The next day, after a breakfast in which Grace has her favorites, scrambled heggs (eggs) and applepine juice (pineapple), we are off to Diani Beach. It is a tourist area south of Mombasa where high-end hotels line the beach. Each hotel seems to cater to a different nationality. One for Germans and Italians, one for British, one for French, you get the idea. We stroll onto the grounds of the Golden Reef Hotel, which caters to Germans and Italians, and use their pool unchallenged. The pool is only steps away from the turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean but Grace cannot swim so we stay away from the waves. I offer to give her swimming lessons. I use the same technique my mother used when I learned. Stand facing the side of the pool, arms outstretched, hands on the edge. Place the face into the water, turn the head to the right and breath in, turn the head into the water and breath out. This is harder than it sounds since, every time Grace puts her head under the water she thinks she's going to drown. Next we are going to learn how to float. I manage to overcome Grace's anxiety and get her on her back in the water while supporting her, placing my hands on her back and thighs. I urge her to relax, close her eyes and imagine lying on the beach under the warm sun. I gradually relax my support until, at last, she is floating on her own. Grace's usual attire is a loose, shapeless smock like dress but here, in a bathing suit and on her back, I can see how generously endowed she is. I am not the only one who has noticed. There is a teenaged boy near the other end of the pool stealing furtive glances at us. Or I should say, at her. Guys will understand how this works. You are looking but you don't want anyone to know you are looking. I should mention at this point that one end of the pool ended at a wall. On the other side was an outdoor bar. So the boy is moving around the pool, looking without looking, and eventually walks into the wall. Lesson over, Grace announces that it is time for lunch. We walk into an enormous room with a sign that announces "buffet today". Along one wall are tables loaded down with an amazing variety of meats and vegetables and fruit. And all of this sits among extravagant and colorful flower arrangements. We fill our plates, eat and go back for seconds. I notice there are numbers on the table opposite each chair and I expect someone to come over with a bill but it never happens. After a short time Grace leads me out of the building, again unchallenged. She seems quite pleased with herself. It wasn't until much later that I realized the numbers on the table probably referred to hotel rooms and some tourist from Düsseldorf had been charged for our lunch. That night we take a ferry across the bay to a club where Grace dances the night away with several British sailors on shore leave. She emerges unscathed. The next day we are back at the beach and do it all again, this time at the French hotel.