Christmas 'Fruits de Mer' Frenzy

For our Christmas Eve meal, we had the most massive fruits de mer ever in the world. I doubt I’ll remember everything, but I’ll give it a go: Prawns, smoked prawns, home-dressed crab, potted shrimps, steamed mussels, oysters, clams, land snails with garlic and parsley butter, scallops cooked with breadcrumbs and herbs, shallot vinegar, homemade mayonnaise …and chips.

Palavas-Les-Flots, Near Montpellier

My birthday treat! My companion and I drove the 6 hours from my place down to the little seaside fishing town of Palavas-Les-Flots.

On the day itself, we had champagne on the beach, followed by lunch of oysters for me, lobster for him, followed by more champagne on the beach. After all that, we needed a nap, but not before we had reserved a late table on the port for my birthday supper of fruits de mer (seafood platter).




Unfortunately, we woke up at the time of our booking, and my companion takes AGES to get ready for anything. An hour later, we emerged to look for somewhere to eat, but everywhere had stopped serving. Thankfully, we found a little café that was closing up but still serving, and had a delicious meal of tender, tasty steak and chips.

We had fruits de mer for lunch one day, instead.



Montpellier is minutes up the road from Palavas, and we happened to visit on Pride Carnival day. Such a cosmopolitan, buzzing place, and very refreshing after the rural South-West. It was like Brighton but with hot sun.

Big Easy Lobster & Steak

I'd been wanting to eat at this American diner in London for ages, so when a girls' night out needed somewhere to eat, I made suggestions. It was the combination of lobster, steak and cocktails that did it for me.

Having looked on the website, and chosen our dishes, two of us phoned separately to check on what deals they had on, because the ones mentioned were out of date. We were both assured that the deal would be running on the Friday night we planned to go.

When we got there, we were told noway! Not on a Friday! We explained our case to the manager, and thankfully got the deals we expected.

Anyway, the food was very tasty, the steak tender and the cocktails excellent. We all had a thoroughly enjoyable meal. But we all agreed that it wouldn't have been worth it and we'd have felt ripped off had we paid the full Friday night price, which would have cost about £40 extra EACH!

Oyster Farming Village & Steak, South-West France

I got to France for the last weekend in August, and went on a road trip to the beach for a mate's birthday celebration. A big load friends that go waaay back got together for a couple of days of sun, sea, camping, booze, oysters, steak and booze. It was iconic.

One morning, feeling hungover, we cycled in the fresh morning sun to an oyster farming village, made up of lots of tiny wooden houses, with sand-filled alleyways serving as streets. After exploring the nooks, and chatting to locals, we settled at a seaside restaurant that serves only oysters and wine. My 25 or so oysters went down such a treat. After them and a few glasses of crisp white, my hangover was much more manageable, and the beating sun was calling me to the white sand beach for a nap.




One evening, we cycled through the pine woodland of the Landes national park, to go to the outdoor steak-and-chips restaurant that is a regular beach stop-off for a few of us. 20 round a long table, we were served a selection of different barbecued steaks that had been cut off the carcass just before going on the grill.




Thick, juicy, full of flavour, tender and very rare - everyone loved it! It's so refreshing to be with a big bunch of people, including a lot of Brits, with no-one being fussy about eating beef or the level of cookedness. We just ordered steak and chips for everyone, and let Fred (owner and chef at Chez Fred) do what he does so well.



After putting away my own body weight in meat, chips, ice-cream, wine and cognac, the cycle home in the dark, through woodland, on a narrow path, with no proper lights was a challenge. I wobbled around, couldn't manage to cycle in a straight line, squealed a few times and might have had a tiny tantrum, but I was glad of the ride (and sober) by the time we got back to the campsite.

The food and setting for those couple of days were heavenly, but the best thing was catching up with so many good friends. :)

Buenos Aires

Biddy, left; me, right.

After an eleven hour flight from Madrid, we landed in Buenos Aires late afternoon, to start begin our adventure...

We caught bus from the airport, across town, getting out and getting lost halfway to change buses. Scabby looking grassy ‘parks’ with kids playing football, stray brown dogs everywhere, districts of street sellers, and busy high streets. Nothing glamorous so far, and the Don Sancho Hostel was in dodgy-seeming back streets, with pavements covered in dog shit and broken slabs. The beds looked filthy, but the threadbare sheets were clean, and the inmates friendly.


