Musings from the Beach Front
24 March 2016
The air positively thrums with noise. Every sound coming from every direction. The faint summery music filtering through distant speakers. The soft slapping of a million pairs of flip flops on the paved pathway. The whirring and grinding and clicking noises coming from the coffee machine. The clink of cutlery and crockery, being laid out and cleared away. And the continual, incessant chattering of dozens upon dozens of voices passing by, in a myriad of different pitches, volumes, and languages.
Groups of friends exchanging stories of the night before. Parents calling to their children to keep close, while the children babble on about whatever funny little thing has caught their attention in that moment, or whining about being too hot or tired or hungry or bored. The staff relaying orders and commands to each other. Wayward travellers recounting their adventures thus far. Telephone calls to loved ones back home, about the fascinating new land they’ve arrived in.
Somewhere in the distance, the ocean laps against the sandy shore, while small alien-esque clumps of fluorescent green algae drift lazily in the currents. Those droves of people make their way down that path and on to the white shores, flocking to the rows upon rows of sun beds waiting for them. The horizon plays host to delicate silhouettes, of sailing boats and parasails, and people perched atop paddle boards, wobbling in the soft ocean breeze. The shrieks and laughter of children splashing in the waves joins the cacophony of sounds.
As the sun sets, the space becomes more and more rammed, as phones and selfie sticks crane for a view of that blood red sunset, dipping down into the waves. The palm trees are aglow, in all the colours or the rainbow, as lanterns and lights burst into life for the evening. Different styles of music pop up along the shore, the dance beats of that bar, the tropical melodies of that restaurant, the soft guitar strumming from that small stage erected on the beach front, the rhythmic patterns of the drummers sitting on the sand. While the ocean fights to be heard above the continual noise of all those voices.
If there was ever a moment to feel alone in a crowded place, this is it. Not lonely though. Just sitting back, watching, listening, and wondering. Wondering about all those many, many people’s stories. Wondering what brought them here. Wondering who is happy. Who is lost. Who is content, who is unwilling, who is confused, who is at peace. Who is seeking escape. So many people in this one little space. People from all over, come to this little corner of the world.
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