There it is just up the steep bit of road tucked hard against excavated cliff, bush above and the airport below, invisible amongst the trees. I arrived at night and was greeted by a pimpled cane toad near the front door. I didn't find him half as ugly as his press suggested. Up a spiral staircase and I'm in my eyrie, screened windows all around and a pallid companion lizard who greets me from the screen each morning. There are vast numbers of cupboards: I've never had enough, and I'm tempted to appropriate a few. Through the palms I can see the mountains on the other side of Trinity Inlet (I think – I'm finding the geography puzzling) sometimes wisped with cloud, sometimes shrouded, sometimes misty blue. The sun stripes the long verandah and I walk down to the bus past vivid leaves and flowers.

My terror of tropical humidity is swirled away by remarkable efficient ceiling fans, and I sleep cool. I'm very glad that, in my Warsaw fever, I decided on out-of-town accommodation rather than the characterless closed-in rooms in the city, even if the bus driver does deny the existence of my stop.











My cabin is another in a long series of eminently satisfactory Airbnb accommodation. My host picked me up from the airport, and was concerned when she hadn't seen me for a few days. Hotels run a poor second.