On The Beach

Where the sea and the jungle met..

Every morning as I get ready for work, I slip my feet into my already tied dress shoes, as if untying them, putting them on, and tying them up again will make up for the time I lost from hitting the snooze button more times than I should have. 

My right shoe always gives me trouble. 

I try to jam my foot in, digging my thumb into the back of the shoe while trying to squeeze into it. It never works. I always end up untying the shoe, putting it on and retying it, while cursing under my breath at the inconvenience.

It’s in this moment I realize normalcy has set back in, the man spoiled by convenience and comfort that allows such a small thing get under his skin if even for a second.

I forget what it was like to lace up my hiking boots every morning before repacking all of my belongings into a 42 liter backpack, fastening the straps around my chest and hips, and carrying that bag for miles until the next rented room in places I’ll only see once. 

When I travel I welcome discomfort, whether it’s camping a national park or backpacking a foreign country, my mindset is always adventure and not vacation, which is why I’ve never been partial to beaches. The vacationers’ destination, lay, relax, remain. 

I didn’t have to strap my boots on every morning when I awoke in Goa, the beach town on the western coast of India. For an entire week, I walked barefoot from my hostel down a small sand and dirt path to the hazy Arabian Sea. The same sea I’d heard stories about when I was a child. Sinbad and his adventures against cannibals, slavers, and mythical creatures were more credible now than they were before as I peered into the endless ocean blanketed by a hazy golden mist. This was no beach in Florida or Spain, this was where the sea and the jungle met. 

On our last full day one of my traveling companions and I sat on fold out lawn chairs in front of a tiny beachside bar. We ordered a hookah, and two large Kingfishers, India’s most popular beer, and one of the toughest I’ve ever had. We sat and talked about how long we felt we had left in our gas tanks for the remainder of the trip. Having been backpacking from Mexico to Africa then Europe and now South Asia for 5 months I felt the next leg of our trip through South East Asia would be cut short due to road fatigue. 

As we passed the hookah and sipped on our beers we noticed the people around us, old European hippies that decided this was the place to spend their retirement, Indian families enjoying the almost tourist free beach due to the offseason, roaming cows enjoying their freedom, and one particularly beautiful young woman who jogged up and down the beach. 

My friend, having known me for the better part of 20 years knew that I was plotting how to approach her. As she jogged by our eyes met more than once; she was slender, her skin tone was a soft dusky brown, flower vine tattoos running down her side, to her hip and thigh. Like clockwork she ran two laps up and down the beach, smiled slightly as she passed by, then walked into the hazy sea to cool off dipping her head under water and combing back her dark shoulder length hair with her fingers.

I sat back and watched as a European man approached her, he gave it his best, and sat back down.

 “You better make your move quick, bud.” My friend teased, not knowing the Kingfisher in his hand would lead to him almost being dragged into the sea by the retreating tide later that night. 

“‘Life’s battles don’t always go

To the stronger or faster man,

But soon or late the man who wins,

Is the man who thinks he can.” 

I smirked as I recited a poem by Walter D Wintle that I had used as a mantra for my trip around the world, then I stood and walked into the Arabian Sea after her.

Charm, as most men will tell you, is often a result of receptiveness. A man with the invitation of a few exchanged glances will be infinitely smoother than the man who walks up to a woman that has given him no indication of interest. 

I had been given the invitation via a few exchanged smiles and felt that Sinbad would never forgive me if I cowered from the opportunity. As the water rose to my wait and chest I approached her.

“I really didn’t want to get in the water this early, but there was no way I was going to keep up with you in the sand.”

 She smiled a perfect smile from her naturally smoky eyes to her sharp delicate chin. All of a sudden beaches were a place for adventure.

Her name was Anna.

We chatted in the water and then walked on the beach, I learned that she was from Goa, but lived in London, splitting her time between the two places depending on the season. She was a creator, extroverted, confident. After about a half hour together we parted ways agreeing to have dinner together that night on the beach. 

“You are something else.” My friend teased.

 We smoked, drank, and ate freshly caught fish over an open flame until the morning sun turned off the sea’s haze and gave way to the night. 

Anna and I met under the stars, the same ones I had back home, or perhaps different ones only people on the other side of the world could see. I didn’t have much time to give it thought. She walked out onto the beach from a small path, the jungle behind her a dark outline as mysterious as she was in her slim black dress. We held hands as we walked the beach, choosing where to eat. We landed on a nice restaurant overlooking the sea, candle lights over ornate wooden tables made me feel as if I was miles away from where I had met her earlier that day. We dined, drank and laughed; Anna shared with me her love for the ocean, listing it as one of the reasons why she always came back to Goa despite having a more comfortable life in London. 

As we walked back to where we met we were hit by the rising tide, completely drenched we laughed at how our date clothes would have sand in them for the rest of their existence. She brushed sand off of my cheek, kissed me, and we both agreed we tasted like salt.

“Let’s meet here in half an hour, I need to go shower all of this sand off, but there’s a place I want to show you.”

“Deal”

Thirty minutes later we were back in our travelers clothes. I followed her to a small bar where she knew a few of the retirees and a few of the workers. They comped us some drinks before we ventured further into the small town and away from the rising tide. 

Our walk led us to a small guesthouse where we rented a room. By that point my memory of our salted first kiss had been replaced by our heads swimming and the taste of her lipgloss.

We made love under a bug net canopy to the night sounds of the jungle. I had only ever made love under a canopy once before; the first time.

As I laid next to Anna, out of breath, her slim figure tucked under my arm I had the realization that I had not thought about Lucia all night. My recent heartbreak had been something that was on my mind and in my chest every passing second, but in the last month I had felt myself thinking of her and feeling her less and less. First for a few minutes, then a few hours, and now almost an entire night. The next day her soft full lips woke me. We dressed and walked back to a breakfast spot on the beach next to my hostel. We smiled, both of us having had experienced road romances before and knowing we would probably never see each other again.

My flight to Chennai departed 5 hours later.

Today, I still find sand in that worn backpack, think of the beauty mark on her left cheekbone and smile.