We settle into this place easily. We choose our favourite spots on the sofa, our heads mould their imprints onto the pillows. We master the faulty tumble dryer and even re-fill the dishwasher with new salt and rinsing aid. We use the recycling depot at the supermarket and decide that the lady at the end till is our favourite because she smiles. no matter what. We recognise the local dogs and marvel at the caramel three legged one’s deft dodging of the too-fast buses. We know that 400 rupees for a taxi ride to Grand Baai is too much and 200 is just about right. We discover where to buy the ripest, yummiest local avocados and decide that six fifteen is the perfect time to grab a Phoenix beer and head down to the beach to catch the sun setting.

My skin is tan and my eyelashes encrusted with sea salt as I do my last sweep around the apartment that was our home for two weeks. How funny it is that we attach ourselves so quickly to bricks and tiles; how quickly we learn where the tea cups and pots and pans are stored. How easy it is to melt into island life. I smile at the memories we have made here; the dance offs in the kitchen whilst waiting for the pasta to boil; the fights we had over who ate the salt and vinegar chips; that night the mosquitos fed on our blood like as if they were the direct descendants of Dracula;, the games we played at the dining room table, the birds we fed, the laps we swam, the baguettes we ate, the movies we watched, the books we read.

We leave the yellow lilo for the next visitors to float and bob on the turquoise ocean with.

I envy them.