雅思阅读练习题：加勒比海的绿宝石

　But of course, the phenomenon that really put Montserrat on the map was the eruption of the Soufrire Hills volcano. Long dormant, it began to stir in the early Nineties and erupted in 1995. There have been regular ash falls and pyroclastic flows ever since, burning then burying Plymouth, the capital city, as well as the island's only golf course, its beach resorts, its docking harbour and its old airport under many feet of ash, mud and stone.

　　Nearly half of Montserrat's population has emigrated since that first eruption; of those who remain, many thousands had to abandon their homes and relocate farther north. Today, two thirds of the island – mostly lush, fertile land – has been declared an Exclusion Zone because it lies in the likely path of future flows. Stern notices guard the edges of the zone, promising that anyone entering without authorisation will be prosecuted.

　　To find out more, I go to the Montserrat Volcano Observatory (MVO) on the edge of the Exclusion Zone. In the visitor's centre I watch a fascinating film that includes footage of Plymouth before and after the eruption. First I see a vibrant town, with shops and banks and people going about their daily lives; the next moment I'm looking at a few indistinct shapes poking from the ash.

　　You can't get anywhere near Plymouth today but you can get a tantalising glimpse of it from several points on the island (bring binoculars); if you have ￡190 to spare, you can take a helicopter tour from Antigua. However, you can visit what used to be the nine-hole golf course and my driver offers to take me there. Other than the silvery-grey skeletons of almond trees, it looks like the sort of place Captain Kirk would be beamed up from after finding no signs of life. I pick up a small piece of pumice and put it in my pocket. Then I notice that piercing the monochrome is the red tiled roof of a bungalow. But it isn't a bungalow – it's a three-story house.

　　Not surprisingly, the islanders prefer not to dwell on the bad times. They would rather point to all the positive things the island has to offer. It's one of the safest islands in the Caribbean, for example, with little crime or drug-abuse and an old-fashioned, almost Fifties way of life (though you can pick up Wi-Fi almost everywhere). Its tap water is some of the purest in the world. It has a dazzling new Cultural Centre (built with funds raised by Sir George Martin), a new airport, a new airline that flies between Montserrat and Antigua, and one day it will have a new capital at Little Bay.

　　My driver, who has lived on the island all his life and who claims to make the best Goat Water on Montserrat, shrugs and says you just get used to living under a live volcano. He pulls over and tells me to get out and drink from a spring by the side of the road. "It means you will return to Montserrat one day," he says.

　　Back at the Slave Feast, Margaret and I repair to the rum shop at the edge of the sports field where we watch the Masquerade dancers, dressed in masks, mitre-style hats, and brightly patterned clothes decked with fluttering ribbons, perform a mesmeric heel-and-toe Irish polka. They dance five 'carrels' or quadrilles, each one faster than the last. I sip my third rum and Ting of the day. The drums are now very loud; my head is starting to spin. And yes, that really is a giant leprechaun leaning against the bar.