December 8
Story by Maggie
Pics by Dave
I’m in a plastic chair planted in the sand at a beach-front shack called the Nissan Restaurant, where the colours are Jamaican-flag red, green, and yellow, and the soundtrack is Reggae. The dudes serving are 20-year-old surfer types, shaggy-top haircuts and a demeanor the definition of cool. Could be any beach-bum beach, anywhere.
It was a shock stepping out onto the sand yesterday, into the land of bikinis and board shorts, after a month in which I didn't see so much as a bare ankle or shoulder. I thought I'd taken a risk, wearing a tank top, but I was way, way overdressed.
Other than the café workers, most of the beach is occupied by foreigners in every shade from white to copper, pink to lobster. In the midday, young women stretch out on lounge chairs. I would have done that, too, back in the day. Now I stroll the beach under an SPF umbrella and slathered with sunscreen. The sun creeps in, regardless, and I have tan lines on my shoulders.
We saw sunset from the beach last night, and watched the guys move tables right down to the high water mark. Candles set on tables sparkled the length of the bay as darkness set in. I leaned my head back in my chair, and there was the quarter moon, directly overhead. The tropics!
Each beach restaurant — there are maybe ten of them — set out the evening's seafood on a big wooden platform or in a glass cabinet. I ordered tiger prawns, grilled, and you’d think they’d have been good but they weren’t. I am grateful I didn’t get sick.
Story by Maggie
Pics by Dave
I’m in a plastic chair planted in the sand at a beach-front shack called the Nissan Restaurant, where the colours are Jamaican-flag red, green, and yellow, and the soundtrack is Reggae. The dudes serving are 20-year-old surfer types, shaggy-top haircuts and a demeanor the definition of cool. Could be any beach-bum beach, anywhere.
It was a shock stepping out onto the sand yesterday, into the land of bikinis and board shorts, after a month in which I didn't see so much as a bare ankle or shoulder. I thought I'd taken a risk, wearing a tank top, but I was way, way overdressed.
Other than the café workers, most of the beach is occupied by foreigners in every shade from white to copper, pink to lobster. In the midday, young women stretch out on lounge chairs. I would have done that, too, back in the day. Now I stroll the beach under an SPF umbrella and slathered with sunscreen. The sun creeps in, regardless, and I have tan lines on my shoulders.
We saw sunset from the beach last night, and watched the guys move tables right down to the high water mark. Candles set on tables sparkled the length of the bay as darkness set in. I leaned my head back in my chair, and there was the quarter moon, directly overhead. The tropics!
Each beach restaurant — there are maybe ten of them — set out the evening's seafood on a big wooden platform or in a glass cabinet. I ordered tiger prawns, grilled, and you’d think they’d have been good but they weren’t. I am grateful I didn’t get sick.
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| A dinner for someone |
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| At the end of the beach, at the end of the day. |
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| Sun setting over the 'party boat'. |
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| Cricket on the beach |
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