That bird turned out to be very nocturnal indeed or may just have been a tree frog, that chirp away all night without fail all over the Caribbean, with a very sore throat.

We went the whole 10 yards over to Rainforest Hideaway for dinner and arrived elegantly alongside their dock.  I was helped out, it was a tall order because of a low tide and a high pontoon, and I ended up sprawled flat on my face on the deck which wasn’t so elegant but gave everyone else a very jolly start to the evening.  Dinner was absolutely delicious in a beautiful setting overlooking the lagoon with underwater lights that showed up the gangs of fish that lurked around. All thoughts of that Big Mac and fries were swept away with the amuse bouche. 

In the morning we puttered ashore to check in, the usual endless form filling because although they had the computerised system installed they didn’t seem to want to use it.  Meanwhile Fran went to use the internet to check in for her flight and received a delightful surprise that she had passed round one of the Nestle application process and had to do a Situational Judgement test there and then online to be considered for the next step in the lengthy process.  Hooray!

We were then collected up by Bozo, our appointed taxi driver and set off to visit the volcano with a running commentary on the way about all the trees: avocados, mangoes, coffee, cocoa which I thoroughly enjoyed.  It was hard to hear Bozo above the screeching. lethal sounding brakes and graunching metallic noises that emanated from his “taxi”.  We stopped off for a snack, salt fish and cassava bread which Fran and I liked but Bob wrinkled his nose at, not really his sort of thing.

The volcano was amazing, a moonscape of steaming rocks and pools of gloopy mud throwing up a small spurt like a whale exhaling every now and then. The stink of sulphur was very strong and the heat was incredible.  We then went and had a therapeutic bathe in the effluent from the volcano crater, rubbing ourselves vigorously with rough white clay and thick gooey black mud, letting it dry completely and then plunging into the hot (38 degrees which felt very very hot indeed) muddy pool to wash it off.  Bozo was obviously after a tip and went beyond the call of taxi driver duty and helped Francesca wash the mud off her back.  Our skin felt fantastic afterwards and the hot mineral water felt really soothing on bad shoulders and backs.

We had then intended to go and visit the sugar mill but it was closed and feeling invigorated and therefore rather peckish we went into Canaries for a bite of lunch.  An old wrinkly rasta man made an angel fish from coconut leaves and presented it to Francesca with a toothy smile.  He didn’t even expect any money in return which was very refreshing.  In the meantime Bozo tucked into a veggie roti and two rum punches. The drive back to the rum factory, that we decided to visit as an alternative to sugar, took on renewed vigour and some hair raising overtaking.  At the rum factory we were faced with a long line of every different type of rum you can imagine.  Each and every one had to be tasted of course.  Mmmm.  We wished that Bozo hadn’t tucked in with quite such enthusiasm.  We got back in one piece and are chilling before being collected up by Bozo to go to his village fish festival, a big party with street food which sounds really great and a good adventure as long as we can keep Bozo off the sauce.