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Category: travel

Sand: An Appreciation

Sand: An Appreciation

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A return yesterday to the coolest weather I’ve experienced in weeks. No heat wave, no subtropical humidity. Instead, a pleasant warmth and weight to the air. I can’t say I miss the heat, but I do miss the beach, the breeze, even the sand. 

Yes, it sticks to the back of the legs and collects in the shower drain despite best attempts to wipe it off at the door. But sand is a most amazing element. 

I think of my beach walks, striding across the fluffy stuff to find the hard-packed sand at water’s edge, constantly adjusting my route based on wave reach and tide. 

I think of the bounce in my step sand provides: what a wonderful striding surface it is. 

My beach trip may be over, but the memories remain. And a little of the sand does, too. 

Tiny Lizards

Tiny Lizards

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Every year when I’m in Florida I see the tiny lizards known as anoles. They’re cute little critters with big eyes, holes for ears and long tails that detach if you pull too hard on them.

These small reptiles scamper and dart. They puff up and slim down. When frightened, they freeze and hide themselves among the scrub. 

I’ve had time on this trip to observe anoles up close, to watch them do what appears to be pushups but I’m sure is not, to wonder what they eat. (The answer: crickets, flies, mealworms and ants.)

Today I spotted an anole camouflaged on the bark of a palmetto plant. He was missing the fingers of his right hand. It wasn’t slowing him down, though. He was clinging tightly with his remaining digits, and taking life as it comes.

Shades of Green

Shades of Green

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How many shades of green do I see in a day at the beach. There is the dark forest of the mangrove, its roots in water, clustered in wet spots along the road. 

There is the purplish-green of the sea grape, its leaves catching light, making tunnels of shade as I exit the strand.

There is the striated green of the palmetto, wagging in the wind. 

And sometimes, in the morning, there is the green of the sea.

Time and Tides

Time and Tides

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The walks come when they will, when I wake up and make my way to the beach. The tides have their own rhythms, drawn from moon and sun and gravity. 

When I stroll the beach, I’m part of the elements, pulled into their orbit, at one with sand and sea.

Time passes slowly. Eternal time, at least for an hour or two. 

Name That Bird

Name That Bird

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It tweets, whistles, sings and trills. I’m listening to it right now, though on my computer rather than in the field. In my wanderings on and near the beach these last few days, I’ve been spotting a gray bird with white markings. It’s the state bird of Florida, the mockingbird.

There are some who want to replace it with the flamingo, a bird more associated with the Sunshine State, though flamingos have been absent from the state until just recently. 

Without wading too far into this controversy, let me say that the mockingbird is a splendid creature with an array of sounds that amaze and baffle. It finds a high branch on which to perch and sing its heart out. It has my vote, in case anyone asks for it. 

(Northern mockingbird, credit Bob Baker via Cornell Bird Lab)

The Sky Rules

The Sky Rules

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It’s what I notice first every year, even before the foamy breakers, the spun-sugar sand. It’s the sky: vast and blue and dotted with clouds.

Here at the beach the sky stretches out boldly to the horizon, no curtain of green to obscure it. 

Were I to live always beneath such a sky, I’d feel bare and exposed. But when I’m here, for this precious week, it opens me up, enlarges my vision. 

Here at the beach, the sky rules. 

Boiling Point

Boiling Point

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In case you haven’t heard, there’s a heat wave in the Eastern United States, with temperatures of 100 degrees, which will feel warmer with the humidity.

The chances are you have heard, though, because the weather folks have been beating the drum about this since Monday. Through lovely cool mornings and passable afternoons, we’re heard about heat domes, hydration and cooling centers. 

It’s not just a different kind of weather these days; it’s a different kind of weather report.  

(One of the hotter places I’ve visited recently: the Alcazar in Seville, Spain.)

A Birthday

A Birthday

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Through the years, birthdays become attached to the people who hold them. Today will always be Nancy’s day, even though Nancy is gone. 

It was on this day, long ago, that I landed in Europe for the first time. The date wasn’t accidental. It was Nancy’s 20th birthday, and I was meeting her in Luxembourg. We had planned to be chamber maids in a Swiss hotel, but our employment fell through at the last minute. Instead, we traveled through Europe for two months on what I will politely call a lean budget. 

We trudged through London in rain so heavy I thought my shoes would never dry out. We explored what seemed like every Viennese hovel in which Beethoven had ever lived (and there were a lot of them). We toured Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome and Pisa. We scrambled to find places to sleep, and sometimes they were train compartments. 

The trip cemented our friendship, brought it through the decades. I think of our travels now with great wonder and gladness. They bring Nancy closer, which is where I want her to be. 

(Nancy and I spent many hours in train stations, though not this one, which is in Edinburgh.) 

Finding Hildasay

Finding Hildasay

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People who know me know I like to read, and sometimes they give me a book they think I’ll like. Finding Hildasay is one of those. It’s the story of a veteran from the United Kingdom who decided to walk the entire UK coastline. 

I’ve walked a few feet of the UK coastline (!), and books about walking are a sub-genre I enjoy, so it’s no wonder that this volume found its way into my hands.

I’m so glad it did. Christian Lewis took off on his journey with £10 to his name. He foraged for food, survived 70-mile-an-hour winds, and never gave up on his quest. Hildasay is the Shetland island where he spent three months during the pandemic lockdown. It was where he finally had the time to reflect upon what he had achieved: the depression he had beaten, the money he had raised for a veterans’ charity, the  sense of purpose he had found.

The book stops mid-journey, so I wondered what was up. Could there be a sequel? Well yes there is. I have a feeling I’ll be reading it soon.

(The coastline of the Orkney Islands, as close to Hildasay as I’ve traveled.)

From the Top

From the Top

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It’s the Feast of Corpus Christi, and in Seville, Spain, a procession of statues and icons on floats is — or, given the time difference, already has — snaked its way down the narrow streets of that wondrous city.

I like to think about the places I’ve been, and this is the day I think about Seville, the air scented with orange blossoms, temperatures near scalding (I almost passed out at the Alcazar), the warren of streets around the cathedral. 

We walked to the top of the Giralda, or bell tower, where the city was spread at our feet. It was two years ago. It could have been yesterday.