It is easy, when traveling abroad, for certain poor decisions (let’s leave at 5 p.m. for Cape Coast from Kumasi), especially when combined with misinformation (“the trip is only two hours,” “you can catch a bus”) to transform into unknown scenarios (“just wait until the tro-tro is full,” “we’re leaving in maybe 30 min,” why is everyone shouting in Twi??), and suddenly you find yourself barreling through the West African countryside at 80 mph in a vehicle with the low-gas light blinking (or would, if it worked), the driver asking for Red Buhl, and huge sacks of rice at your feet.

And likewise it is with enormous relief that, after surviving said trip and bargaining hard for another taxi ride, to pull up to an ocean hotel at 1 a.m. and step into a delightful room with warm lighting, a king-sized bed, and — delight of delights — a hot shower.

This is the addictive adrenaline of travel — to embark on a trip and not know if the afternoon’s experience will fall into the “highlight” or “low light” category, to make those poor decisions in the optimistic hope that, in the end, everything will be ok (it was, mom) and that a soft pillow awaits the end of a hard journey. In our case, our heads awoke from those soft pillows to a paradise retreat on the beach, a cool breeze blowing the city’s sweat away and grilled lobster and curried shrimp to top off a day of serious rest.

[Sorry for no photos; we’re at an internet cafe. But trust us, this place is stunningly beautiful.]