The place looks like heaven on earth. Literally. The water is blue as the summer sky, and the beach is a cloud floating by. It has the same colour as the surf that breaks on it. It is only from up on this viewpoint that we can appreciate the true celestial quality of the spectacle.
Half an hour before, when we landed on the beach itself, the reflecting light made everyone squint. I could feel my skin sear in the tropical sun at noon, but my soles remained oddly cool when they touched the white, white sand. It squeaked beneath our feet.
We ate lunch at the beach. The seagulls went to great lengths trying to steal food from us. My travel mate and I took turns trying to hit them with the apple we had left. After a while, they avoided us, all but one, that compensated his lack of wits with double fervour.

“Okay team,” the captain drawled, “good work on that lunch there. That will get you up to the viewpoint for sure.” Each syllable was like a hammock that he swung from underneath his handlebar moustache, lazily sagging in the middle. “Just follow my mate here, all right? He’ll make sure you guys don’t get lost and no spiders or snakes are going to have you for brekky.”
His mate here raised his hand, sheepishly. “No worries, team,” he added, in an equally leisurely tone, “I know how to handle the wildlife situation around here.” Only the backpacker girl giggled. She’d been giggling about anything the captain’s mate had said after the first time he had come up to talk to her, flashing his teeth in his tan face, flexing his muscles inconspicuously. The boat hadn’t even left the harbour. She had a good ass.
The walk through the bush was very well marked. The only wildlife that showed up was a line of ants transporting some leaves across the footpath.

After little more than ten minutes, the group reached the viewpoint. Everyone got their cameras out and turned their backs on the swath of white sand below. The captain’s mate kept dishing out jokes to no one in particular. Then he scurried up to the backpacker girl to end up in some of her selfies. Slowly, people started to move on from the viewpoint to make their way to the bay on other side of the island, where the captain would be waiting with the speedboat.

On the way back, the speedboat ripped the flat sea apart. A middle-aged man held up a Gopro camera for the whole ride. It lasted 45 minutes. His neighbour chatted with the captain’s mate about his mountain bike and a guitar he considered buying. The captain’s mate was into mountain biking as well, but not as much into music. The Gopro’s microphone listened, infinitely patient.
Before entering the harbour, the captain made a few sharp turns at high speed. As the sound of the engines fell away, he strung another line of hammocks, complimenting his team on their good work and inviting us to a certain bar in the village, where everyone aboard would enjoy a free shot with their first order. The sky had turned orange with the sunset over this tropical paradise. Tomorrow, another group would be waiting for the captain and his mate, eager for the selfies, and a free shot afterwards.