9th March 2016

During the school holidays as a child, I remember waking up each day to warm, sunny days full of excitement, wondering what the day might hold. Today feels like one of those days, but hotter!

Breakfast was quieter than usual, though we entered the dining room at the same time as yesterday. There were still excursions going out, mainly to other islands or local beaches, but it seems most passengers have opted for a lie-in today.

Disembarking, there again seemed to be an absence of fellow passengers, with only the odd few more interested in the tourist stalls by the exit than in venturing further. The heat quickly intensified as we set off down the road towards town. Today’s humidity was forecast at 88%, and it certainly felt that way. I always carry a small flannel with me, which I bought in Vietnam after seeing a backpacker using one to mop the sweat off his brow. What a good idea, I thought, and I’ve used it ever since. Yesterday, it was fairly damp by the time we returned to the ship, but today it was wringing wet before we had even reached the end of the dock road.

Instead of turning right at the roundabout at the end of the road, we turned left towards the Botanical Gardens. Moving slowly in the shade and picking up the pace between sections of open ground (I can now see why fire-walkers don’t hang around), we made it to the ticket kiosk in the gardens after about 20 minutes. Our ticket came with a map, so we found some shade, took a drink of water, and began to plan our route.

The gardens are situated on a steep slope, so the first half of the walk was inevitably uphill and challenging, especially considering the heat and humidity. Fortunately, there are many benches thoughtfully placed in the shade, and we made good use of them. On one, we admired the Coco de Mer palm, which was planted by the Duke of Edinburgh in 1956. This tree produces the largest seed in the world, which, appropriately, is shaped like a female bottom (and it truly is).

On another bench, we took out the binoculars and gazed at the numerous fruit bats hanging upside down high above us. Occasionally, they would flap their featherless wings to keep cool, creating a fascinating sight as they lazily hung in the trees.

Reaching the highest point of the garden, through the aptly named “Natural Forest,” we began our descent and stumbled upon the giant tortoise enclosure. Here, I bought some branches for $4 and was allowed into their pen to feed them. Before entering, the tortoises had appeared to be either fast asleep or possibly dead. However, as soon as I stepped into their pen, they sprang into action, or as close to charging as tortoises can manage. There were around twenty of them, and they made a beeline for the plants I was holding.

Just then, another tourist entered, armed with her supply of branches, and split their ranks, which made my job a bit easier. Meanwhile, Sue stood on the edge of the enclosure, having a chat with the “keepers of the tortoises” and taking photos of the slow-motion chaos unfolding before us.

One of the tortoises outflanked me and took a bite on my side, presumably mistaking my green T-shirt for food. They have powerful jaws and can easily crunch through small, tough branches. I count myself lucky it was one of the smaller tortoises. Once the food was gone, I discovered they loved having their heads and necks patted and rubbed, and I was soon surrounded by extended necks eager for affection. It must be one of the strangest things I’ve done and amazingly therapeutic, but I’m happy to admit it. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

We were eager to visit the town cemetery, which we could see perched on the mountainside from the ship. After leaving the gardens, we asked for directions and set off. We were told it was only 10 minutes away, but it ended up taking 30 minutes, and another 20 exhausting minutes to stagger through to reach the top. The graves are well-maintained and look beautiful, many adorned with flowers. We read some of the epitaphs, most of which were in French, though, disappointingly, none featured photos of the deceased, something we find quite intriguing.

As we descended, the rain began gently, offering a cooling respite. Then it poured, even more refreshing, before turning into a full downpour and not so funny. We got completely soaked. It took us about half an hour to return to the ship, though it’s hard to judge the time when you’re essentially underwater. But by the time we arrived, annoyingly, the rain had stopped, and the sun came out. Typical!

Soaked but still feeling refreshed, stepping into the air-conditioned ship felt like entering a fridge. We rushed back to the cabin to change into dry, warm clothes as quickly as possible.

After lunch with Sue, she took a nap while I visited the gym. When I returned, she was still asleep, so I quietly read my book until she woke up. As it was nearly time to leave Victoria, we headed to the top deck to find a spot at the railing and watched the departure preparations. Slowly, night descended, and the crew’s efforts were illuminated by tiny lights that started to dot the landscape of the smallest capital in the world. Against the darkening backdrop, Sue remarked that it looked romantic. I took the hint and gave her a peck on the cheek and offered to take her for dinner.

Three loud blasts from the ship’s horn signalled that we had cast off and were moving away from the dock. About 15 minutes later, we were heading out to sea, with another three short blasts to indicate the pilot had disembarked. We picked up speed as we surged into the night.

Returning to the cabin, we dressed for dinner and decided to eat at the Botticelli. We hoped to be seated with other passengers, but when we were shown to a table for four, the waiter insisted on removing the other two place settings, despite our protests. So, we ended up eating alone. One advantage of dining in this restaurant is that someone else controls the portion sizes, which was a nice change.

After dinner, we enjoyed a performance by a string quartet in one of the lounges, playing a lovely mix of classical and contemporary tunes. We chatted with Aylo beforehand, though as usual, it was tricky to get a word in edgeways with him. Once the concert concluded, he joined us for a walk around the deck. There appeared to be a huge storm off the port side in the distance, and we watched the flashes of lightning silhouette the clouds, quite a spectacular sight. It seemed too far away to be a concern, but I suppose we’ll find out later tonight.

On returning to the cabin, we received a letter from the Captain warning us that from the 10th to the 18th of March, we would be passing near Somalia, an area known for pirate attacks on shipping. The letter outlined what we should do in case of an incident. I couldn’t help but think, aren’t all the Somalis living in Leicester now?