Dear All,

White sands, blue sky, clear sea. Palm trees, old shacks, great tea. Disappointing food and sunburnt shins. Avoiding the eye of the snake and monkey guy. Cows in the road, cockroaches in rucksacks, lizards in my flip-flops, geckos up my sleeve and fishermen on stilts. Half finished jobs and post-colonial neglect. Slow, trundling trains and machine gun nests. Cricket in the garden, on the beach, in the park, on the train, in the road, in the dirt and always on the telly; played everywhere, by everyone and with anything. Undrinkable beer but I’ll have another. Tacky wooden tuk-tuk souvenirs. Exhilarating tuk-tuk rides in which the drivers speed up at the sight of a cow, or a dog, or a bus. Large ants carrying smaller ants away across my breakfast table for a cannibalistic treat. Stray dogs with heavy, swaying dugs biting into the suppurating wounds on their own backs. And, predictably, travellers with tie dye sarongs, shell necklaces, coloured string in their hair, performing their circus tricks…

Plenty of stories to tell.

Wish I was still there.

Mike


Outside a shop