The beach is calling.

My cousin sent me that message: The beach is calling. Actually, she’s sent it to me more than once.

Isn’t it interesting how different things speak to us? Some like the beach and water. Some people are drawn to woods or mountains. Of course, some want the city life with its hustle and bustle.

Many of us probably want a combination – some nice places to get outside, but a comfortable place to call home, with whatever amenities we desire nearby.

 

The beach is calling

The beach called me this week, and I answered. I spent a few days in the Algarve in the south of Portugal. It’s famous for its beaches. Sandstone cliffs and rock formations line the coast, creating beautiful grottos and strips of sand, many connected by tunnels or openings in the rocky outcroppings.

(It’s best to plan it around low tide, or you might be wading up to your waist. That’s what I was told anyway. I was only up to my knees when I opted to go back through the caves instead of up the stairs in the cliff.)

The sand is soft and varying shades of “white,” interspersed with shells. The water is clear and ranges from turquoise to slate. And it’s cold. Even during the heart of summer, the Atlantic Ocean doesn’t warm up – not like a small Wisconsin lake.

 

Answering the call

 

I love the beach. I always have. Unfortunately, I spent too much time in the sun as a kid and teen. We didn’t have sunscreen, and anyway, I wanted a tan, so I’d burn and peel until I’d finally reached a nice bronze tan.

All those years of sun damage caught up with me about 15 years ago, when the “freckles” on my face began to really pop in the summer. Each year, one patch would be darker than the others. One year, I had an “M” on my forehead. I joked it was for Mystique. Another year, it was my upper lip. Looked like I had a mustache. This year, it’s more on my cheeks, which isn’t the worst.

I’ve worn sunscreen religiously since my 30s. My daily moisturizer always is at least SPF 15. And if I know I’ll be in the sun, I’ll slather on an actual sunscreen, between a 30 and 50.

A few years ago, I also discovered hats – big-brimmed, beautiful sun hats. Sure, I’d worn ball caps for years, mainly when I was out in the garden or going to be in the sun, just to keep it out of my eyes.

A few years ago, I visited Colorado in September, and it was so hot and sunny, I had to cover my head. I bought a Wallaroo hat, and I never looked back. I literally wore that hat out. It was my go-to for everything except the heart of winter. From spring through late fall, I wore and loved that hat.

I have a few more Wallaroo hats now, including one I brought to Portugal. They are rated for sun protection, and they come in lots of colors and styles. (I even have a purple hat!)

So, my hat and sunscreen help me now, but I still try to avoid the sun when I can.

 

I love the beach

 

The trouble is, I love it. I love the sun and the beach. If I could, I’d go every day. I’d lay out in the sun and soak it up. There’s something about that feeling of being warmed by the sun’s rays. Maybe that’s how lizards feel when they sprawl out on a warm rock. That’s how I feel, anyway.

Too bad my skin can’t handle very much.

But the beach is calling, and sometimes I have to answer. Like in the Algarve.

My trip to the beach this week involved sunscreen, my hat, beach towel, coverup and a big patch of shade. I found a rock outcropping where I could shade my head (and soon enough all of me). After taking a dip in the cold water, I’d lay with my head and arms in the shade, drying the rest of me a little in the sun, before I’d crawl back up into the shade and (almost) shiver. (It was 23 degrees – about 74, but it feels warmer in the sun.)

Watching other sunbathers (many don’t ever go in the water), I was envious. They lay out their towels, turn their faces to the sun and fall asleep. I don’t envy them the burns or skin damage, though.

Still, I enjoyed the beach. I was fortunate to find a shady spot, so I sat on the sand, listened to the waves, watched the boats and birds go by, and was hypnotized by the ever-rolling water. I didn’t even want to read or take pictures – just to be immersed in the sun, sand and water scene.

Wherever I go, I think I want big water nearby – an ocean or sea. Someplace with a nice beach, because, you know, the beach is calling.

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Be a Better Writer Tip

Converting time, temp and distance

Since I’ve been living here, I’ve switched to 24-hour time, Celsius and kilometers. I’m fine with the time conversion thanks to jobs I’ve had in the past. I’m getting a handle on Celsius and kilometers. With a little more time, I’d probably be ”fluent” in those conversions without having to look them up.

It made me realize, though, that a global standard would be really nice. My first few weeks in Portugal, I was constantly asking Siri to convert things for me, until I finally just changed my weather app to Celsius and my map app to kilometers and started forcing myself to learn it.

I listened in as a woman from the UK tried to explain weights to an American. They use a “stone” for body mass, which is 14 pounds. So you might weigh 9 stone 8 pounds (134 pounds/60.78 kg). Isn’t it confusing enough just using pounds vs. kilograms? The Brits maybe have it worse, because they use the metric system for most measurements, but they use miles (not kilometers), stones and pounds for mass, grams for cooking and baking, and they have a completely different currency to boot.

For columns where I might have a European audience, I realized I should include conversions for time, temperature and measurements.

Consider your audience when you write. If you’re based solely in the US, you probably don’t need to convert. But if you have readers from around the globe, you’ll be doing them a favor by speaking to them in a language they understand.