The incredible view of the grid layout of BA and most other South American towns - we hadn't even heard about it before.

We showered and found our way through the dusk and trams, to an Italian bar, and sat outside to drink a litre of beer each. We didn’t realize that people normally share these large bottles. It was quite cold, but the chilly breeze would probably seem warmer during the day. We moved on to a restaurant selling local specialities (Pan Y Arte, Bar Resto, Boedo), which we had heard all about from an Argentinian student, who we had cross-examined on the plane. But the food was rather stodgy, not very exciting, not warmed right through, and all seemed to be based on the Cornish pasty (e.g. empanadas). Not quite the amazing Argentinian steak I had been salivating in anticipation of. The wine was good, though – Santa Julia 100% malbec, with blackberry, blackcurrent and violet flavours.

We shivered briskly back to the hostel.

Next morning was a delight! We got our coffee, bread and dulce de leche (or confiture de lait - the condensed, caramelized milk, that you would use for banoffee pie), and took them into the sheltered terrace area of the hostel. We managed to find a seat at the top of some steps, where we could soak up our first South American rays of sun. They were lovely and warm, and we felt that we had definitely ‘arrived’.


The terrace - where we had our first South American sun.

But out of the sun and shelter, the streets were damned cold! We only had one set of warmish clothes, which we had travelled in, so we started to feel a bit skanky. We trudged the streets, trying to avoid the shit, and bought little savoury pastries, from a fantastic bakery, and enjoyed them with a beer at a pavement café. The weather was closing in, and we wanted to see some of the glitz and grime that everyone seems to love about BA. We asked a local-looking girl who turned out to be a Londoner. She said that she hates the city, and is only there for the tango, but that there is one sight worth seeing; the massive cemetery. We found it on the map, and began the very long walk to get there.





The cemetery was indeed incredible.





We saw other sights, too, like a massive market selling expensive gifts. We got caught in freezing rain, and sheltered in cafes, and at the end of a knackering day, we finally made it through the wind, rain and dark, to a steak-selling restaurant (Los Portenos). Delicious, but nothing to write home about. Damnit!



We did enjoy the homemade chips enormously, the steak was tasty and juicy but overcooked, and more malbec (Estancia Mendoza) washed it down a treat. Very warming.

After showering at the hostel, we once again trudged wet, cold streets in search of the smoky, frisson-loaded tango bars of our imagination. We had directions to recommended quirky dens of dance, from friends who had been there, and the hostel was actually in the tango district. So it should have been quite straight forward. But we found nothing!! Nada! All the bars we had the details for seemed to have closed down, and everything else was shut. The streets were silent, apart from a few people who had come out to rummage through that day's bins for goodies. We asked various locals, but no-one could help us find our tango lair. No amazing steak, no sun, no tango – it was time to move on, and head north for warmth.

On the very long way back to the hostel, we kept an eye out for a hidden den or nice bar to warm up in, but didn't see any that were open. So we went to the only thing that was open; a weird cafeteria that had clearly not changed since being very trendy in circa 1982. We ordered a cognac for me and a Tia Maria for Biddy. They took AGES to arrive, and we were being cynical about the staff, who were fiddling about and didn't seem to know what they were doing. About 15 minutes later, Biddy was served the hugest Tia maria I have ever seen, and my absolutely massive glass of cognac arrived with the waiter heating it in a contraption, over a candle flame, and a doily around the base. We felt bad for being so negative about the waiters' apparent confusion, when it was actually just that they had a certain way to serve cognac, and they were making sure it was done properly. All that effort, and each drink only cost about £1.50. They were certainly warming.

Sierra Leone

I love Sierra Leone! Friendly, happy, welcoming people, who love their country, despite being some of the poorest people on the planet. Plus super-fresh and wholesome food, rainforest and empty Bounty beaches. And it's even warm in rainy season.



Background

I recently went to Sierra Leone with my father, who works there sometimes. Everyone still thinks of the place as war-torn, but the brutal decade-long civil war ended in 2001, and the country is now one of the safest in Africa. The vast majority of people are desperate to maintain peace after such a bloody war. ...Except that we did go when it was the first election since the war, so the country had ground to a bit of a halt - no civil servants knew whether they would still have a job in two weeks, teachers were running ballots, so schools were closed, and everyone stopped work, which meant that commodities were running out. There was also some political tension and a bit of trouble by a violent minority, whilst the main topic of conversation was the election. Since then, though, the country has become peaceful once again.

