Val would tell me that there was always a good breeze coming in off the water… “It could be hot, mon… reel hot,” he would say, “it wouldn’t feel hot.” Val was talking about his native Trinidad. Although I have never been there, listening to Val’s descriptions of the beautiful beaches, I could easily imagine the scene… I would think of Cambridge Beaches in Bermuda, or the lagoon in back of the Bagshot House in Barbados… or perhaps to a place of my own invention.
I close my eyes. I see it clearly. Sand so fine, so soft that it seems more like flour than sand. Pale in colour, it reflects the sun’s light; but retains its warmth. The beach pitches down ever so slightly to the water line. And then the slow drop off continues in the water… the sea meanders to a deep depth only on the other side of the coral breakwater some two hundred yards in the distance.
By any standards the sea is warm. It only seems cold in contrast to the air temperature.
No big waves here. The breakwater has put a stop to that.
The water, no more than chest deep, is perfectly clear. And my path to the breakwater traverses a stretch of low sea grass that hits no higher than mid-calf. The soft current moves the grass in a slow rhythm… just enough to alternately startle and tickle. I spot an occasional fish or two “out for a stroll”, I can’t imagine the reason for their visit… maybe the grassy patch in the protected shallows is as much a leisure destination for them as it is for me.
I am not great about fish recognition. But I reckon these drab looking fish at being between 18″ and 24″ in length and would make a tasty meal for me (out of the water), or for a larger predator on the other side of the coral breakwater (in the water). But as I say, these fish were drab in colour and shape, and of no interest to me.
I continue on my way… in no particular hurry. Why would anyone want to hurry with the beautiful sun overhead, blue sky to the horizon & a gentle breeze kissing my cheek?
To the left and right I see no one; but as I near the reef I see two forms pop up to the surface… both wearing simple masks with snorkels. One is a heavyset man, salt and pepper hair and well tanned. With him a younger boy (a son?), dark curly hair, also well tanned.
There is an ease to their movements and interactions. They nod to each other, a few animated gestures, maybe they saw amazing fish in the reef (not drab, but in bright colour). A thumb’s up and then they submerge… like whales slipping below the surface.
In an instant their presence is a memory. Their exploration of the nooks and crannies of the coral reef will be done without intrusion. It will be a private viewing.
I look back to the beach. A lonely strip of sand, a couple of hundred yards away… the lush vegetation, a combination of trees and thick shrubs frame the white sand. Set further back in the opening is a low slung white clapboard building… itself shrouded in bushes and tree.
I look back left and right… a few boats lying at anchor, bobbing gently in the lagoon… perhaps waiting for their fishermen to return.
I turn to the reef, the father and son have not returned to the surface… their visit with the tropical fish continues without interruption or distraction.
Their joy is timeless.
One more look to the water beyond the reef, to the expanse of blue sea… imagining its end… then once more, look to the curl of white sand, to the small white building, nestled in a clutch of trees… Bongo Charlies.
Meet me there.