Goa

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There’s just something about Goa that brings out the smiles!

Lazy afternoons at Britto’s. Then more laziness and the cheesiest lasagna and the ‘cherriest’ black forest ever at Infantaria.

Breathtaking scenery all around. Weather that was just awesome. Sunshine in the mornings, cloudy afternoons. Light drizzle in the evenings – giving us some spectacular orange and pink skies. Rains kept safely to the night.

Hours at the beach. Going gaga about the star fish and the jelly fish and oh so many shells! Romping in the sand. Sand castles and caves and houses and what not.  Interrupted only to jump into the sea and ride the waves.

There’s just something about the sea. It’s an immediate, deep, connection. Makes me feel right at home.  Maybe those years of growing up in Trini.  It’s one big mish mash of beach love.  Landing up at Maracas/Mayaro what seemed like every other weekend. Full days spent lazing at the beach.

 

As I felt the sand between my toes, nostalgia hit. Déjà vu. Familiar. Known. Knowing how the hot dry sand feels good under your feet after you step off the cold, wet sand. Knowing how the bubbles form as the water from a receding wave trickles in to the hot sand. Knowing that those are crab holes. Remembering the best ways to make caves and sand castles; just how to pack the sand, how much water to use. Feeling the water creep in over my feet; and the sand slowly slip away from beneath. And knowing it was ok. That’s how it is. Walking in deeper. The water isn’t so clear any more. Can’t see the floor.  The sand shifts under my feet. I feel the little igglie wigglies under my feet – small, god-knows-what-creatures, scrambling away as I step on them. I pray there’s no jelly fish nearby. Or crab.  I can feel the currents – its mostly cold, with just a few pocket streams of warm.  I wade in further. Small waves hit. I duck. Let them go over me. Déjà vu again. I’ve done this so many times before. As a kid. And instant flash back to the 8 yr old me.  Jumping the waves. Going under. The salt water stinging my eyes, seeping into my nose/mouth. The taste of it. Loving it. And getting ready to jump the next wave. Forming chains, holding hands, as we go neck deep, and then on tippie toes. Trying to keep our heads above water. Ducking the waves, treading water, swimming back in. Dad and his friends keeping watch behind us.

 

I remember staying at a beach house. For a week. Twice. Probably summer breaks. A bunch of families pooled together, an aweful lot of kids. Lots of time. Lots of lemonade. Lots of sand. Entire days spent running barefoot in the sand. At times, bored, we sat watching the flies. And spiders.  I want to do that with my son…

 

Sigh… There’s just something about the sea.  The salt water, the sand, the wide open skies.

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