I’ve always been fascinated by the seaside in winter. I relish in the loneliness of it, the chilly damp, the memory of a happy summer. I love seeing the boarded up stalls and empty band stands. The ballrooms echoing mirth and cheer. The wet sands devoid of donkeys. Cold grey skies and wind whipped cliff tops, shrouded in mystery and home to a closed lighthouse. Of hearty soup and fisherman’s tales by a fire. The promise of something that once was, but seems destined never to return again. The urban decay of an off season coastal town. Whitby in February. Life somehow goes on, without the ice cream.
I emerge late from my cabin. I can’t walk on my leg as it’s burnt to a crisp, and I’m feeling like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. However, one half of the Aussie contingent, Maddie, is having a birthday today, so I do my best to drag my spirit out of the gutter, don some pirate gear and drink a ton of rum.
The San Blas islands themselves are beautiful, if you like that kind of thing. I was planning on trying to get rid of this horrible T-shirt sun tan, but with my right leg in the condition that it is, I opt to stay indoors. Truth be told, I’m feeling a little sorry for myself, and I wish I had taken the flight. If you’re not into sailing, sun, beaches and water in general, this isn’t the trip for you. I’m not really into any of that. I’m beginning to wonder why I did it in the first place.
Still, I have to roll with the punches and try to remain positive. There are certainly worse places I could be, and everything can be chalked up to experience. I’m discovering more and more that these hot places with sand are definitely not where I want to hang my hat. Now if only I could find someone like minded? Since leaving home, I appear to be the only person in the world that doesn’t relish beaches. Perhaps I should return to the comforting grey gloom of Escotia…?
Still feeling rough, sea sick and tired, it’s not long before I’m back in that little box and fast asleep.
Yo! Ho! Ho! And a bottle of rum!
I’ve always been fascinated by the seaside in winter. I relish in the loneliness of it, the chilly damp, the memory of a happy summer. I love seeing the boarded up stalls and empty band stands. The ballrooms echoing mirth and cheer. The wet sands devoid of donkeys. Cold grey skies and wind whipped cliff tops, shrouded in mystery and home to a closed lighthouse. Of hearty soup and fisherman’s tales by a fire. The promise of something that once was, but seems destined never to return again. The urban decay of an off season coastal town. Whitby in February. Life somehow goes on, without the ice cream.
I emerge late from my cabin. I can’t walk on my leg as it’s burnt to a crisp, and I’m feeling like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. However, one half of the Aussie contingent, Maddie, is having a birthday today, so I do my best to drag my spirit out of the gutter, don some pirate gear and drink a ton of rum.
The San Blas islands themselves are beautiful, if you like that kind of thing. I was planning on trying to get rid of this horrible T-shirt sun tan, but with my right leg in the condition that it is, I opt to stay indoors. Truth be told, I’m feeling a little sorry for myself, and I wish I had taken the flight. If you’re not into sailing, sun, beaches and water in general, this isn’t the trip for you. I’m not really into any of that. I’m beginning to wonder why I did it in the first place.
Still, I have to roll with the punches and try to remain positive. There are certainly worse places I could be, and everything can be chalked up to experience. I’m discovering more and more that these hot places with sand are definitely not where I want to hang my hat. Now if only I could find someone like minded? Since leaving home, I appear to be the only person in the world that doesn’t relish beaches. Perhaps I should return to the comforting grey gloom of Escotia…?
Still feeling rough, sea sick and tired, it’s not long before I’m back in that little box and fast asleep.