The sea, everywhere
The sea, the sea, the sea. The sea is salt and wet feet and strong winds, rain and sun and freedom, windswept hair and difficult conversations and freeing talks. The sea is breath, and breathing, and the act of being free. The sea is different, everywhere, and always the same.
I don’t recognise the shells in Miami, or the threat of sharks in Orlando or alligators in the Everglades. I am surprised to meet dolphins in the salt marshes of Chechessee Creek, and a bit scared, certain they will tip my kayak over into the murky waters. I am mystified at the many hidden caves in the rocky coasts of the Algarve, and that you can go diving and come back up with squid in hand, just like that. I don’t understand why so little people dive in when the water is fresh and the desert is warm, even if modesty is a bigger thing in Abu Dhabi than it is in The Netherlands. I fully understand, for the first time, the impact of human waste on the sea when I see the litter filled waves off the coast of Lima, convinced I am seeing islands and, pinching my eyes, almost crying at the amount of plastic happily tossing about on the saltine curls. Such a farcry from the warm waters of the same South Pacific Ocean off the beaches of Tonsupa, barely 2000 kilometres further north and across the border, into Ecuador. Such a different image than the azure blue and hot yellow of the Saronic Gulf and the rock-laden surf of Varkiza in Greece, which boasts its touristic welcome in an entirely different manner, yet scarily the same.
The same in the dried brown palm leaves on huts, for shade, and the ways people try to make a living out of everyone seeking refreshment from the hot weather. All of these differences, and I still recognise the feeling of sand falling away under my feet while standing in the strong currents of the Bengali Bay on the beach of Thiruvanmiyur. I recognise the strong winds of the North Atlantic, and the salt foam flying around me, when I walk the Northern Irish coast. I recognise the wind, an old friend, with the same loud voice in Newcastle as on the Dutch Wadden islands. I recognise the softness of the water, and the sharpness of jellyfish stings, and the sandpapery feel of my scrubbed skin on the beaches of Huntington Island. Wherever I am and wherever I go, the sea is omnipresent. Her lapping and rolling and growling and strength surround me whenever I enter her. Her steady rhythm of going and coming, of leaving and entering, of always there, surrounds my body. Her crescendo of wave, and surf, and break, and retreat, the seagulls flying overhead, the crispy strands of my hair sticking to my skull: in this, the sea is always unapologetically herself.•
English Channel, England, April 2016
Inspired by Chelsea Steinauer-Scudder