Beach going

Years ago, and it seems like forever, Didier and I went to visit his parents in Le Pouliguen, a small town on the west coast of France, south of Bretagne.  There are spectacular views, a heavily populated beach and a wild coast that is less frequented due to the difficulty finding a safe place to swim amidst a bed of jagged rocks. The summer spent there walking, eating, going to the beach was a wonderful way to be introduced to Didier's family. We toured the cote sauvage every morning looking for crabs, taking in the air and working off the three to five croissants we'd eaten each morning from a bakery that made croissants even in the best places in New York seem sub-par.  In the afternoons we would sunbathe, topless for me, in a teeny bikini for him, against a rock cliff, kissing, planning, dreaming until we could no longer take the heat and had to submerge, even if briefly.  Didier cooked every meal, sharing with his parents the skills he'd honed in kitchens around the world and the secrets he'd learned at his grandmother's knee.  We all loved it and were so spoiled.  After a multicourse dinner, we would stroll along the coast one last time before bed to digest and consider the day's events.

Walking to the sea Sunday morning, I was struck by how different our lives have become in just a few years.  Instead of strolling along, holding hands, gazing into each others' eyes, I carried the toys and towels and snacks and drinks and he the tent.  He pushed Virginie in our "beach stroller" deemed so as it only used for trips to the beach and is rusty and salty and sandy.  I had a magazine in my bag, along with a Blackberry for emergencies, whatever they might be around the corner from our house, sunscreens, hats, sunglasses, diapers, underwear, changes of clothes, mosquito repellent, and our house keys.  Lily marched alongside Didier, sometimes announcing the need for us to hang back so that she "could be the leader again" and we "could be the followers." 

Pitching our tent in the shade just in case the sun moved and rays touch the delicate skin of our babes, Didier worked with lightning speed, knowing we had two hours tops to get it all in before someone's, and who knew whose, meltdown began.  Lily and Didier immediately went out for a swim in the calm waters, he with goggles should he get a fleeting moment to glimpse a wreck or school of fish, she in her floating vest to give her some autonomy and freedom.  Virginie and I started off at the shoreline letting the small waves knock us down until she was ready for something more.  Virginie loves the water, so we waded out to the other two and all floated about as a family in the gorgeous blue Caribbean Sea.  Didier and I stole occasional glances, kisses, squeezed hands.

There were certainly no make out sessions and not too much time to laze about staring at the sea and then into each others' eyes, but it was somehow romantic just the same.  I love this about Barbados and think we will keep these memories fresh in all of our minds, maybe even little Virginie's too, when we leave.  Didier and I are a little worse for the wear, but still holding up alright.  We still think the other is kind of cute, kind of sexy.  We just skip stones to get to each other--kisses to Lily, kisses to Virginie, hugs to Lily, hugs to Virginie and then Mommy and Papa can have a kiss. 

A short walk back to the house and all shower outside to get the sand off.  A naked little mixed brown family rinsing and water-fighting before breakfast.  A call to Didier's parents always follows this Sunday ritual after a delicious breakfast.  There are certainly no fabulous croissants here in Barbados for the meal, but there are more smiles, more laughs, and more people to love in this scenario.  It's what we dreamed.

(c) copyright 2010. Citymominthejungle