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The drive to the top of the mountain would have been terrifying in the day, but at night time, with a mockingly glowing full moon to illuminate the absolute nothing of the precipice next to us as we drove along the very edge of the towering mountain, I learnt to pray. It must have worked too because we eventually saw a man-made light in the distance.

“Thank God, we must be close,” I muttered aloud in my newly rediscovered religious fervour. “And they’ve left a light on for us. That’s a good sign.” Ever optimistic, I was trying to convince Patrick as much as myself that the ‘quaint’ cabins we had booked from a picture alone because it’s complete desolation appealed to us for a weekend break was a better idea than we were starting to fear.

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