Kanga

Wifi is only available from 6.30-7.30 pm - not that there’s much to report as it is such a relaxing idyll.

No need for an early call for once so we ambled along for breakfast at 8. I walked along the beach to the place some village women hung out their kente cloths for purchase. I saw 2 I thought the daughters would like but it was madness as various women pulled and dragged me to see their clothes, putting on sad plaintive faces and pointing to a nearby baby. I extricated myself (as it’s not the first time this has happened during travels). After lunch even more cloths were hanging on the line. This time they belonged to different women and the eldest insisted the were 40,000. I had found some I liked but gave them back to her saying 20,000, and walked off. She let me have them for that price.

After a short dip in the sea which has too big a swell and pull-back for me, I had a massage in the afternoon for 65,000 (£13) for an hour. Mr C asked how it was. “Intimate” was the reply.

The young barman showed me a bottle of Clan Campbell whisky and offered me a drink. I declined and laughed. He laughed too, agreeing it was rough and explained he’d got it here. We still have some in the cupboard that Mr C sister brought us from Spain - and she’s been dead 9 years.

The first world disappointment is that our flight back to Antananarivo has been changed from 3.30pm tomorrow to 8am. This means we have a call at 3.30am. We need to get the speedboat from here for 1.5 hours, the Zebu carts from the boat through the mud to the steps, transport to our previous hotel, sort our big bags for the flight, then get transport to the airport with all the red tape there.

Still, our 1.5 days here have been blissful. Of course I didn’t bring enough to read. “The Paris Wife” by Paula McLain, a novel loosely based on Hadley Richardson’s years with Hemingway. I’ve never got on with him. I think if you like Fitzgerald, Hemingway’s not for you and vice versa.