Word: steamingly
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...distinguished dining room, in its last years it had grown tawdry. The famous butter-patted ceiling was looking more dirty than distinguished; the paint was peeling off the walls; the rotunda was encased with God-awful green-blue floral curtains; and the tray return area was a steam-filled Rube Goldberg contraption...
Under the growing pressure of subterranean steam against the mountain's molten core, the volcano's cap could eventually blow out entirely. Montserrat, not much more than a slender arc of farm and beach land surrounding the volcano, could virtually disappear. More likely, the mountain may keep on belching for months or years, slowly smothering the little island. Already it is a paradise lost for its citizens as fewer than 4,000 cling to their homeland. "If everyone leaves," says Radio Montserrat general manager Rose Willock, who lost her home a month ago, "Montserrat will become just another island that...
...covered no-go zone, the British are offering Montserrat's frustrated residents a ride to neighboring Antigua and limited housing and transportation support ? for a family with two children, roughly $41,000 for 18 months. The protestors gathered to say: that's not enough. As gas, ash and steam continues to rise from the Soufriere Hills, the remaining Montserratians are asking for British citizenship, unemployment compensation and property protection. Out of an original population of 11,000, just 4,000 are still on the island...
...side of the street, uninterested in the trafficking of shoppers and bargain-hunters, locals and off-duty taxi-drivers pause at an open-air restaurant, where they can taste the array of local flavors in the midst of strong, all-pervading effusions of sauces and the ever-present dumpling steam...
Once, there was a wider and more deafening metallic overture in town, one that used to rise with the sun, part of the song that Walt Whitman used to "hear America singing...those of mechanics...blithe and strong." The steam trains came around the bend behind the houses and doubled their strokes up the slope, and the sound shook the windowpanes. But in a blink they were extinct. Our creamery went silent. So did the big diesel electric generators that pumped through the cold winter nights. Maybe it all is good. But the memories are so intimate and gratifying...