What an exceptionally different, wonderfully exciting, beautifully contrasting and fantastically colourful New Year this one has been – okay, okay I’ve used up all my writer adjectives and adverbs. You can now lower your expectations for the rest of the blog post…
I’m sorry if you’ve heard me say it a hundred times already but it’s true: If you told us how we’d be finishing 2017 in January – we wouldn’t have believed you. And yet here we are, sat on a beach on the West Coast of Africa, with some wonderful friends and the most satisfied feeling in our tummies (from doing what we were called to do, as opposed to the fine African cuisine).
A normal New Year’s Eve for us back in the U.K would have consisted of friends, music, good food/drinks and for several years in a row, an intense (slightly tipsy) game of Monopoly. Whilst it did feel strange not to be spending it with our nearest and dearest, it was wonderful to try something a bit different. And different it certainly was.
We began the weekend Shenanigans by making our way to Limbe – our new favourite surf spot. Coming from North Devon, it takes a lot for me to call a beach gorgeous, but this one is just lurrrrverly. Volcanic black sand, lukewarm ocean water and a stones throw from our beach hut so you can stumble out of bed in the morning and practically roll down to the beach to hammock in the trees (we do actually work in the week, honest).
Two full days’ surf, one and a half books, and several sun kissed limbs later… it was the grand event – New Years Eve. The place we were staying had a mandatory party that we had to go to (no, really). It included a buffet, unlimited drinks and ‘mystery entertainment’. I jokingly suggested Erotic Fire Dancers to be a suitable choice, only to discover I wasn’t far off…
Out came a lady with the finest derrière I think I’ve ever seen – glutes to be marvelled at. She continued to show us just how impressive it was through a range of flexing tricks and moves I’m pretty sure were not intended for the front row of children present. One small boy tried to run away, only to be kicked over by her acrobatics. He didn’t look too fazed – although that may have been the concussion – and she continued to pick him up and merely incorporate him into her routine… poor sod. I’m sorry to say there are no photographs of said dancing performance. Actually, I’m not sorry at all. I’m not sure I really want that kind of thing on my phone.
I soon decided the questionable dance moves, multiple failed headstand attempts and the dramatic lip syncing to Toni Braxton’s “unbreak my heart” looked vaguely familiar. Flash backs to the type of routine I probably attempted to choreograph in my room when I was about 13 years old – minus the fire. Did I mention there was fire? I told you it was intense.
At 10 to midnight the dancers began lining up for their share of the buffet and we anticipated a relaxed ‘African’ countdown that may or may not begin sometime after 12am. With only red wine at our disposal at the time, we each poured ourselves a mouthful (because who in their right mind downs red wine), and cheered our way into 2018.
As if the evening hadn’t been eventful enough, we then ran fully clothed into the ocean with everyone and let the waves thrash us around beneath the full moon. Yes, it was as idyllic as it sounds. The following morning we woke up to start the new year with a barefoot run on the beach. It doesn’t get much better than that.
If 2018 is even half as eventful as 2017, we’re in for a treat.
Happy New Year to you all x