I've never been a beach-y kind of person. Maybe this is because I grew up near the Atlantic Ocean, so I never thought it was that big of a deal to go to the beach. Actually, we lived in the town of Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina for a while when I was a kid. But even after we moved inland, we still went to the beach several times a year. Meh. I always dug the mountains more. At least until recently.
For some reason I've been fantasizing about beaches lately. Not the Atlantic beaches from whence I came. Not the Florida or California beaches of my youth and young adulthood. Not the "cool" beaches I've visited in New England and Ireland or the "hot" ones in Barbados and Australia. Nope. I want to walk on beach that's all mine. (OK, my friends can come, too. But only close friends. And family. Of course.)
My fantasy beach has pristine white sand, and the water is clean and so clear you can see the fish in it. The sky is a perfect azure blue. A grove of healthy, green trees and pretty dark-colored rocks separate the beach from the rest of the land. Beyond the trees there's a private cabana with a friendly bartender who looks sort of like Ricky Martin serving up some fantastic piña coladas . . . OK, seriously, it's not about that. It's about . . . getting away. To someplace warm. And secluded. Some place where I could relax. Unwind.
Maybe it's the weather we've been having lately. I'm suffering from sunlight deprivation, or maybe a mild case of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I need some Vitamin D. I need to feel warm sand on my bare feet.
Yes, folks, I need a vacation, but not to the ordinary-usual-boring-crowded-cliché kind of place. I want to go to someplace that's off the beaten path. Like Seychelles. Or Kuna Yala. Or Palau. Or Kauai. Or pretty much any tropical beach whose name has a lot of vowel sounds.
Take me away! There's only one tiny little problem. I may never come back!