Last Days in the Tropics.

I often marvel at the fact that we have had 6 months of summer. Since we arrived in Sri Lanka in mid-December the lowest daytime temperature we have experienced is about 27 degrees, but those days have been rare. More typically daytime temps have ranged between a hot 29 degrees and extremely uncomfortable 39 degrees. That all changes tomorrow when we fly to Australia in the depths of their winter. Average temperatures in Sydney? Eighteen degrees.

I’m not sad.

When we arrive back in Vancouver in 2 weeks time we’ll return to early summer/late spring and temperatures will hover around 20 degrees most days, rising to a max of maybe 28 at the height of summer some time in August. On those rare extra-hot days the city of Vancouver will empty out as people call in sick to work and clog the beaches and seawalls with bicycles, rollerblades and towels.

I probably mentioned a few weeks ago that I’m currently anti-beach. That hasn’t really changed. Too much sand, not enough shade, it’s too hot, and there’s only so much time one can spend bobbing in the surf.

That being said, this past weekend was our last one in the tropics, and I really wanted to go snorkling. After a week of hemming and hawing on where to go (there are a multitude of snorkling options around here), we decided we’d go away for one night to a town about an hour from here. The plan was to snorkle at a well-known beach called Blue Lagoon. We wanted to avoid having to hire a boat to get to the snorkle spot, and this beach is known for being able to snorkle off the beach.

My ever-buoyant spouse felt pretty good about the experience.

Me? Not so much.

Before leaving we were told there were several drawbacks to the place, but we rented a car and went anyway.

Big waves, large, nastily barbed paddle-shaped chunks of cactus in the water, lengths of wood with nails poking out of them, floating garbage, poor visibility and not great equipment all conspired to make it less than ideal. This paired with my getting seasick from snorkling in the waves and Mia scraping the crap out of her feet on shallow coral meant the day was a bit of a fail. Afterward we drove to our very sweet hotel a few minutes away and had a nice dinner. We slept in terrible beds and tried again the next day. It was much better.

We drove 40 minutes to the highly recommended Virgin Beach for a beautiful final beach day. We were there for about 5 hours. The kids played in the waves and on the black-sand beach. Noam snorkled, I got stung by jelly fish and got sunburned lips but stayed mostly sand-free. We ate decent food and then we drove home to Ubud for our final two nights in Bali.

Isn’t that marvelous? Isn’t it miraculous? We are here in Bali, Indonesia. It’s really real.

I remember our first overseas beach day back in October on Majorca. It seems like so long ago, but of course it’s just 8 months ago and so many adventures since then. And it’s not even over, yet.

Two weeks in Australia, and then home. Such riches.

What started as a dream and a casual conversation actually happened. This trip was an ephemeral fantasy for a very long time, and then? Incrementally, with tiny steps and little adjustments it got closer and closer and then – August 1, 2023, we departed. For real.

Theodore Herzl once famously said “if you will it, it is no dream.” History seems to agree.

What does this mean for our future?

I guess it means we should dream again, doesn’t it?