Romantically Uncomfortable
If you have seen those movies which involve sunsets and beaches, then I’m sure you remember the part where the main character takes his/her shoes off and ‘romantically’ makes his/her way into the waves, not noticing that their crashing force might drown her/him… What they don’t show, however, is how uncomfortable wet clothes, sandy feet and sandals that make odd squelching sounds, are. I consider this highly unfair to us innocent movie watchers (well ok, me the naive movie watcher), who after the 857657th such scene decide to try it out for themselves: “if they’re having so much fun, why shouldn’t I enjoy it as well?”.
Before moving on, it would be good to mention that my very few encounters with the seaside were not only a long time ago, but also rather unpleasant. I live in a cozily situated depression, surrounded by cool mountains, that may or may not have lakes where I can practice my long-forgotten swimming skills. I’m not too fond of going to the pool, mainly due to all those people milling around, screaming like crazy and giving you the once-over (I’m no supermodel, so kindly refrain from grading me on this aspect). Mountain lakes have freezing water, therefore my index finger is the one getting the most exposure to it (i.e. it gets a little wet). My point here is, that I’m not living near any kind of sea or ocean, so sandy beaches don’t often turn up on a trip through memory lane.
My first visit to the seaside was, approximately 10 years ago (when I was 11), and it wasn’t exactly a very pleasant experience. I did like the museums, the visits to the dock, the roman ruins, but sun bathing and swimming weren’t exactly among my favourite activities. As for the sand… I don’t think I managed to find a single grain. I was too busy trying not to cut my feet on the broken sea shells that were littering the beach.
My latest (at the time I’m writing this) encounter with the seaside was last summer, in Israel. Seeing that it’s a rather small country, there’s hardly a place where you do NOT encounter the sea. Maybe in the middle of the desert (though there’s always the Dead Sea). Seeing that my bad memories from home were ruthlessly haunting me, coupled with the fact that my aunt had previously warned me about medusas was not exactly helping me. Thus, my 23-year-old cousin found himself in the rather odd situation of persuading me, that going to the seaside is anything BUT unpleasant, and medusas are not an issue (I only saw a dead one, in the end).
It might just have been my luck to have found the dirtiest beach home, but in Israel all beaches were covered in the finest sand (though my cousin kept commenting about it not being soft enough); no broken sea shells around, and swimming is a real pleasure. All nice and fine until now, but in the end you have to come out and dry yourself. Your skin feels incredibly stretched, so you shuffle to the only shower and wait patiently (a small eternity) to manage to get under it, only to jump out from under it, due to the unbearable stinging sensation on your shoulders. Never mind, time to get into the car, but your feet can’t bear to enter your sandals in such a sandy state. Not a problem, you hop around the ‘foot shower’ until you manage to get clean feet in clean shoes. In the car you keep shifting left and right and hope to manage to catch a shower in the current millennium. After a thorough scrub, you literally fall onto the couch and somehow manage to stomach your cousin’s favourite TV show, which seems to involve idiotic young men and women eating a plate full of bugs (in hopes of earning some money). You hazard a tiny glance toward your jeans, that still have odd white grains on it, from the previous day when you romantically waded into the waves, just to see how it feels. In case anyone’s wondering, it feels nice for about 5 minutes, when you can’t stand your jeans sticking to your legs, get stared at by curious lazybones. Also, if you manage to get my luck, your cousin (who, incidentally, might start to wonder about your mental health) gets accosted by a grateful customer (he works in a copy shop), who will keep smiling indulgently at you.
The grand finale of all though, is when your uncle’s cousin, asks you to accompany him and his son to the beach, because he gets a bit bored by himself (said son likes to take looong swims – when he’s not trying to photograph and embarrass the *beep* out of you, that is). So take it from me: beaches are fun as long as you don’t have to go through the stretched skin, sandy feet and curious stares. As for romanticism…*strangles film directors*
