The cafe at the end of the world...

So we drove for hours from the airport, through scrubby desert, past villages straggling either side of the heat-shimmered road. Watermelons. Goats in trees. ‘Are they for real?’ said Rachel.‘The goats? You know, I’m not entirely sure,’ I said. ‘Plastic?’‘Taxidermied more like,’ I said. ‘Superglued to the branches.’‘Oh God.’
The road became a track and the track became a dust devil. Every so often we lurched off to one side, narrowly avoiding a truck carrying watermelons. ‘Oh yum,’ said Rache...