Here's my Foodie's Adventure Diary...

N.B. While reading you may notice a lot of chips in my Sierra Leonean diet - I'd like to point out they these were always freshly-cut, fried real chips and consistently delish!

First Experience of Freetown - 21st August 2007

Breakfast at Hotel Barmoi could involve eggs, sausage et cetera, but the whole time I stayed there I went for their toasty Sierra Leonean coffee (sadly, the only place I found local coffee!) and fruit, which was either papaya with lime and sugar, mangoes, bananas, or a combination of two.

After breakfast, I was plunged into the incredible hustle and bustle of Freetown, and had my first experience of the torrential downpours of rainy season. We dodged rivers of rainwater and beeping traffic, and slipped into the quiet calm of the Crown Bakery for lunch. The Bakery feels like an unassuming London café but is relatively expensive, and has a Sierra Leonean and international menu. I chose deep fried fish in a bun, which turned out to be cod, and was yum. Pa had fajitas which were good n’ tasty.



In the evening we went to Alex’s, a mainly open-air seafront restaurant. This is a pretty major place to eat in Freetown, where loads of ex-pats eat (the prices being too high for most locals), and all nationalities drink in the sports bar next door, but it would be difficult to find without someone in the know; it’s tucked away behind shacks and stalls. I had bonita fish in a coconut sauce, with draft Star, chips and salad. The start of things to come…

Chimps & More Cake - 23rd August 2007

My third day started off with a trip through Regent - the first place where freed Caribbean slaves settled and built a village. It has not changed much since it was established, with Creole architecture and beautifully tended vegetable gardens among the lush foliage, by the river. We were on our way to the nearby Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary.



Chimps are still hunted for meat in rural parts of Sierra Leone, and their babies sold as pets to rich people in Freetown. Numbers are estimated to have fallen from 20,000 in the 1970s, to less than 3000 now. Both the hunting and the keeping as pets are illegal, but it’s not always easy to educate people about that fact.

Some pet chimps are mistreated and chained up, whereas others are treated like spoiled children. We met one grumpy, rock-throwing male, who used to have his own bedroom with a TV. Even if they start off pampered, cute baby chimps turn into unpredictable, large, very strong, wild animals, and are consequently mistreated later on. The sanctuary takes in these chimps, which are seized from dealers or their adopted families, or handed in.



The idea is that after their rehabilitation into the enclosed forest of the sanctuary, they will be re-introduced into the wild. But there isn’t the funding to research suitable areas for release. Unlike wild chimps, they can be dangerous to humans, because they aren’t scared of them, so the chimps have simply collected in the sanctuary, since it opened in 1995.

Charismatic Dr Rosa Garriga joined the sanctuary as a resident vet a couple of years ago. She has made huge progress in publicizing the plight of the chimps and the work of the sanctuary in the local community, but is frustrated because so much needs to be done in terms of funding and research, which she feels she cannot do alone – I reckon she probably could, though! She’s a tough cookie and passionate about her work.

I’m one of those people who find chimps adorable and just want to cuddle and be friends with them, so it was a real treat to go and see some. But what made the experience even more awe-inspiring was seeing them in their ethereal natural habitat – rain forest-covered mountains. The photos don’t do it justice.


www.tacugama.com



We got back to Freetown in time for lunch, but then had a lengthy search for various cafés serving local food, all of which had closed down or were being cleaned up after a party! Then we stumbled upon Ki-Ki’s, in Campbell Street, where we had barracuda in rich tomatoey, spicy sauce, with rice and Star. I was lucky to be able to chat to Ki-Ki herself, because she normally lives in London, but was back in Freetown for the elections.

In the afternoon, I tried out the Salvonne Bakery, which has a range of heavy-looking pastries, cakes and bread, including small, solid croissants and steak and kidney pie, which I hear is delicious. I bought a little savoury cake, which was light and moist. Its fragrant sponge was mildly spicy, and flavoured with vegetables.



Notorious Paddy’s

In the evening, we went to the notorious Paddy’s, which is a sports bar, restaurant, and all night club, where everyone goes to party. I was with my dad, though, so the partying was limited to tasty kebabs, chips and Star, and taking in the pleasant surroundings. Paddy’s is one huge roof with not much in the way of walls, which makes it spacious and airy, adding to the chilled-out atmosphere. There's an area of tables to eat at, a big dancefloor, a central bar and games like pool.

