Our food supply would make Old Mother Hubbard blush, so I borrow Benja’s crappy motorbike and go shopping. The road is potholed and rocky, and every bump is like sitting atop a jackhammer. I confirm with three people the location of the Saturday market – yes the main corner, 90 degree bend – and as I fear when I arrive at an empty marketplace, it is not THAT corner, but the less conspicuous left turn onto a dirt track twenty minutes before. I make a quick u-turn and arrive at the market just to see the only avocados being bought by the owner of the homestay where we used to live. I tell her my hard luck story about missing the road, and she simply shrugs and says “oh well, you arrive too late.” There are only one bunch of bananas, some spring onions, bayam greens and limes for my effort.