We are doing our best to avoid the resort restaurant, which has the atmosphere of a motorway service station. Mrs M surreptitiously stole some food to keep her going during her snorkelling trip. At one point in the day, she was feeding cheese and mustard
rolls to shoals of ravenous fish. Meanwhile I rented a brown bike (only joking, it was blue) for the morning. The bike could not be taken outside of the stalag, so I headed through another golfer-less golf course* towards the ‘turtle sanctuary’. The sanctuary, which is (you guessed it) a brown wooden shed surrounded by a few signs and bits of wood, does not open until May, June and July when the turtles return to these shores. I sat for almost an hour on a shady and wonderfully desolate section of Bunot beach.
Two American women appeared from a track in the dense vegetation having walked from the concentration camp in the opposite direction. One of them had few kind words for their resort – ‘a waste of four days of my life’. I think I will borrow that statement.
In the afternoon we found two (brown painted) sunbeds and enjoyed a few hours of dappled shade near a formerly white lady who, like the rest of the stationary items in the resort, now had dark brown leathery skin like an old car-boot sale handbag.
Once again, the outside Chinese restaurant saved the day.
*The two courses have around 3000 players in a year = 8.2 persons a day.
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