Do Not Pass Go
This is the rustic
jail cell summer house, or majlis that is outside our humble little villa.
I sentenced myself to an hour there last night, around midnight, for some reading in the cool breeze. The sound of the ocean a few hundred yards away interrupted the quiet gurgling of the infinity pool just outside. So. Very. Relaxing.
Going mountain biking this afternoon. They call it the "Down Hill Dash" and drive us to the top of the mountain, put us on bikes and say, "see you at the bottom."
Tomorrow is paragliding. Then it's back to jail, I reckon.