It was winter time. The wind was sharp yet refreshingThe coastline was entirely barren. The grey rock beach lead up to a grey rock cliff face. There was no vegetation to be seen, no sign of life and no way up the vertical rock face. The expanse of unwelcoming grey stretched far in front and far behind, like an ocean of rock.The lagoon interrupted what was otherwise a thick line of white-gold sand. Behind the sand was an endless concrete jungle of apartments and hotels stretching as far as the eye could see.
On any summer day the sand would be entirely obscured by vacation goers in their multicoloured board shorts and bikinis, sunbathing and getting burnt. But this was the off season, and the beach was bathed in the first light of dawn. How beautiful it must have been a hundred years ago.The coastline had no beaches. The thick jungle met the ocean directly, sometimes with a small stony scree.
Mostly the overhanging branches of the trees hid the stones from sight.
From a boat it appeared to be an impenetrable wall of green, stretching as far as the eye could see in any direction and so wildly curved that the bays could hide any number of the pirates.The coastline was brilliant in the morning sun with it’s chalky white ribbon of cliffs, jagged and folded, shrinking into the distance. Below the cliffs were beaches of rocks made rough by the barnacles upon them. Each beach was divided by wooden groynes that stretched out to greet the coming waves, some like gap-toothed children, were missing planks.
In the distance a spit stretched out into the sea and upon the end was a lighthouse, lonely and abandoned. The foamy crests of the crashing waves were the only sound other than the cry of the gulls.