Tom Fenton and Faith Ressmeyer
Thu 12 Jun 2014 17:47
The beach is white sand, and behind it is a small lagoon, a gorge and a surprising, funky bar and restaurant, where, as I write, blue smoke is rising from the open fire and spit, where they are grilling the evening meat.
It is hard to imagine there will be more than a handful of people eating there tonight. Maybe just the staff. Lunchtime must be their trade. The beach is empty now. The last German gymnasts have made their way inland, carrying huge rucksacks. The last two mountaineers have gone. So have the men who hire out the pedalos. A moment ago a Parks Protection Vessel came into the bay, and I thought we might be told we had anchored too close, but they were not concerned about us. Now we are on our own, rocking gently in the slight swell, ready for a peaceful night in this lovely place.