Sick in a bag

After a twelve-hour trip from London, we were met at Male airport by a representative from our Island who calmly led us to our speedboat transfer saying: "It's a little choppy out there today."

After enduring an horrific catamaran trip in Thailand a few years back, these days when someone suggests that the sea might be a little choppy I instantly experience total bodily paralysis, and have to fight the urge to rip out my hair and scream: "WE'RE ALL GOING TO PERISH I TELL YOU!"

I faltered for a moment on the pier as I watched several tourists stepping off boats and puking aggressively into plastic bags with The Fear etched onto their faces, but steeled myself and focused on the hut-on-stilts awaiting my arrival, and you know - I was OK this time. I did dig my nails into Simon's hand for the entire forty-minute transfer, but I figured that somewhere along the line I'll have to suffer worse, childbirth being the main torture that springs to mind.

The island we are staying on is totally, breath-takingly, surely this isn't real beautiful. The huts all stand in the sea facing out onto a massive expanse of, well, nothing but turquoise ocean and sunshine. Reef sharks swim at our feet, which I am assured are safe and friendly? And a lone stingray skulks a few metres away, which I'm sure isn't safe or friendly?

I guess I'll find out tomorrow...