3 odd things I saw
-Big white birds flying across the Arabian sea, chilling in the water
-Something I thought was a rock. I wanted to take a rock home, so I dipped under the water and picked it up. I tossed it from hand to hand as I shook the salty water from the eyes, and in the first blurry glimpse of what was flying between my hands, I saw a hiding snail-body, and swiftly dropped it back into the water, shaking my hands. oops.
-The beach from 100 feet into the water, the sea still only up to my hips. I walked out farther than the plastic raft I had climbed up on, to where the sea turned from a bright turquoise to a darker aqua where the sand dropped deeper. I stopped walking before low lull of the waves reached my elbows.
3 odd things I heard
-The generator grinding in constant accompaniment to the rhythm of the waves (tiny waves, like those off of late Michigan)
-The soft hush of sand sliding under my feet as I climb up a steep sand-dune, toes pointed down like I learned to in California, on my home beaches.
3 odd things I thought/felt
-I got sunburnt. I always get sunburnt. No matter how much sunscreen I use, I always forget some part of my body. This time it was my upper chest, where my necklace hangs. And that is why I carry Vaseline.
-There was a small Indian man who served the food, and moved back the lawn chairs from the beach where we had laid them when we were leaving. I felt awkward not helping him move the chairs, even though I had not moved a chair. It seemed to be his job to take care of the facility, though I do not think he owned it–this is just a feeling though. I was afraid I would make him uncomfortable by helping to move the chairs, that I would be violating his expectations unnecessarily. People here seem to expect to be served, and are a great deal more comfortable with it than I am.
We had a standard barbecue with an Arabic flavor–hot-dogs (no pig-meat), lamb kebabs (yum), beef (tough), and grilled chicken (too full to eat it, but it looked good), on rice. 7up tastes the same here as in the states.
The wind is in from Africa
Last night I couldn’t sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here Carey
But its really not my home
My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet
And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy french cologne