curmudgeons in the sand

I remembered something today that I'd kinda forgotten: namely, that there's almost nothing on this planet that brings out my Inner Curmudgeon more than spending time on a beach*.

The memory was awakened for me in, of all places, southern Cambodia. Yuliya and I are staying in a coastal town called Sihanoukville, which is desperately trying to tart itself up and become a Hot Backpacker Destination. Quite frankly, it isn't a place I’d recommend to anyone (unless I had at least one good reason to dislike the recommendee). But it’s right on the sea's edge, and from the town there are boat trips to some of the islands lying offshore.

We’re on one of these delightful excursions today, about to have lunch on a lump of sand and tangled vegetation known as Koh Ru (“Bamboo Island”). Yuliya has disappeared into the undergrowth, possibly never to been seen or heard of again, and I’m ‘relaxing’ on the beach.

For some people this may sound like a rather pleasant way to spend a day, so let me explain the presence of rabbit ears around the word "relaxing".

Basically, I find beaches just about the least relaxing places on Earth. I mean, if I thought really hard I could probably list some other environments that would put up a fair fight in the ‘least relaxing’ stakes … like, say, jungle trails strewn with deadly poisonous millipedes (miles from the nearest hospital, which is bound to be crappy anyway), and fishing boats so completely infested with wood lice that you can’t sit down or put your belongings on the deck for a moment without them snooping around your backpack, looking for a way in. Fortunately, though, our little day trip to the islands includes both of those environments as well … so whatever happens, we’ve hit the discomfort jackpot.

Amazing what you can get here for US$15.

So anyway, now that I've put the "I hate beaches" thing out there, let's consider for a moment: what IS this thing called "the beach"?

As far as I can see, a beach can be defined thusly: it’s the place where land runs out and water begins. Or, if you want to be a tiny bit more accurate, the observable point at which the land becomes lower than the water, thereby disappearing from view.

For me, this begs one obvious, two-word question. As questions go it’s rather direct and not overly imaginative, but nonetheless I think it demands an answer. In fact, if I were World President, I'd be tempted to display said question on every single beach in 4-metre high flashing neon letters, surrounded by dancing girls who periodically spell out the two words by lifting their skirts provocatively to reveal large yellow letters printed on their knickers (except for one girl who would have just plain red knickers, corresponding to the space between the words). Surrounding this scene would be hippos dressed in marching band costumes, each with a huge bucket in front of them, the size of a small wading pool. From the buckets they would regularly draw water, then spit it dramatically into the air, further drawing readers' attention as the neon sizzles at the impact of their spray. Then a curtain would fall away, revealing a 100-strong chorus line of arm-linked, leg-kicking dancers, all singing the same refrain.

(There might be some skywriting in there too ... but I’m not sure. Would that be overkill, do you think?)

Let’s get to the point. The question I want to ask about this land-ending-and-water-beginning place, worshipped by so many for so long, is as follows:

SO WHAT?!?!?

And btw, you can feel free to add an expletive in the middle if you want.

I mean, really, folks. Is it that exciting when one element stops and another takes over? ‘Cause if it is, you ought to be experiencing complete, undiluted bliss every waking moment of your life. I mean, we live continuously in what you might call ‘boundary conditions’: our planet is solid rock most of the way through (with some hot gooey stuff in the middle, if scientists are to be believed), but the part of it we happen to inhabit is the precise point where the rock runs out and the atmosphere begins … i.e., every single breath we take during our existence is taken at the boundary point between two elements.

So if elemental boundaries are so fabulous, why are we not jumping up and down, waving flags and giant soft toys, and inventing catchy little sing-along chants to celebrate the end of rock and the beginning of the air?

“Because they're not”, would be my answer.

For some reason, though, when I've complained about the crappiness of beaches in the past, I've found that this opinion has raised its share of objections. So if you'll bear with me, I want to examine a few of these objections now.

First, it could be pointed out that being near a body of water is very pleasant. I can’t say that I completely disagree with this, but guess what else bodies of water are, apart from pleasant? Yep … they’re extremely common. Just go for a walk beside a river or a stream, a canal or a lake. They're honestly not that difficult to locate.

Or here’s another thought: if you really want to be near the water, and nothing but sea or ocean will do, then fine: buy a boat.

