School year’s begun, so teenagers are safely back in school; the French Invasion is over, since les Vacances sont finis (really, for a while you could think French is the second official language here in Israel). It’s not as hot as mid August, you can actually feel some breeze, and, well â€“ who needs reasons to go to the beach anyway?
I just love the beach. There’s nothing in this world that matches lying on the soft sand under the strong sun, a bottle of beer in one hand, a book in the otherâ€¦ I don’t care if the whole house fills with sand. I don’t care about unattractive, not very self-conscious men’s pick up lines (*), or even the fact that I’m gonna get all wrinkled up when I’m 64 (or 46 and suffering from skin cancer, for that matter).
Now I’m not the person who would go to the beach just to watch the sunset and listen to the waves, nor do I usually have the time to sprawl myself on the sand without an excuse (swimming, meeting friends, or reading the whole syllabus of my “Epos and Saga” course). Actually, coming to think of it, I had to answer a similar question in one of those nasty 300-question personal tests when applying to a certain job: do you sometimes go aimlessly to the beach and listen to the relaxing sound of the waves?
So, no, of course I don’t do anything aimlessly, but â€“ oh, yeahâ€¦ I just looove the beach.
(*) Some advice for the ladies here: if you take a book with you to the beach, try to conceal the fact that you’re reading something in English (or any other “exotic” language) if you don’t want to hear “What you read? Good? Good?” all too often.
(Photograph courtesy of: Tel Aviv in Focus)