Banana Island

About a month ago we took off on an overnight trip to a place that a friend of ours had described as a little piece of paradise. Our destination: Banana Island, a scrap of jungle and beach about two kilometres off the coast of the Sierra Leone's Western Peninsula. You can see it in the background here:

In the foreground is the boat that took us there. It was about a 20-minute (and rather choppy) ride across the channel, during which, I’m happy to report, I did not feel even the beginnings of seasickness. You can see how happy I was about this.

We got out of our boat on the other side, and a local guide showed us to our beachside bungalow, complete with thatched roofs and wood-slatted windows. I felt like Ginger from Gilligan’s Island settling into camp.

Oli and I decided to do some exploring before dinner, so we headed out on a little walking tour with one of the young guys who work at the guesthouse. Banana Island has no roads; the only thoroughfares are the red-dirt trails that snake through the jungle. We wound our way through little villages of wooden houses and stone churches and came out on a little sandy arc of secluded beach.

We went for a swim. The water, warm as a bath, was luxurious. I've decided I should spend more time in the ocean, ideally off the coast of remote jungle islands. It's good for the soul.