Have been listening to the pounding rain which was supposed to be a mere tropical shower batter the roof of my little rustic beach cave, sorry ‘luxury bure’ for the past 3 hours. And that was only since something hit the roof and woke me up. God knows how long it’s going to last but I have visions of being washed away in my sleep. If I could sleep.
The rain works its way up to torrential and then settles again. Sounds like it might actually like to build to something nasty, but seems to be on ‘Fiji-time’ and doesn’t quite have the temperament. Just creeps up to worrying volume both in sound and water potential, and then drifts down again.
Just enough to make sleep elusive, maybe not enough to warrant banging on the door of the main house for sanctuary. Not that I harbour any silly notion of getting a response.
Let’s set the scene of the accommodation for you, shall we? Shortly after arrival we were provided with our own personal can of bug spray with which to wage war on our roommates. The plug sockets need to be approached with caution and gloves if possible (sticky, don’t want to dwell on why). Same for the wooden shutters. There are copious light switches but apparently no way to raise the light in the room above dim.
Oh well, no huge issue I suppose. Maybe this is just part and parcel of the isolation and switch off time we were looking for. To help get in the swing of the relaxation side of things, one night we liberally applied a lime green clay face mask. Only then did we realise how temperamental the water supply was. By temperamental at this point I mean non-existent. Clay mask drying and gunk all over our hands was not the best time realise we suddenly had absolutely no water coming from the taps. Another interesting discovery, after washing it off with bottled mineral water, almost as though we were in a spa (ha!) was that the main house is locked, bolted and barred after 10 pm. No staff, bell or even phone number, so it was back to an early night and hope we didn’t need to use the toilet!
Another not entirely random thought as I lie here imagining the waves washing under the door and scratting at my many bites: feel quite indignant that the bugs keep getting through my insect repellent. Especially as it does me enough damage inhaling it while I spray it on. The least the insects could do is have the decency to die before biting me. Seems a distinct lack of manners. Have used half a tub of tiger balm already.
Something else which has occurred to me is the strange notion of a plunge pool; one of the ‘perks’ of our beachside hut. But really, a ‘plunge pool’ appears to be really just a tiled ditch when all’s said and done. Especially after the copious amounts of rain. Although I’ll admit in moments of desperation I have stuck my feet in it to numb the itching. Pretty good alternative when there’s no water to be had in the shack.
My travel buddy has happily gone into lion mode and is sleeping/reading 20 hours a day. Meanwhile I am either comatose, reading, or pacing the floor. Or (in the few hours it’s not been raining or intensely cloudy) enjoying the delights of the swimming pool.
It does however appear to have been designed by someone who’s never been on a resort/pool holiday though. Or indeed, even seen a picture of one. Someone who just got asked, ‘Can you design our swimming pool?’ and they said, ‘Yeah sure. Course. Swimming pool. Pool solely for swimming. Job done.’
As such there’s no accompanying poolside furniture, or accessories. Or even much space for any if it comes to that. Sunbeds. I’m talking about sunbeds. Talking about lugging my own distinctly careworn, dirty white plastic sun lounger from its perpetually shady spot in front of our shed, round to the swimming pool and shoving it at an angle on the narrow paved area at poolside. Completely blocking anyone who might want to walk past, in the vain hope I can get a tan and look like I’ve actually been to Fiji.
The bure being in constant shade makes the beach front location a tad redundant as I can’t sit and sweatily read my kindle while tanning and happily ignoring said view.
Have caved in and accessed Wi-Fi mainly to exchange kindle unlimited books. Allowed 10 at a time and I’ve already scorched through the stash I downloaded before leaving New Zealand. Other activities have included walking the beach and eyeing up beach front properties for bar/restaurant potential. The lovely Chalk Board Of Dining, in the main building is getting sparse. Both in terms of choices already made and choices available. The roast chicken has already disappeared. I fear the penne pesto pasta is next.
Must just spray more insecticide by the gap under the door. All for nature but not when it’s creeping into my bed at night. The weather does sound awful but it’s still invite only in here unfortunately.
For one heart stopping moment I thought the housekeeping lady had taken the bug spray back when she came earlier. Don’t know why I thought she’d have noticed it. We’ve been rationing toilet paper for two days because anything beyond emptying the bin seems to need specifically asking for. And I keep forgetting when I go to the Big House. Removing the ant mortuary I created when attempting to use the hairdryer for the first time was a special request job. As was a replacement hairdryer. The ants keep attempting a coup when my travel buddy is in the shower, but they haven’t come for me, yet.
Quite honestly, this place is more like staying in a run-down outhouse owned by kindly relatives who inexplicably charge you for dinner, than a beach front resort.
Rain has temporarily quietened to a dull roar so will try and sleep again. Hope Beyonce has not been left out in the rain. The resident ginger feline that is (who has a disturbing amount of leeway with regards to kitchen access), not Sasha Fierce. Although I do hope no one’s left her out in the rain either. She is carrying twins after all.