Driftwood Love

23. Holiday Ratatouille

After enjoying some coffee and cake, Laszlo, bubbling with excitement, led me down the beach.

We descended a small wooden staircase, its handrail made of thick rope, and reached a breathtakingly beautiful beach. The sand was dazzlingly bright and exceptionally fine. The way the wind sculpted the dunes and drew wave patterns in the sand was simply magical. Although I was wearing shoes, I took them off to walk barefoot through the soft sand. It was so fine that I knew I would later find it behind my ears, in my belly folds, and in my hair, despite all precautions. But I didn't mind. It had been ages since I had last been on a real beach. We approached the sea, and right where the sea met the sand was especially beautiful.

The texture of the wet sand was unique. As we walked, we left footprints that the sea would soon wash away.

The sea itself was particularly peaceful that day. A light wind blew, and gentle waves lapped along the shore. The air was incredibly clear and carried a salty freshness that I deeply inhaled. The nighttime rain seemed to have completely cleansed the air, I thought jokingly.

It was an unparalleled experience, marked by the tranquility of the sea and the beauty of its encounter with the sandy beach.

There was hardly a cloud in the sky, a silent witness to the calm that could not even drive a sheep cloud across the blue. In the distance, a ship was making its way towards the Hirtshals lighthouse. We could see it clearly from afar, as if the ship was following an invisible path along the horizon.

The beach was a feast for the senses, a perfect mix of beauty and chaos. Here and there a touch of wilderness, there a trace of civilization in the footprints left behind. The sand almost crunched under our feet, as if it whispered a biting remark with each step, while the wind, now beginning to stir, tried to contribute its own jokes by tousling our hair and scattering our thoughts.

Laszlo, the explorer, the guide, the shell whisperer. With contagious enthusiasm, he showed me how to stroll along the beach, keeping an eye out for the sea's treasures, the sea glass. It was a game of light and patience, where the sea revealed its hidden jewels, polished by time and tides. In the wet sand, where the water receded and left little bubbles as if the sand itself was breathing, we stood and puzzled over the mystery of these bubbles. Were they the work of industrious sand crabs, a trail of hidden springs, or perhaps the breath of the sea itself?

I, having not been on vacation for years, found myself in a moment of complete contentment. This beach, with all its quirks and surprises, offered me a slice of freedom and carefreeness that I had long missed. Laszlo, master of the moment, taught me to appreciate the little things: the sparkle of a piece of sea glass, the mystery of the sand bubbles, the smile that grew with every found treasure. We also found small shells that the waves regularly washed ashore.

As we moved away from the beach and back towards the characteristic holiday cottages, we encountered large sand dunes that invited climbing and sliding down. Laszlo and I embraced the challenge with enthusiasm, climbing up and then jumping down, accompanied by a chorus of cheers and laughter. My landings were anything but elegant, rather clumsy and unladylike, but the fun we had made every embarrassment forgettable. We faced the wind that had just picked up, cooling our faces, closed our eyes, and shouted out loud war cries.

I was aware that I would later have to shake the sand from the most intimate corners of my clothing, not least from my bra, and that I would have to pull the fine grains from my scalp. But in that moment, only the laughter, the feeling of freedom, and the carefree joy mattered. I made sure to keep the sand out of my mouth, even though it stuck to our skin thanks to the sunscreen previously applied, making us feel slightly breaded. Nonetheless, or perhaps because of that, it was incredibly funny.