It's in the tropics somewhere between the Port of Indecision and Southwest of Disorder, but no parallels of latitude or longitude mark the spot exactly. You don't have to be a navigator to get there. Palm trees provide the camouflage, ocean breezes bring the seaplanes and sailboats, visitors and travelers. Passports are not required. No waiting lines for anything.

There is a beach and a thatched roof bar perched on the edge of the turquoise sea where you can always find a bar stool. There are lots of lies, mischief and loads of stories. It's a comical concoction that blends together like tequila, salt, and limes.
Where is Vanaardeville? It's in your mind and soul.