The routine continued, not because of necessity but because it just worked. But at some point, like in the book ‘The Beach,’ we would have to venture in to the town to grab bigger supplies. Supplies which the tiny village stalls didn’t stock. This involved navigating bustling streets and bartering for essentials –Ok the streets weren’t exactly bustling by metropolitan standards, but equally they weren’t as remote as our beech-. To appease our newly entitled simple beach lifestyle, when we finished the shopping, we rewarded ourselves (for making the effort to come in to town) by sipping ice cold sugar cane juice under the shade of a palm (First World Problems)

We’d then return and pick up on the routine. This meant either embarking on another beach walk or maybe it was picking a random map point to go and visit. Each step, in whatever direction it was, was always a step a discovery in this chapter of our lives. Yet, just as the waves continued to crashed against ancient rocks, the day would always wind down to the familiar rhythm of playing drafts or reading by the fire before dinner was served.

When the sun finally set, we’d gather more firewood and carefully positioned our deck chairs pointing in the exact direction of where we saw the last meteor the night before. (I know that this makes no logical sense given that the earth is always moving while rotating, but it makes absolute sense when you’re on the beach)