The “Spanish Evening” was interesting. It was about as Spanish as… as… as something that isn’t particularly Spanish at all. I’m sure the Ruskies were convinced of the authenticity of the visitor experience watching the waiting staff uncomfortably dressed as male flamenco dancers listening to a bit of guitar plucking but it wasn’t really Spanish. Not coastal Spanish anyway. There was no Heenglis fish and chips, no full Heenglis breakfasts, no warm bitter, no Union Jack shorts, nobody vomiting, fighting, or lying in a puddle of their own urine. And we weren’t even invited to do the Lambada with a load of fat girls, which was a bit of a disappointment.
The meatballs, or albondigas, were the best meal I’ve had since I’ve been here. They were lovely. In the same way that liver, onions and bacon are lovely; whatever they were made from they were great.
I was rudely reminded this evening that in six days we will be leaving this wristband Paradise and heading for home. And I thought to myself; if anyone had offered me a week in the Maldives I’d have bitten their hand off. We have a week left; so get on and bloody enjoy it.
As a consequence of this mindset we are going to live life to the full! In a couple of hours Sims and I are going to be taken to an uninhabited island by boat and dropped off on it. Just her, me, and a million plastic bags washed up on shore. We have to report at 10h15 for a 10h30 sailing and they’ll pick us up again at 16h30. They told us that they’ll give us a picnic basket. Doubtlessly full of apples and all of the other shit that donkeys eat. “Beer?” I asked….
Ever remembering that this is an Islamic nation, and that alcohol is only licensed to resort islands the request became a bit of a tricky issue. Thanks to my charm and Sims’ good looks we have to buy our beer from the Grill Bar at 10h00… get to reception by 10h15… set sail at 10h30 (with our beers hidden from the crew)… and if we don’t bring our empty cans back with us (hidden) we’ll be tied to a coconut tree and nibbled to death by fruit bats. Fairy Nuff…
The down side is that the 12 beers will cost us about £50.00. But given that there is slight chance that I shall ever be alone with the woman I love on a deserted island in the middle of the Indian Ocean in my lifetime ever again… or at least be there by choice… it’s a small price to pay for deep joy.
Of course the idea that the entire island is rigged with discretely hidden webcams has crossed my mind. I’d hate to discover myself on YouTube with a million hits. That would be for all the wrong reasons. The thought that in the staff compound every evening there is an outdoor cinematographic screening of foreigners fornicating is slightly troubling.
Given that we are both burned to a crisp and temporarily addicted to Ocean Potion the idea of frolicking around nekkid has been repressed. Sims was even suggesting that we should take an umbrella to keep the sun off us. But the romantic notion is there… Given that the sky is leaden and it looks as if we’re going to be in for a tropical storm I don’t think even the umbrella will help.
With 45 minutes to go to departure I have just reminded myself of the impracticalities of having a poo in the wilderness. Not only is there, usually, the risk of some creature biting your behind from behind, but also the horrible thought that something might lay its eggs in you, or worse. Not to mention the difficulty of finding a comfortable squatting position when one is over 50. There is every chance that I will unbalance myself, or my knees will give way under the weight of my stomach, and I’ll end up in a rather undignified state and having to wash myself in the sea.
Once the man in the colourful skirt has finished cleaning our room, which he does with great efficiency twice a day, I shall avail myself of the porcelain depository, and wipe my bottom with White Cat Chinese toilet tissue ready for the day ahead.
By the time I get to post this up we’ll be back…. Hopefully alive and still talking to each other… and, if, in nine months,… NO! Don’t even go there!
We’re back! And the 12 small cans of San Miguel cost us $95.00 – probably the most expensive beer I have ever drunk in my life! Was it worth it? Yup! The sea trip took an hour and it did look as if we were heading into a monsoon, but once we got there the weather cleared.
We got a wicker basket and a cooler box, two plastic loungers and an umbrella. The fellah who dropped us off put a rock on the wicker basket and impersonated a chicken. I assumed that the rock was to stop the wicker basket flying away. Anyway, he left….
Then the dhoni, a flat-bottomed boat with a diesel engine, sailed about two hundred meters off shore where it lurked for the four hours we were “on our own”. God only knows what the three crew did with themselves.
The island was awesome. We walked around it in 15 minutes, sat on the loungers and read, had lunch – cold roast chicken, boiled eggs, cheese and tomato sandwiches, tomato and cucumber salad and the stuff that donkeys eat. We didn’t eat much, put the rock back on the wicker basket and went snorkeling.
When we got back to our plastic loungers the crows had shifted the heavy rock, eaten everything in the basket including the little foil covered butter thingies, and shat copious amounts of green stuff on the cooler box. It was tinfoil and cling film mayhem. Note to self; never ignore a person who impersonates a chicken.
Later a little furry, and very disheveled, rat came along for a bit of pineapple. His back was ripped open, probably from the crows, and he was infested with flies. It’s a cruel place Paradise…
And so, Day 8 draws to a close. I’m still overcome with the sheer beauty of this place… rats an’ all. Tomorrow... the Jet Ski!
Seems you really have enjoyed your trip to Meedhupparu! Adaaran Select Meedhupparu would have probably been a fine pick too.
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