There were only squeaky bats for company this morning as I strolled along the beach while the sun rose on the other side of the island. There are many derelict houses along this stretch and possibly one of the world's most rickety jetties. Puffs of white smoke from a few fires appeared through the thick undergrowth filling the nostrils with happy beach campfire memories. This worked up an appetite for a breakfast of Mee Goreng followed by peanut butter on toast with good coffee. It was a fight to get a space on the beach (see photo). The wind picked up in the late afternoon, blowing the leaves on the palm trees horizontal to the ground on some occasions. The bats were complaining bitterly. A group of local novice kayakers went out just before the rain and remained, almost motionless, on the water throughout the storm, presumably having paid for the hour.
The storm had passed when the smell of barbeque smoke began to drift from the restaurant, which did not impress the bats in the nearby trees. As darkness fell and the mosquitos nibbled, the chefs released their tasty fare to the hungry guests. The piles of meat carried away by some of the locals were high enough to obscure the person behind the plate (something else you can explain OP?).
The bats finally settled and the guests relaxed after their excesses. I’m surprised some of them could move at all.
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