Beach Boys & Biscuit; Lobster Heaven - 24th August 2007

Beach Boys & Biscuit

Hung around in Lumley, where the hotel was, and walked on the beach, while my dad went to work. I got approached quite a lot by young men, who were mainly friendly and wanted to offer their services as ‘THE main beach boy’, who could help with arranging… well, anything touristy, really; trips, barbecues, drumming shows. I also got some minor hassle from guys who wanted to chat. Individually they were no problem, leaving me alone as soon as I said I wanted to walk on my own. But it was a little tiresome just because of the numbers of people I had to tell to go away, which I don’t like doing, and I did have to be firm with a couple of them, who argued the point of wanting to be my friend – “You no want to be my friend? Why you no like me?”

The hugely long beach takes quite a while to walk along and back again, so I was pleased to snack on boiled peanuts (slightly sweet and juicy) and a sweet deep-fried pastry for my lunch. They were sold to me from plastic tubs, which two small children, of about four and seven, carried on their heads.

Lobster Heaven

The evening was the moment I had been waiting for, for months; lobster at Paul’s…



Before the war, the beach resort at Lakka, down the coast from Freetown, was a tropical paradise. It still is, except that the restaurants, bars and places to stay are falling to pieces. Since the war, tourists have stayed away, and the failure of the government to maintain the road to Lakka has compounded the problem, because locals are not willing to spend hours navigating the ‘road’, whilst ruining their cars. The road is so appalling it has become a national joke, and it is exhausting just to sit as a passenger and be continually jolted for the hours it takes to drive a few kilometres.

Anyway, after being thrown around on this stretch of mud, ponds and rocks, we finally got to Lakka, where I was going to stay in a beach shack for the weekend. ‘Pierre’s Resort’ used to be the classy, French-frequented Cotton Club, but its collapsed clubhouse and collection of wooden cabins are now slowly mouldering into the beach. It is still charming, though, and the scruffy paintwork in amongst palm trees and overgrown paths, has an appeal that would be wiped out by maintenance, a refit, redecoration and – in the case of fallen-in roofs – a rebuild. My shack was full of colonial styling, which had clearly once been gorgeous and quite luxurious. Salty sea air, torrential rainy seasons and neglect have eaten away at the fixtures and fittings, the paint and the furnishings. But there’s the possibility of outside investors taking over the management and revitalization of the old Cotton Club, so if you want to experience this magical place as it is, you’ll have to visit soon.





There was no time to hang out in my home for the weekend; we had a reservation at Paul’s place, a couple of hundred metres’ walk down the beach. A call that morning had assured that a large lobster was caught and kept alive in the sea, ready for our evening meal. Paul doesn’t have customers very often (rainy season, effects of war, lack of road), and we were the only ones eating that night, so I was able to watch the meal’s preparation.





It went like this: massive lobster killed and cut in half lengthways, it’s glistening flesh and shell smothered in secret recipe garlicky seasoning. Fire lit, chips cut, oil heated and chips cooked over fire, lobster grilled over fire, helper sent to Pierre’s Resort for Star beer. What could be better? as Rick would say.





I felt amazingly lucky, gorging on the best lobster possible (for about €10 each), perfectly cooked, with salty chips, lime on the side and cold beer to drink, whilst sitting at a makeshift, tie-dye tableclothed table, in candlelight, on a beach, in a warm breeze, with palm trees swaying and friendly locals chilling out nearby! Absolutely nothing could be better! The lobster was slightly charred on the outside, cooked right through, and had moist, tender flesh.







Pillows and covers that smelled powerfully of damp somehow didn’t seem a problem, as I fell straight to sleep, with the sound of waves crashing just metres away, and warm rain thrumming on the roof.

Leaving Lakka - 26th August 2007

I slept deeply again - that sea air? Pure food? Exhaustion from bumpy roads? After a breakfast of toasted baguette and Nescafé with powdered milk, I sat on an old wooden beach lounger and talked to some local boys, while I waited for my lift. They took me on a tour of lovely Lakka village. It is nestled in the forest, where mudbrick and corrugated iron-roofed houses and huts are scattered in glades between palm tress and the sweet-smelling flowers of creepers. It wasn’t the best time to visit, apparently, because most of the villagers were at one or other of the various churches – it was Sunday. My guides weren’t at church, because they were Muslim, apart from Augustine, who had decided to take the day off because it was his birthday.





