The Beach


“You can walk to the beach,” they said. “It is doable,” they said. I suppose it was doable, as we did do it. But what I imagined would be a casual stroll turned into a half-hour trek up and down hills, along unending Prairie-like stretches of road spotted with abandoned houses and crumbling bus stop shelters.



This was the second time in my life that I accepted a ride from a stranger. But she had a child in the back seat, so she was either a loving mother or a kidnapper having a really good day. Or, possibly, a really terrible mother for unrelated reasons. Either way, one of us would be happy. 



I was a super  n00b with European beaches and didn’t realize we’d have to pay for it. We sat on the some of the lounge chairs laid out—the convenience of which did make me wonder—forked over a few euros once a guy with a drink tray came up. Because after that half-hour desert hike, why not?



To be real with you, I truly didn’t mind the walk. As my friends probably know, I love walking and I’m fast. I don’t mean to brag, but I have almost no other physical skills of which to boast so just let me have this. It’s just funnier to think that I was like, wtf is this. In any case, we made our way back up the hill and treated ourselves to huge bowls of pasta. So, really, a good day all around for me.



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