Some may also say that I'm de-personalising the experience of being at the beach to suit my own narrative purposes (if indeed I actually have any). I'll admit that the descriptions I've given so far are a tad clinical, and do little to capture the 'beachfront atmosphere' so keenly sought out, or at least dreamed of, by people of all nationalities. So ok, let's zoom in a little closer: what is it, in fact, that comprises this special atmosphere?

First of all, there are the unique sensations that await beachgoers, like the feeling of warm sand between your toes. I know that a lot of people claim to like this, but really: would you go outside tomorrow, strip down to your underwear and lie in the dirt beside your nearest main road? Or how’s this: you’re in a bar and you meet a woman who tells you that she has silicon breast implants, then goes on to reveal that one of her implants is defective. There’s a hole in it, and the silicon is slowly leaking out. A little shocked by this new and surprising information, you haven’t had time to formulate a suitably sympathetic response when the woman suddenly offers to squeeze the silicon onto your face and body if you pay her. My question: would you accept her proposition? Cause at the end of the day, that’s what sand is: it’s dirt made of silicon. And yet people pay thousands of dollars to go and lie in the stuff.

To me that's just insane, and I’ll never, ever get it.

But maybe there's something else I'm missing. Let me see ...

Is it the knowledge that the sand grinding between your toes now will be in your shoes, your socks, your underpants and, finally, your bed later? Maybe. Is it the smell of salt and rotting seaweed, or the bitter taste of these in your mouth when you come out of the water? Hmmm ... well, I s'pose that could be it. Weird, though.

Is it the collection of people you can find on beaches, who roughly divide into two categories: 1) those who really should never go anywhere dressed in bathers, and 2) those with far more athletic bodies than your own, who make you feel depressed and self-conscious, whereas just a few hours earlier you were basically ok about yourself? No, that can't possibly be the deciding factor.

Must be the overpriced crappy food being sold in the immediate environs, combined with the gradual roasting process that your skin undergoes on the beach, slowly altering your white/red blood cel balance to get you a little closer to having cancer.

Yeah, that sounds right.

Btw, before we go any further, a little disclaimer: I fully realise that I’m being a cranky old grandpa here. Feel free to regard this entry as just that: the rantings of a grandpa at the height of his cumudgeonry.

Still, I really think that the beach is vastly overrated. No, more than that: it isn’t just overrated. It’s highly unpleasant.

And see, here’s where I’m really gonna lose you, because now I need to tell you what I think when I see other people enjoying the beach. Most of you are gonna hate what I have to say … but please don’t take it too personally.

Some background first: as you know, I grew up in Australia, where the beach is more or less a given. The centre of the country is pretty close to being uninhabitable, so ninety-something per cent of the population live on the coast, and there beaches are just a fact of everyday life. And even when I lived there, I hated the beach. In the last few years, though, all the beaches I’ve visited have been mainly populated by people who don’t come from countries like this.

And so here’s the honest truth. Basically, when I’ve seen people walking, sitting, and especially lying on beaches recently, they’ve often seemed to me a little desperate. It’s as if these people come from sad, grey, depressed corners of the world, where the drabness of their daily reality weighs them down so heavily that they feel compelled above all else to spend their money trying to escape into the sunshine, pursuing some vaguely-construed myth about having their own piece of ‘tropical paradise’. They’ll continue chasing this dream regardless of cost, subjecting themselves to the most uncomfortable and humiliating circumstances just to feel the satisfaction of lying on any white (or yellow, orange or stony grey) shoreline with a barely perceptible tidal swell.

I try not to think in such condescending terms, but when I go to those ‘boundary areas’ where tourists recline on hard wooden chairs being served massively overpriced, diluted cocktails by obsequious waiters who eye their bikini-clad adolescent daughters avariciously, I just can’t help it. Beaches seem to me so self-evidently horrid that I can’t quite manage to put myself in the headspace of a person who thinks “Yay!” when s/he encounters one … especially in places like Cambodia, where the beachfront enviroment is pretty average, and the attendant conditions (e.g. drainage pipes leading directly from restaurant toilets to places where people are swimming) are rather scary.

And so now you’ve heard my piece, it’s your turn to reach out across the electronic oceans and slap me in the virtual face. What you’ve read here is my honest opinion, without a word of exaggeration – I really, really hate the beach! But I know that my view leans towards the extreme, and you know that I’m the kind of person who won’t mind if you come back at me hard and say “Listen, Anthony, you’re full of shit, and here’s why …”

So go on then: try to sell me on the beach. Bet you won’t succeed ;-)


*(except MS Windows of course.)