Another day, another spectacular sunrise. Angel was still sick, so I let him sleep until 6:30 this time.
We spent most of the morning at the pool, not wanting to head off to the beach until we could judge Angel's condition.
Here he is praying for one more cheeseburger.
We had to share the pool with a visitor, but he didn't drink much, so we didn't mind.
Unfortunately Angel still wasn't feeling well as the morning progressed, and neither Pepto-Bismol, nor ginger-ale, nor bitters, nor even rum had done the trick. We figured we had nothing to lose by getting him a big bowl of rice to soak up the remaining poison, so we set off for Ocean Echo for some stir-fry.
There, Angel managed to smile his way through a swim at Mead's, but when the water looks like this, you'd probably find yourself beaming even if the grim reaper was standing on shore just waiting for you to get pruney.
Our man Delacroix took great care of us, making sure my glass of boozy lemonade remained filled and chilled.
The rice helped settle Angel's stomach a bit, and we both managed a short but sublime period of pure, unadulterated joy.
By that evening, however, Angel was back to feeling pretty awful, and Stage 4 of Anguilla Vacation Grief, depression, was starting to set in. Not only did we have just three days left, but at the rate we were going, we were going to spend all three of them not at the beach, but in bed (Angel) or at the pharmacy (me). Worse still, we were going to spend all three of them cheeseburger-less. (You know things are bad when the person who is dying of dysentery is actually less upset than the one who didn't get her second cheeseburger.)
That night we stayed in for dinner, since Angel wasn't eating much anyway and resting up would do him some good.
We agreed that I would set the table and prepare the wine while Angel made a quick run over to CeBlue to pick up a couple of pizzas. (Yes, we sent poor, sick Angel out instead of me. Do you really think that pizza would actually make it back to the house if I picked it up?)
We'd had lunch at CeBlue on our previous trip, and the brick-oven pizzas had been divine -- charred, chewy dough with bubbly, blistered edges and a variety of fresh toppings.
This time, however, we were disappointed: Instead of brick-oven pizza, we ended up with two rounds of cardboard topped with some sauce. Luckily we still had enough lobster from that Straw Hat mac & cheese to salvage them.
The pizza might have a been a letdown, but the evening itself was positively magical: A full moon danced off the nearby waves, bathing the pool and patio in shimmering moonlight. We soaked up the spectacular surroundings, trying to imprint them on our memories forever, as we sipped our wine, dangled our feet in the pool, gazed at the glowing moon, and counted our many blessings.
By the next morning, I was getting desperate to make sure Angel enjoyed his last few days of our vacation, despite the fact that he probably should have been enjoying a stay at Princess Alexandra. And so we set off for a morning swim at his favorite beach, Maundays Bay.
I continued my campaign ("Make Angel Great Again") by then whisking him off to CuisinArt, where I figured that if his favorite drink on the island couldn't cure him, nothing could.
We kept our lunches on the light side to avoid riling up Angel's insides any more than necessary.
We spent the rest of the day back at the villa, Angel alternating between napping in the cool AC and joining me at the pool.
Happily, by that evening Angel felt well enough to go out again, and so we got dressed and popped over one of our favorite spots on the island, E's Oven.
Have you been to Anguilla more than a few times, but still haven't been to E's? Look, I know you love dining on the water. It's breezy and beachy and romantic. But you can't see the waves at night anyway, and even if you could, there is no sight -- day or night -- more glorious than E's coconut-crusted grouper with banana-rum sauce atop a bed of curried beans.
The grilled red hind amuse-bouche and spiny lobster spring rolls with orange-chili sauce are no slouches, either.
And because Angel wasn't feeling well enough to finish his grouper, somebody got to have the leftovers.
We still have 36 hours left, and that's plenty of time for meatballs, BBQ, lobster pasta, chicken roti, and even some old-school guavaberry coladas. Click here to read Part 5!