Having slept as well as can be expected, we pack up and break camp.
My friends try to find a car to take us back into town. Our taxi driver from yesterday waited while we visited the various attractions on our route. But apparently waiting overnight in a cramped taxi, on the cold shores of a windy lake, was not part of the deal.
After pulling the tent down, we’re left with a pile of plastic bottles and noodle packets. The guys are keen to leave everything in a pile in the grass, as that’s what you do here. I am not so keen, and try to persuade them to help me carry it down to a recycling bin I found the day before.
They try to convince me that we really should just leave it on the grass, as someone will come and get it. But I see lots of other rubbish lying around. I assume that even if someone does stumble across our abandoned campsite, they will at best scavenge for things that are worth something, and leave the rest to be disseminated by the strong wind.
In the end a compromise is made. We drop the recyclables in a pile near a seaside cottage. It doesn’t deliver the same happy glow as dropping plastics into a green bin emblazoned with a progressive logo, but it will have to do.