On reaching the Elephant Art Cafe I soon crashed in my tent - we were sleeping in large canvas tents just off the beach, behind the 'art cafe' which had an awesome restaurant. It was run by Fez, who was first to admit "I do F- all all day", except for create odd paintings - "I'm not really sure what it is, not so sure what I'm doing".
Annoyingly, I was feeling increasingly rubbish for the rest of the day, and went a little insane: having vividly dreamed the girls were conspiring against me, I was suspicious of their nursing me... The others had a fantastic time nonetheless, eating steak etc, and exploring the area, which Tali described as "a more classy Maga".
"Bacon sandwich". Even the words reinvigorated me, although I wasn't sure whether I was in a feverish daydream. It was real enough, and for a few hours the following morning I felt better, before returning to my tent of self-pity. I rose in the early afternoon to dominate Scrabble #downbutnotout. Anjuna beach was fairly beaut, but it was covered in nasty restaurants and Russians.
Ousted from the EAC by a trance-blasting wizened DJ ("your gap year ended 30 years ago mate") we dined at a grim neighbouring restaurant whose waiter was bizarrely hell bent on us ordering the daily catch. It wasn't an option, it was an order.
On the third day I rose again, feeling almost hilarious again. Spent the afternoon relaxing, maxing, not too taxing, much to the embarrassment of those around me. The sea was fairly grubby, but purgative following my days of bed-boundedness.
We had an awesome last dinner at the art cafe, served by the chef whose tendency to taste the food was apparent from his meteoric shape.
To complete my return to form, I chased a rat from the tent as Sarah cowered. Amateur heroics.
With love
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