Sierra Leone

I'm no sleep scientist, but from my own experience, once I've enjoyed that first deep sleep - which can be of varying lengths - I then seem to fall into a sine wave pattern of lighter and heavier sleep. Happily, when the alarm went off at three o'clock, this morning, it was during a period of lighter sleep.

We were ready when the taxi arrived at half-past, and we had a trouble free run, not only out to the airport but also through security, and enjoyed a light breakfast and some coffee before taking our flight to Brussels.

From there, it was long flight down to Sierra Leone, just under seven hours, but, guys, I heartily recommend travelling with Brussels Airlines in Premium Economy. It was so comfy, the service was good, and the Minx and I even enjoyed a film together (George Clooney in 'The American', ably directed by Anton Corbyn). I can honestly say that I enjoyed the flight.

(My Extra was taken as we flew over the Sahara. I appreciate that I am stating something both obvious and well-known when I say, "Bloody hell! It's HUGE!")

Sierra Leone's airport is in sharp contrast to Brussels, right down to the plane wreck just next to the runway, which the Minx suggested was there for training purposes. Whether it is or not, I'm not sure that it's doing much for nervous fliers :-)

Getting through the airport was as much of an adventure as Izzy had led us to believe it would be, starting with the calm of the walk across the tarmac, and ending with the absolute chaos of the arrivals area where everybody seemed to be trying to sell us something.

But it was so lovely to see Izzy, who appeared to be completely in her element, and who took us out to the minibus, which took us down to the pier for the ferry across to Freetown.

The whole experience reminded me very much of when I lived in Hong Kong, and we used to visit Lantau, which back then could only be reached by boat. (The bridge that is there today was not even a rumour.) There was the same vibrancy and colour, the same clamour and liveliness, but also the same clear evidence of poverty, which didn't strike me as forcefully when I was ten years old.

My photo today is of the pier where we would embark on the ferry, although the sun dropped quickly, and it was dark when we boarded for the choppy, forty-five minute journey across the estuary.

Izzy had arranged a car to pick us up from the ferry terminal, and then we had a rapid induction into the craziness of Freetown traffic! I was more than ready for a beer and the takeaway that Izzy had delivered when we reached her apartment.