On Christmas Eve, we finally succumbed to the constant attention of Captain Jack (’You come on my boat. We see dolphin. I make you very happy.’) and headed out in the thirty degree heat to walk out of the main resort gates and back down the red, dusty main road to Jack’s little jetty on the River Sal. We waved to ‘Grandma’s boyfriend’, the old man with the stick who slept on the pavement and had a bit of a thing for my Mum, past the jewellers, silk dealers and tea merchants (’You come back later, no? Remember this face, yes?’) to meet Sandford (one of the friendly waiters at the hotel who did a bit of moonlighting for Captain Jack) and his partner for our cruise.

On first inspection, our ’speedboat’ looked considerably unlike anything that could work up any speed, but the battered little boat kitted out with six faded red plastic seats and an outboard motor soon puttered into life, and we were loaded on in a rather wobbly fashion, much to the amusement of Captain Jack’s skinny little son who decided at the last minute he’d come along for the ride. We all agreed that this was a good thing, as they were more likely to bring us back safely if we had junior Jack on board for life insurance. He was a happy little chap, and despite the constant verbal battering (and the odd dunking) he seemed to take from Sandford and his first mate, his smiley face definitely enhanced our journey.

Picking up a little bit of speed, we cruised noisily into the centre of the Sal, past the fishermen drying their nets (and their trousers, which were tied in knots onto the main mast ropes) in the sun, past huge white storks perched one-legged on various bamboo poles sticking straight up out of the river, and gazed up at the black kites, with forked tails and red stripes on their huge wings, freewheeling in the thermals under a beautiful, turquoise sky. Somehow it seemed even hotter on the water, and we were glad of the spray in the breeze.

Slipping out of the tributary mouth and into the sea, the colour changed gradually from murky green to greeny blue then finally to a stunning jade green as we scanned the waves for any sign of a fin. Then suddenly, Sandford spotted something and we motored out towards two tiny grey dots. Sandford explained that the dolphins were afraid of our noisy boat and they often got more success with the larger boat (now he tells us), but we got some fantastic glimpses of the dolphins twisting and turning in the water, before frantically firing up the engine and following them as they appeared again, twirling and rolling in the waves, flicking their shiny tails in the surf. We kept this up for a while, often getting tantalisingly close before they dived again, but feeling pleased and privileged to have got so close to them. Needless to say these elusive little chaps tested Hubby’s photography skills and I ended up on the receiving end of a Paddington hard stare after screeching ‘did you get them?’ for the umpteenth time. Still, we’ll cherish our grainy picture as proof that we really did meet Mr and Mrs Dolphin, even if they were slightly camera-shy.

All too soon, our hour was up and we headed back towards the river mouth, past fishermen diving for mussels in the middle of the river (maybe these had something to do with the sticks that were doubling as perches for the storks?) and back to another jetty which, we were assured, led to the back of Sandford’s house and then to the main road near the hotel. We passed a couple of tiny boys playing in the sand outside their house, who rushed up to us, their little hands outstretched. Before we could give them anything a very stern Grandma came steaming out of the house giving them a right telling off, and grabbed one little boy to have his nose wiped on her sari. We laughed and waved goodbye to Sandford as he headed off to his lovely white two-storey house in the shade of some palm trees, while we aimed for the hotel bar and a cold Kingfisher.

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