Desert islands do not have to be deserts. This incongruity occurred to me as I read about Noma chef René Redzepi’s picks for BBC Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs. The septuagenarian broadcast asks luminaries to choose eight pieces of music, a book (in addition to the Bible and The Complete Works of Shakespeare) and a luxury. For the latter, Redzepi considered a “sun-driven espresso machine,” but instead identified something that would remind him of home (Copenhagen): “one full day of snow.” If waves threatened to wash away his cache, forcing him to save only one album, he would clutch “One” by Metallica. Before I can come up with my desert island discs, I need to first imagine my isle: Klein Curaçao suits with less than a square mile of sandy expanse shaded by sporadic coconut palms, offering the Caribbean country’s longest and whitest beach uninhabited by people save for passing fisherman and swimming divers. I would play my music and read Shakespeare in this crumbling 19th-century lighthouse, donning this Grecian dress, which would double as a picnic blanket, hammock or sunbrella. Alone but not deserted.