You know paradise when your brain clearly rings messages to your Self that now is the time to relax, that the calmness of the surroundings you’re in is the perfect setting to let everything else melt away, that the brightness and stillness of the sea should be the mirror to your emotions inside. I write this indeed with a sense of exaggerated melancholy but if my memory serves me right, these are the feelings that washed over me as I stepped onto the backyard beach on that afternoon in Tulum.
Barricaded by part of the second largest barrier reef in the world, the tranquil this provided the sea (and inevitably, me) that week was the best I’d experienced in all the beaches and islands I’ve been to. What blue, what gentle lapping, what amazing views and backdrop to a week of exploring, lounging, eating, sleeping and all the other best verbs out there.
At night the spectacle of a lightning storm provided a natural substitute for a late night movie. Never have I been this close to these sparking streaks of light that cracked across the sky non stop for hours. When I was younger, I was always told to hide, to stay away from the windows, to rush home whenever there was a lightning storm. But here standing on the roof, the white flashes of light exposing the silhouettes of palm trees on the beach and occasionally striking the water in the dark horizon, it felt raw and powerful and magnificent to be a spectator of. Perhaps it felt all the more so because it was like a hint of rebellion towards what I was always told to do.
The trickles of rain that eventually led to a full downpour for the night scurried us all inside the house, feeling thrilled, excited and ready for a cool night’s sleep for more adventures that lie ahead tomorrow..