I headed into The Lobster Pot, a shack on the beach, to order, retreating to the shade with my first Red Stripe of the day. The ubiquitous local lager is rather bland and characterless, but if you have it when you’re thirsty on a hot day, there are few things more sublime.
More beer, more swimming, while we waited. Finally, after about two hours, our meals arrived; a plate of subtle, salty snapper fish that fell away from its spine with each fork scrape. And conch — pieces of shellfish — in spicy, garlic sauce that we mopped up with festival.
Later, we hired a fibreglass boat with a measly outboard to take us on a river safari. As we glided through Black River town, about half-an-hour from Jake’s, we spotted a crocodile on the bank — so stationary I was convinced it was plastic. The mangroves quickly surrounded us. Some were