My dad arrived and took me away from Lakka, which had begun to feel like home, even though I had only seen it for the first time two days earlier. I felt sad to leave.

Nevermind, we were back off to Sussex for lunch. I still didn’t see the beach, but the groupa carpaccio was fantastic, and I had a glass of chilled Chardonnay – the first wine I’d had in soooo long. I felt the nectar trickle down my throat and got that warm feeling as it spread out in my stomach. Wine is of course especially wonderful when you’ve been deprived for a while. The main course was barbequed angelfish with chips and salad.





After the tiring journey back to Freetown, we decided to eat our evening meal at the hotel. Their rooftop restaurant has good views over the sea and nearby buildings, and the wall is made of windows, which we opened up to hear the sea and feel the breeze. After being such greedy pigs all weekend, we both ordered a small mixed salad, which was nothing special, but nice all the same. Also, to settle our full stomachs, we enjoyed G&Ts.

Laughing Barman; Proper Night Out - 30th August 2007

Laughing Barman

Today we headed back to Freetown, and it was a relief not to consume a heavy Italian lunch and dinner. Breakfast was a cappuccino with Mabinti’s grapefruit, and then we snacked on her peanuts and some bananas during the journey.





When we got back to the hotel, we had a shower, and then went to the seafront poolside bar for drinks (pa – beer, me - Campari and lemonade. Too sweet but they didn’t have tonic). There was good local music playing, and I asked the barman about it. Then the barman turned out to be completely hilarious, because he kept erupting into uncontrollable laughter, waving his arms in amusement, at the most unfunny things – generally the lyrics of songs; “hahaha – he say he love her – hahaha – he say she beautiful and he want to be wid her – hahahahaha!” He kept doing this until I had the giggles so badly that the tears were running down my face, and I gave up trying not to appear to be laughing at him. He didn’t seem to notice or mind.



We then had supper at the hotel. I ate delicately fried snapper fillets and chips, while my dad had steak. Meat is not great in Sierra Leone, because the livestock numbers have not recovered since the hardship and pillaging of war. Now a lot of the available meat is imported, so a fresh, juicy, rare steak is not really a possibility – rare would be unwise for a start.

Proper Night Out

That evening, I had arranged to meet the foreign students in Paddy’s for night-long drinking and dancing. So, after supper my dad gave me a lift down there, and I met up with the students and their colleagues at the bar. The evening consisted of numerous bottles of Star, games of table football, hot, spicy chicken kebabs, handed out by bar staff, and dancing. The music started off as house music and techno, which seemed totally out of place, but thankfully moved on to reggae and African tunes half way through the night. I really enjoyed hearing Sierra Leonean music.

It was one of the student’s last night, and they all got absolutely rat-arsed – even more so than me! But I was supposed to be getting a taxi back with them, until they all got too drunk and drifted off. Luckily, I had been talking to some locals who knew the student’s colleagues, and who lived in the shanty town behind my hotel, called Sho-Sho Village. We all got a taxi back together, and I got to bed at about 7a.m – 45 mins before my father allegedly tried to wake me for breakfast.

Hangover Healing - 31st August 2007

Too hungover for lunch, I walked on the beach and bought a bottle of water from Harry’s Bar – was this the same bar that was portrayed in Blood Diamond?

I didn’t have the energy to cope with continually telling blokes to go away, and instead let one boy walk with me, which stopped others from trying. In the end, though, he was arguing with me that he did love me and want to marry me, and why didn’t I like him, so I told him to go away. The next time I got approached I just said “No”, and walked on. My head was hurting!

After the beach, I went to visit my new friends, Foday and Abu, who I had met in Paddy’s. They said they would get me a couple of mix CDs, of the best Sierra Leonean music. I also made a new pal, Lou-Lou, who invited me to her place anytime for a meal (and a spliff). I never had the chance to take her up on the offer, but she was a lovely, bubbly girl and I’ll definitely visit if I ever go back.

Back to Basics

The construction of the houses in Sho-Sho Village vary from stone foundations with mud and stone walls and tin roofs, to a jigsaw of corrugated metal, wooden structures, plastic sheeting and anything else suitable that was obtainable at the time. Whatever they are made of, the houses are kept tidy and clean, and are a lot less depressing than equivalent one-room flats in London can be. The whole place smells pleasantly of charcoal and soap.

