At Home on the Beach

Our new casita is aptly named Casita Oleander. It is a small 2 room house, the main room functioning as bedroom/kitchen/sitting room, though we rarely sit in there. Because....we have a nice porch that goes across the front and down half one of the sides. The porch faces south, has a three foot cement/stucco wall, There are a plastic table and two chairs on the patio and a hedge of oleanders around the low cement wall. The oleanders are in bloom: white and pink. In the morning we get the welcome warmth of the sun. By late afternoon, when we are done at the beach, we move the table to the west side where the lowering sun and the tall oleanders give us spackled shade for the perfect temp.

We are only inside long enough to cook a meal, shower, sleep at night. The rest of the time we are outside. A far cry from our friends at home in MT who are currently dealing with temperatures of anywhere from minus 20 to minus 35!  And best of all, our casita is literally one sandy path (less than a block) away from the beach.

On a typical day we take our mornings slowly.  We awaken to the aroma of fresh brewed coffee, as our casita has an automatic brewer which we set up the night before.  We greet the sun while sitting on the porch, drinking coffee.  By the time the sun clears the trees to the east of us, we are in shorts and tank tops.  Then it's a simple breakfast (usually yogurt and fresh bananas; somedays eggs fresh from the market seasoned with whatever is on hand in the way of chilis, onions, peppers, tomatoes all served with a warm hand-made tortilla, never older than a few days).  By 10:30 the warmth of the sun on our porch drives us to our swimsuits and the beach.  Bruce creates a personalized lounger chair, custom fit to his body, out of the sand on the beach.  The steep incline of the sand, created in the wee hours of the morning at high tide, serves as a fitting foundation for his throne-by-the-sea. 

 I lay on my belly and face the flock of surfers bobbing on the swells waiting for that perfect wave.  Sometimes there is an entertaining dog or two on the beach.  I have two favorites. One chases a ball right into the crashing waves, happy as he can be to basically tread water against the undertow until the next wave actually crashes over his head and carries him to shore!  Yep, I'd say he is a body surfing dog.  The other belongs to a surfer and is not as fond of the waves.  He sits at the water's edge, holding his head high so he can keep an eye (and nose) on his master out beyond the breakline.  When a large swell hides his master from view he frantically runs along the shore, jumping up to catch a glimpse of the fellow for whom he waits.  

The other surfers seems to know the dog as they all greet him when they come out of the water, but the dog is not easily distracted for any length of time before beginning his vigil again.  It is when his master begins paddling south and whistles, the dog knows his wait is nearly over and happily trots down the beach, all the while keeping an eye on his southbound master until the moment of happy reunion.

 

Meanwhile, Bruce and I have become sand lizards, melting into the beach.  We use plenty of sunblock to keep from buring our tender Montana skins.  After we've gotten good and toasty, and if the seas are calm enough, we take a dip in the ocean. The water here is surprisingly warm.  We find we can stay in as long as we like without getting too cool.  The surfers, however, who are out for hours on end, seem to prefer wetsuits.  A few surf "California style" with simple baggies or bikini. Skill levels vary, some working the wave for all its worth while others seem happy to have caught a ride at alll  Once the big surf subsides, the surfers all go in. Bruce flips to his stomach and I take a turn in the throne.  Now it is whale-watching time.  We are seeing more and more of them each day.  Sometimes a whole pod passes by.  About three quarters of the way to the horizon we can see them spout.  If we keep looking at the same spot we might even get to see the back side of one, reflecting the sun as s/he breaches on her/his migration north.  One more swim in the waves marks the end of our beach time.  We can't seem to leave the beach without filling our suits with sand from the shallow water.

Showers clear the sand from our suits and bodies, we dink away the afternoon and soon it is happy hour.  The shade of the oleanders on the west side of our porch is welcoming.  If we time it right, happy hour ends about sunset.  We have recently discovered a palapa (a thatched roof patio) on the property from which we can watch the sunset.  Perfect!  Bruce swears he has seen "the green flash," but you know how that story goes.

LIfe is pretty good here in paradise.  We've just completed another perfect day.  And we've almost forgotten what it feels like to need coat, hat, mittens, boots and scarf.