A late reveille and breakfast introduced a lollygagging morning. We were to be leaving for an uninhabited island in the lagoon at 1030 to stay overnight. As we were to be ferried across in mokoros, of which more later, we had to attend a tutorial on rather complicated waterproofing techniques, involving plastic refuse sacks, to get the mattresses and pillows across 100% dry. Those who know me as a touch contrary, even cussed, will not be shocked to learn that I went for a less pernickety option.
A mokoro may well have translated as 'dug-out canoe' a century ago. In 2015, to thus describe our fibreglass vessels might just have been a tad fanciful. The trip across was powered by a poler stood at the stern, not dissimilar to a gondolier or punter, I guess. Each mokoro took two passengers, the gear, lots of it, being stuffed into further vessels. Half-way through the 30-minute journey, it became evident that two huge elephants were awaiting our arrival. We went to a different island.
A bush toilet was dug, and instructions given as to its use. It was only noon. It began to dawn on us that the next event would be dinner, seven hours away. Much thumb-twiddling was done and much Botticelli played. Then repeated. The time passed slowly. It also began to dawn just how little anaerobic exercise is being taken on the trip. My legs will complain like hell when I get on that rental bike in Cape Town.
Before evening meal we undertook an hour's sunset paddle in the fibreglass. The sundown was very impressive. Less impressive was the smoke from the cooking fire drifting into everyone's eyes. I turned in early to escape.
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