So, there was a festival that night down on the beach, bands playing, and people whirring, grounded only by the bell sounding time.   We happened upon it, really.  We'd found a room in a tiny villa, a sign hanging from a small banana tree, in letters spelling out "accommodation."   So after a cold shower to erase the dust, no hot water here, the sun had begun to set and Dona Maria, of de Casa Maria, "accommodation," told us we should wander down, take the board walk out, find the festival below.   There would be food down that way too, fish caught and roasted with sea salt over the drift wood washed ashore.