On Christmas Eve some of Larissa’s family and friends flew in from various corners of the earth, staying at a beautifully restored hotel in the old part of town. For dinner we were all treated to a 3-course dinner in the square, serenaded by a very good band, who got the intimacy levels just right. There were 14 of us at dinner and although the food was a bit poor the atmosphere was fantastic. I was in love with each and every one of them - I could almost taste the red wine, mature cheese and rich chocolate just hearing their French accents. On the cobbles, perched comfortably on metal chairs we sipped Mojhitos well into the night, and all was merry and bright. Sometime after midnight we all retreated into slumber, apart from James, Bonzo and John who stayed up until 5 am drinking rum on the Malecon. It transpired that in the drunken haze; James heaved all over his shoes, and Bonzo bought what he thought was a modest pouch of weed, but it turned out to be a clump of grass that the dealer had clearly torn from the kerbside – it came complete with roots n’all. He also awoke to find he had vomited over himself whilst sleeping. Upon hearing this on xmas morning I was glad I had an early night.
On Christmas Day we all met up at the beach and had a very serene day, imagining what it would be like in England, warming round the fire with full bellies and board games. We shared our secret Santa presents, which was surprisingly successful. James got a mini- baseball bat from Ruth and we had a very fun but tiring game of baseball as the sun was setting. In the evening we all convened on another restaurant, the 14 of us feasting on lobster and flan washed down with yet more Mojhitos. Once again the elders of the party paid the bill and it was very much appreciated.
