still warm, still cheap, and still wrapped in a napkin.

People say Ecuador is a poor country. And it is, in money terms. But it still has an independent spine. It still has little corners that belong only to themselves. No one paints houses pastel for tourists — people paint them because they like the color. And you can still talk to your neighbor over a low wall, or offer your visitor a glass of juice from fruit picked in your own backyard.

I left Bermuda a long time ago. I miss it. But I also mourn it, because the world it once was isn’t there anymore.

Cuenca still is.