I kept going back for the sunset

I came to the coast to do nothing. I was very serious about it. No plans, no alarm, no list of places I had to see. Just the ocean, a book I never finished, and a friend with a camera who promised not to make me pose before breakfast.

The first night I put on the pink dress and walked out under the street lamps, past a wall of surfboards that looked like they were waiting for someone. The air was warm and a little salty. Somewhere a dog was barking at the waves. I ate tacos standing up and went to bed early, very proud of myself.

The next day I kept my promise. A chair on the grass, sunglasses, something cold with too much ice, and nowhere to be.

By noon the sun was so strong I borrowed a cap and wore it for the rest of the week. It never really went with anything. I didn't care.

But then the light changed

In the late afternoon everything went gold. I walked down to the water to look for a minute. I stayed until it was gone, and then a little longer, because the sky kept changing color like it hadn't decided yet.

The next evening I went back on purpose, in the pink dress again. I wasn't the only one. Half the beach was sitting in the sand facing the same direction, like we all had tickets to the same show. Nobody talked much. When the sun touched the water, a few people actually clapped. I think I did too.

I came for a rest. I ended up with an appointment.

Later I looked through the photos and counted. I was on the sand at sundown on five of the eight days. So much for no plans.

So the days rearranged themselves

Nobody decided it, but the week found a shape. Slow mornings in a room with a palm roof and a net over the bed, the fan clicking, the sound of someone sweeping sand off a terrace.

Afternoons were for the water. There was a little cove where the waves came in hard against the rocks. I lost every argument with them. One wave took my hair tie, and I like to think it's still out there somewhere.

After the swim, a snack from a cart on the sand, eaten with salty hands and zero elegance. Still the best thing I ate all week.

At night there were string lights everywhere and a round mirror on a wooden wall. I caught myself in it with the camera. Somebody has to take the photos sometimes.

The quiet one

Near the end I found the opposite of the sunset crowd: a beach so wide and so empty that I looked tiny on it. No audience, no tickets. Just wind, and the water doing the same thing it has done forever.

I liked both. The crowd that claps for the sun, and the beach where nobody is watching. I think I needed both.

What I took home

Sand in every bag, a cap that still smells like sunscreen, and one small habit. Now, wherever I am, I check what time the sun sets. Just in case.

I still don't know if I rested. But I know what I kept coming back to.

If you go: bring a hat, forget the alarm, and be on the sand about half an hour before sunset. Everyone else will be.