THE CREATURE FROM THE BRONZE LAGOON

For some reason I've never gotten into beaches. School trips to the seashore were always fun, mostly because going somewhere is always interesting, even exciting, and new things to see get the mental juices flowing. But that typical Northern European thrill to be somewhat undressed where there is lots of sand and breakers gently rolling in? Yeah, um, no. Germans, by the way, love Scheveningen. Never figured that out.
Dunes, starfish, slimy things. Seaweed. Sunburn.
Not for me.

It's nice and scenic, I suppose, but is there a cafe terrace nearby that isn't crowded with slumps wearing swimming togs? And surely it has an awning, comfortable rattan furniture, and no angry earthmommas and papas screaming about the pipe and ashtray?

A nice cup of coffee, and stirfried noodles with clams, mussels, and fish, scallion and ginger, and a bowl of fresh red chilipaste would be nice afterwards. Splash the seafood with sherry or rice wine in the pan before dumping them on top of the gilded noodles. Salted black beans (豆豉 'dau si') and garlic are not essential, but add a nice touch. Pizzaz.

Children love the beach. I was a child, once. Briefly.


I've already apologized for that.

清水灣

It wasn't my finest moment.


There was the beach on Camaguin Island, where I tried climbing a palm tree and scraped myself. There was a beach much further south of that, approx 200 miles, where we hurriedly got back into the boat more than a year later, for ... reasons. I've never been to Kuta Beach in Bali because seeing Australians soaked in Fosters and drenched in Coppertone wasn't high on my list of priorities. A beach in England where I first saw razor clams.
Which are edible. Which is good.

In the Bay Area I've been to the beach maybe half a dozen times, usually because of someone else. A few of those times involved setting fire to stuff that wasn't tobacco.
And wasn't underneath a cooking vessel either.


A co-worker years ago liked to windsurf. I thought he was nuts.
His beach togs were, I believe, a rubber wetsuit.
He looked like a space alien.


Yesterday on the bus a Chinese gentleman who lives a few blocks away stood near me, and I noticed that he was exceedingly tanned. Although he looked quite Australian, I decided not to mention Vegemite (維吉麥膏). He would not have understood the concept or connections, and that stuff is not something that Cantonese people normally associate with healthy living, suntans, beaches, or even food.

Chinese people, generally speaking, don't tan.
They can, but choose not to.


The main problem with beaches is that there usually aren't trash receptacles evenly spaced every hundred yards or so where one can dispose of pipe cleaners and other detritus.
If, on a foggy day, one decided to go somewhere quiet.



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