The rhythm of the sea

 

 

  • Top picture: La Mata beach, near Torrevieja, Alicante Province, Spain
  • Bottom picture: St. Martin’s cliffs, Guernsey, British Channel Islands
  • I count myself very lucky to have been brought up by the sea. The ebb and flow of the tides reflect the rhythm of my life; I wake to the sound of waves, sometimes crashing, sometimes lapping, on the shore. I walk along the beach as the sun rises, and again as it sets. During each day  I gaze from my home at the ever-changing colours of water and rocks, from shimmering silver or deep purple, or steel dark grey.
  • I spent my first fifty five years on a small island in the English Channel: Guernsey. The island is covered in narrow lanes, twisting and turning between hedgerows and grassy banks. The quaint  harbour town of St Peter Port reflects the ambience of the island: a melange of old and new, trendy bistros alongside pretty  tea shops.
  • I was working as a Tour Guide in Spain when I fell in love with a small modern town called La Mata, from where the Romans used to ship salt back to Italy to pay their workers. It was love at first sight and eleven years later I’m still in love. There is something very special about the narrow streets, where fruit sellers and fishmongers, bakers and butchers still ply their trade in individual shops.
  • I  go back to visit Guernsey regularly, and it’s comforting to see that traditions are still alive there. There are weekly meat draws in the pubs, chancre crabs are still sold from fishermen’s baskets, and the town water carnival is thriving, while in La Mata firecrackers explode, music fills the streets as people dance the night away, and religious parades thrive.
  • For the tranquility of Guernsey lanes and the celebrations of Spain, I have have been, and I continue to be, truly grateful

 

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