This is a friendly, intimate beach, a family beach. It is above all relaxed. A number of women, regardless of age or shape, go topless. Two girls, so attired, or unattired, were lying slowly cooking by the sea, turning from time to time to assure an even tan. We went for a swim. When we returned, they were attended by two uniformed masseuses, in striped shirts and shorts. These girls had produced bottles of unguents and creams, brushes and sponges from their bags, and were applying them vigorously. They pinched and pummelled, squeezed and stroked, and bent arms and legs up and down, taking, as it were, a body each. It was like the end of a production line for dolls.
There are two showers on the beach, one at each end. They are constructed of stainless steel and pressing a button releases solar heated fresh water. Coming out of the sea I find that a scuba diver, dressed from head to toe in black, has taken possession of the one I was making for. He has a black mask from which protrudes an elaborate breathing apparatus like a huge proboscis.
A majestic thunderstorm last night. We are dining with friends. Rolls of thunder and lightening recall the phrase shock and awe. The rain seems to fall in a solid sheet. The lights go out. Our friends light candles and we talk through the din. Later we are driven back to the hotel via streets sloping towards the sea, whic have become rivers and waterfalls. The water races through the culverts under the sea wall and carves channels on the beach. The next morning, everywhere the sand is pock marked by the rain.
Joyce has been enjoying your sea imagery - she says she knows just what poch marks in the sand after rain look like.
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