Monday, June 6, 2011
The beach is different there on the other side of the bay. Although it has its share of plastic, beer cans and remnants of beach fires, the water seems cleaner, warmer, more of a sandy bottom with less seaweed clusters. The shipwreck adds an interesting focal point but now the wheel house is gone; the last time I was there we watched salvagers dismantle it.
The shells are different there. White puffy sea urchins and tiny tiny sand dollars, both so delicate they have to be kept segregated from the other shells. This used to be THE spot for jingle shells but they seem to have migrated over to my secret beach.
After our first sweep of the beach while the tide is out we have beers and burritos from the Sahuaripa stand in town - tortillas filled with refried beans, wrapped in bacon, fried. I'd eat anything wrapped in bacon, probably even tripe or cows' eyes. The air is warming, the water is warming, we grab our noodles and wade into the sea. A slight chill but not too bad, we're in up to our necks in no time. We slip off our bathing suit straps and let the girls get a little color. There's rarely anyone on this beach and only the occasional passing panga so I doubt anyone will see those gleaming white orbs (and, boy, do they need some color. yikes!).
We explore one more beach before leaving the housing development that never was. It's isolated, clean, a beach people would pay thousands to vacation on. We dub it Crab Beach - sand crabs scurry everywhere. There are so many it's as though the beach is moving. We stand motionless and wait for giant crabs to poke out their heads but they're too smart to venture out of their holes. They sense our presence and stay hunkered down.
Satiated with sun, shells, sand, we make the drive home, relieved the gates are open but confused as to why the road seems more washboarded on the return trip.
Back at our trailers we rinse off, change clothes, meet for happy hour cocktails then decide, hell, let's take our chairs and sit in the surf on "our" beach. Next thing we know we're once again exfoliated by the churned up sand. Rinse, change, repeat.
Later that night I sit on the sofa staring at the television. I'm exhausted and my body is toasty. I'm awash in feelings of being a 12-year-old after a day at the lake with the family. We've gotten sunburned crispy in the days before we knew we shouldn't be doing that.
It's funny how going to a different beach brings back childhood memories. A tiny change in scenery, a tiny change in perspective and I'm a kid again. Which I guess is another one of those lessons I keep learning and forgetting: change the course of your thinking and your life will follow. For a new lease on life, change your beach.