Evening came. The sun set. Pete had his barbecue going full roar.
I’d bought some veg and tomatoes and a few of us set out to make a sort of communal, help-yourself, goes-with-anything pasta. There was plenty of pasta. That’s the thing about backpackers hostels; there’s always pasta about. I don’t know who buys it or where it comes from but I assure you that you can wander into any hostel at any time of the week or year and, somewhere in the kitchen, there will be a collection of pasta.