Sunday: Woken too early for comfort. A red plastic beaker of water is being pressed unsteadily into your nose. Beyond the beaker, Didi’s face. He says: Daddy. Milk.
Sunday morning lie in? Think again.
Pleasant day. Mid-twenties centigrade, cooling breeze. Stroll to Guandi, the CKS Residence nearby, for a coffee/chocolate and a run around for the kids at the open-air arena. Skype calls to London in the late afternoon. In the evening, delicious shepherd’s pie and homemade chocolate mousse from the hand of S.
Throughout the day, scenic flashbacks to 24 hours earlier: wet asphalt under your tyres; a road curving ahead; a fecund, variegated mass of dripping greenery on both sides. Water always in motion: swollen rivers barrelling along on the plain; streams crashing over rocks in the mountains; waterfalls roaring on the forested slopes.
That moment of triumph when your destination came into sight. Way down there. Just an exhilarating 15-minute high-speed freewheel away. You paused to photograph the view, feeling soggy and invincible.
For a few hours
An odyssey. At its end