The Santa Marta I’ve come to know doesn’t feel too especially historic, at least not after my initial week in Cartagena. What it feels like is local, unassuming, lived in, and for this reason I have grown to love it.
My head is always filled with a thousand plans for the future, but as I dug my feet into the sand and sketched a place I’ve been calling home for nearly three decades now, I felt my mind grow still.
As we walked the beach at Pillar Point, soaked in the last of that day’s light, and watched mammoth waves twist and tumble, all I could think was: These are the moments worth making space for.
And usually it’s right then – as my face is turned to the sun and my arms and legs are moving in great big circles through the Arabian Sea – that it hits me, every day: This is my life.
While I exult in the natural beauty of Pandant Beach, I exult furthermore in the gift Made has given me – the gift of solitude. The gift of space. The gift of an illusion – of being able to imagine I’m the first one here.
“Brightly coloured beach huts are an essential part of the British coast. They go together with ice creams, sandcastles and the unreliable British weather to form part of our experience of summer by the seaside.” — Seasidehistory.co.uk Catching the bus for Southwold, I am distinctly aware of being the youngest on board. By about four … Read More