Bajawa to Lubambajo

Last bus journey. It's 10 hours, but we have leg room and there is no music. Green green volcano mountains dropping away to the sea and terraced paddy fields. We wind narrowly through.

Arrival at night and it seems like Magaluf after the isolation of the rest of the island. We're far too spoilt. But here tourists rule at least 30m of the high street. Crowds of hotels, competing dive shops and snorkelling and boat trips; restaurants boasting Italian food and espresso. Exposed flesh the norm. We weren't ready for this.