Even the dogs are rastas here in Formentera. Walking along the beach today I heard a loud growl and looked over to see a huge, dreadlocked, black wig on four legs rushing towards me, intent on carnage. I'd never seen a dog like it before, and I stood there transfixed - judging from it's ninety year old owner, it's hairstyle was a bizarre, but natural occurrence, as he didn't particularly look like a Bob Marley fan. Luckily for me, however, it either couldn't see very much from under it's mop or it had just been taking mind altering, hallucinogenic drugs, and it rushed right past me, still growling at and chasing the emptiness of the beach.