Preconceptions about different lifestyles meant that I was surprised at how wholesome the existence in Sho-Sho was. How can I have been so patronizing and had so little empathy as to think that people would just slum it and be used to that, just because they’re living with very little? When people have very little, they take good care of what they do have, and the tranquil atmosphere of Sho-Sho gave more of an impression of acceptance of circumstances than want. Squalor or need would not have entered my mind, as I watched healthy little Emmanuel giggling while he was soaped and scrubbed down by his brother. Instead, I am ashamed to admit that I felt a touch envious - these people have such a strong community, close and supportive family and few material aspirations. It all seemed so thoroughly pure, and a recipe for the ultimate in mental health.

Of course, everyone expresses a desire to go to Europe or the U.S. and get a job, but they don't have expectations or take anything for granted. I would feel uncomfortable and unhappy about taking anyone out of that situation to give them 'opportunities' in Europe, because they'd loose so much in terms of community and general contentment.

These guys also eat much better than many western people, simply because convenience and processed foods are not an option. Organic rice, super-fresh fish, vegetables and spices, cooked over an open fire, are the only choice, and the people I spoke to don’t actually want to eat “rich foods”, preferring sticky rice and cassava leaf stew with fish, to meat and chips.

Life expectancy must be low only because of the lack of a welfare state and medical services. If you get sick and have no money you might die, but everyone’s ‘natural’ health must be better from the clean diet and tropical climate. The constantly warm climate adds to a general feeling of wellbeing, which is of course also known to lengthen human lives. But I did keep in mind that sometimes the villagers can’t afford to buy enough rice, and rely on each other for food at difficult moments.

After the beach walk, social visit, and a nap, my hangover had eased up and my father took me to Alex’s again, for supper, where I had a medicinal G&T, followed by tasty moussaka, chips and a lush-but-over-dressed salad. Pa had barbequed fish and draft Star.

P.S Sorry about the total lack of photos for today - my mind wasn't on the job...

Fishing Villages; Friction in Freetown - 1st September 2007

Fishing Villages

It was the first day of my last weekend in Sierra Leone, and we headed off down the coast again, but this time taking the much longer route on a new road. We were aiming for Kent beach, with the idea of perhaps getting a canoe over to the Banana Islands.

We stopped off at Mama Beach, and experienced the typical African fishing village in full swing. Everyone was on the beach, hauling huge baskets of wonderful-looking sardines out of the boats, through the surf to wash them, and up onto the beach to sell. Further along the beach, a team of people were pulling in nets with a varied catch of fish and crustaceans. Mama Beach has the softest, finest sand I have ever felt between my toes.



We wanted to buy some sardines for lunch, and I was up for building a fire to cook them - we still had Mabinti’s limes in the car. But in the end we decided to keep going to Kent, and see if we could find a restaurant selling sardines and Star.

Both the restaurants at Kent were closed, due to it being low season, but a deal was made with some local lads - all fishermen – and they went off to get the necessaries to provide us with a meal. Sardines were not available. An hour (and a Star) later, we were given our plates of ultra-fresh white fish (Groupa? Forgot to ask because I was so keen to tuck in), which had been barbecued near us on the beach, and was served with tomatoey rice and a kind of freshly cooked onion and tomato chutney sauce. We drank cold Stars and sat on the rocks to eat our scrumptious lunch.



The sea was looking a bit rough for a boat trip, so we postponed the idea of the Banana Islands until the next day.



We couldn't continue round on the new road, because we got to the end of the road. Literally. So we turned back and went the long, smooth way back to Freetown.



Friction in Freetown

On the way back, we got caught up in some election aggravation in the centre of Freetown. The streets were chokka, and suddenly everyone started walking in the same direction. Stuck in the traffic, we wound up our windows, and locked the doors, while soldiers and police (men and women) started to dash up the street wielding guns and shouting. Trucks of riot police arrived. You just can’t tell what will happen in that kind of situation, and I felt nervous seeing guns waved around. It got slightly scary when we finally got out of the gridlock, because my dad got lost, ending up in a different part of town than he expected. After ducking down alleys and roads in a labyrinth of one-way streets, we finally found ourselves on the road to Lumley and safety.

Back at the hotel, we went to the poolside bar again. The laughing barman wasn’t there, but his colleague was a nice bloke anyway, and I got another offer of a Sierra Leone mix CD. We had a quiet supper at the hotel, of bonita fish, chips, salad and Star.