Here at the beach my life revolves around the sea. We swim every morning, in the afternoon I walk along the water’s edge (one swim a day is enough for my dry aging skin), and in the evening we go back to the beach before sunset for dinner at one of the restaurants there. I’m drawn to the sea like a magnet. Today there were high waves that made it too difficult for swimming, but I still had to play in the surf.  I share my love affair with other westerners who return year after year and now more Indian tourists are joining in.

Even though they don’t generally swim, they love to splash around in the water fully clothed.  

A few days ago, a large water turtle was washed up at the edge of the sea. I knew it was dead because its head was fully extended from its shell.  But the turtle could only have died a short while ago because its scaly head and fins were still pristine. Later that evening I was relieved to see it gone.  I didn’t like to imagine this noble creature being picked at by birds or dogs.  

Last week, I was reminded about how dangerous the sea can be.  A Russian woman out swimming by herself ran into a boat. No one knows if it was a fishing boat, pleasure boat, large or small.  Her face was badly cut but there was also fear of brain damage and she was taken to a Goan hospital.  The strange thing was even though she’d been coming here for three years, no one knew her. The Russian living in a hut next door accompanied her to the hospital but didn’t even know her name.  

Marion and Juergen have arrived from Germany. They’ve  been in the country for two weeks, and have a nightmarish story of sickness. They had just arrived in Mysore when Juergen had what seemed to be a heart attack. They went to the hospital and he was kept for several days while all kinds of tests were done.  Fortunately there was no evidence of a heart attack, but no conclusive explanation.  And of course quite a large bill.  All too familiar to Gerard’s mysterious heart episode last summer.  

Peter, our friend who lives in Auroville, has arrived to stay for a week. He came with a long time friend who had never been to India before but in a few months was covering a lot of the country, from Kashmir in the north, to Kerrala in the south. They’re staying at the far end of the beach from us. A beautiful spot, but too rocky for swimming.  Looking back down the coast to where we are staying, I was impressed at the long and relatively empty beach. 

The opportunity to talk with women one-on-one offsets the hearing difficulties of loud India.  Assuntina, a friend of Marina’s, is here for ten days and we walk the beach together in the afternoon. I tell her I’m too dependent on Gerard since my hearing loss.  A social worker, she suggests I begin taking measures now in case he dies before me.  I give serious thought to her advice.  But when I see her again she tells me she had worried she’d gone too far in talking about Gerard dying and upset me.  I welcomed her encouragement for me to contemplate Gerard’s death, or my own for that matter. At the cafe, I approach Iris an elderly lady from Germany, who I’d notice wears hearing aids. When I question her on how she deals with traveling here alone, she assures me, “Of course you could manage too!  I saw you talking with a woman,” and she motions over to Assuntina.  “Yes,” I say, “ but I was doing all the talking; it was a one-way conversation.”  Even at the beach, it’s a noisy world but I’m glad I’m here.