We’d optimistically labelled today a “rest day,” but in true family fashion it filled itself up nicely. My morning kicked off with breakfast leftovers, which still packed a fiery punch. Here, “mild” is clearly a more generous definition than back home, my tastebuds were wide awake long before the coffee had a chance. Speaking of coffee, the machine was on strike, prompting a lively villa debate among the staff about what had gone wrong before it was whisked away for repairs. Meanwhile, Haylie reported her shower head had gone rogue, spraying sideways instead of down. Between the spicy breakfast, the broken coffee machine, and the rebellious plumbing, it felt less like a rest day and more like a sitcom pilot.

The gun range was next on the agenda. Jamei and I had always planned to give it a shot (yes, pun intended), and true to form, FOMO‑Helsie wasn’t about to miss out either. Bek, Haylie, and Harper chose villa relaxation, while Boston came along purely as the official photographer. I went first, and let’s just say the target was safe. As a lover not a fighter, I’m convinced my subconscious didn’t even want me to hit the bullseye. Still, ticking “shoot a gun” off the bucket list felt surreal enough.

Mumma stepped up next, looking like she’d been training for this moment her whole life, and nailed a bullseye. She wasn’t shy about her victory either — telling anyone who’d listen, soaking up the applause, and even impressing the owner enough to pose for a photo. By the time we left, she was proudly clutching her target sheet like a toddler showing off their preschool artwork, beaming as if it deserved a spot on the fridge. Jamei rounded us out and did pretty well too, proving that maybe the family’s hidden talent lies somewhere between Mumma’s sharpshooting and my enthusiastic participation.

We head back at the villa briefly, I squeezed in some tour planning for the rest of the week before heading out again. Boston now officially holds the family schedule to make sure we don’t lose track of what we’d planned for each day. Lunch at Toast Café with Jamei and Boston was a welcome pause – good food, good catch‑ups, and a chance to reset before the afternoon.

Boz headed back to the villa, full stomach and wanting some chillout time. Jamei and I then crossed the road to a massage place to find just one woman inside, who looked up, smiled, and cheerfully announced, “I will call my friend.” Within minutes reinforcements appeared, and suddenly we were in business. While we were there, the others showed up in the hope they would also be able to get massages, but there were no more “friends”, so Mumma, Bek, Haylie, and Harper wandered up and down the street trying to find a spot that could take them all, but no luck. So I pulled a “Hannah’s Travel Services” move and arranged a villa massage for them instead. Problem solved, everyone happy. Well, everyone except me. As my massage neared its end, it escalated into something resembling a full‑body contortion act. And now, with an audience, the whole thing felt less like a spa treatment and more like a live performance. I was twisted, bent, and folded while the others looked on, equal parts horrified and entertained – like they’d accidentally bought tickets to a fringe‑festival sideshow. Relaxing? Questionable. Memorable? Absolutely.

Some proper chill‑out time was finally in order for me. While the in‑house massages were happening, I claimed my spot by the pool, armed with the view and my carefully curated Poolside Chill playlist. Honestly, it was perfection. I was only slightly jealous of the others having their massages poolside, the ultimate holiday flex, but I consoled myself with a dip alongside Harper. We ended up covering a lot of conversational ground, though the highlight was an unexpectedly deep dive into lizards. It was the kind of chat I didn’t know I needed in my life: equal parts random, hilarious, and oddly fascinating. Sun, water, music, and lizard philosophy, not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

By evening we headed to Fisherman’s Village market, already buzzing with energy. Shopping bags and beachside dinner were the plan, and honestly, there’s nothing better than feeling sand under your feet while tucking into local cuisine. Dinner was lively, with another round of Fake It keeping us laughing, and then a fire show lit up the beach just down from us. But as we were winding down, the staff suddenly sprang into action, rushing to move us and clear the tables. Within seconds the sky opened, rain sweeping in with perfect timing. We all huddled inside, only slightly wet and giggling, trusting the locals’ instincts and rolling with it.

There was some shopping planned next which I was sad to miss out on, but I had to excuse myself a little early, my back was staging a protest, and I wanted to be in fine form for tomorrow’s activities. The rest kept the night alive. Sometimes you’ve got to bow out gracefully, even when the shopping and walking cocktails are tempting.

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