The Dominican pt 2
THE BEACH- is something I have never experienced before, well I have, but not in the tropical, salt water sense. Even on my trip to Florida some years ago, we didn't spend any time swimming in the water. There is something about turquoise water, twenty foot palms and white crystal sand that shines in the sunlight that just screams BEACH. I have known that surrounding now and i am grateful, not just to have been there but also to have the understand of how important fresh water is and how our vast our quantity of salt water is. Canada has the largest amount of fresh water available in the entire world and we have no idea what that means in the scheme of the world. We have such a benevolent nature about it. We are shelter and ignorant of those who cannot turn on their taps and drink without getting sick, or to swim or wash in without the need to boil or to walk to a well. Canada gives it's water away, just like the united states who let Nestle (yes the chocolate and bottled water company) to simply put pipes into our lakes and suck our water to sell in a bottle- Something that is free to us!!!! Our ignorance is mind boggling to me!
I spent a ton of time in the sun and burned myself a red, then golden brown. It was stifling in the beginning (our first days there) because my body was not acclimatized to such great heat of being near the equator. It seemed that even in the shade of the palms on the beach, that sweat would drip down my neck and between my breasts. Ick! The feeling of being wet or at least damp was near constant. The need to run towards the salty waves would show itself every hour, half hour or so, and i would arise sloppily from my lounger and stumble from the suns glare and the heat to the surf.
The waves would rush up to greet me, pleading me to come away with them. First my ankles, then knees, then waistline agreed. The surf's breeze smelled of salt, sweat and sunscreen. Looking out on the water- it was all that could be seen on the entire horizon, which i had seen before, Lake Ontario, Georgian Bay, and Lake Erie feel that expansive in places, but the knowledge that the water went on for miles and miles, made looking out seem so much bigger to me; and I, so very small. The island was sequestered from civilization forever this way. Standing on the beach with these notions added to my feelings of limbo. There was such beauty and simplicity, the placings of the trees, the sand and the surf; the ways the buildings were built around the larger trees and rocks rather than bulldozing them away. The RIU garden staff would occasionally come up to me and other patrons with a wheelbarrow full of coconuts, freshly harvested, and would cut on for you to drink the milk from and eat the glistening white fruit inside.
BEING TOPLESS- on the beach was a whole other venture I had to get used to. I had to become comfortable with the breasts and nipples of all shapes and sizes of the other women on the beach; their proximity to men, teenagers and children without scene, before i could at all become comfortable enough to bare my own insecure flesh. I was so aware of the nakedness at first. They were so noticeable, the other breasts i mean, amongst those who decided to keep their tops on. I won't lie, it was distracting at first; even as a women, heterosexual at that. I would look and compare my own them, the shape, the size, the way the flesh fell, the individual characteristics of the nipples. Not all of the breasts were pleasant to look at, but they were surely out there. I felt so insecure of mine-top on. It took three days for me to work up the courage to swim topless; the waves shielding my shame. But I did emerge from the water, with the coaxing of my mom- already willing to walk the beach. How could I compete with those already out and about? How could I bare to be seen? My North American need to be chaste, appear pure, and to keep clothed, screamed obscenities as i walked from the water, hands clutching my chest from the world. " Be proud of them" my mom said, pushing my arms away . I closed my eyes and held my breath. I expected pointing, gawking, hushed words from strangers about my nakedness. But there was nothing.
I walked the beach normally after that, meeting only a few glances from those who too were unfamiliar with the flesh and the freedom, but mostly I was fine. Now, on the day before I leave, I swim topless with pride, and love the way the water beads down my skin and float on my back in the waves, allowing the sun full vision of myself. I closed my eyes and allowed the water to flow over my body without argument; without regret.
I spent a ton of time in the sun and burned myself a red, then golden brown. It was stifling in the beginning (our first days there) because my body was not acclimatized to such great heat of being near the equator. It seemed that even in the shade of the palms on the beach, that sweat would drip down my neck and between my breasts. Ick! The feeling of being wet or at least damp was near constant. The need to run towards the salty waves would show itself every hour, half hour or so, and i would arise sloppily from my lounger and stumble from the suns glare and the heat to the surf.
The waves would rush up to greet me, pleading me to come away with them. First my ankles, then knees, then waistline agreed. The surf's breeze smelled of salt, sweat and sunscreen. Looking out on the water- it was all that could be seen on the entire horizon, which i had seen before, Lake Ontario, Georgian Bay, and Lake Erie feel that expansive in places, but the knowledge that the water went on for miles and miles, made looking out seem so much bigger to me; and I, so very small. The island was sequestered from civilization forever this way. Standing on the beach with these notions added to my feelings of limbo. There was such beauty and simplicity, the placings of the trees, the sand and the surf; the ways the buildings were built around the larger trees and rocks rather than bulldozing them away. The RIU garden staff would occasionally come up to me and other patrons with a wheelbarrow full of coconuts, freshly harvested, and would cut on for you to drink the milk from and eat the glistening white fruit inside.
BEING TOPLESS- on the beach was a whole other venture I had to get used to. I had to become comfortable with the breasts and nipples of all shapes and sizes of the other women on the beach; their proximity to men, teenagers and children without scene, before i could at all become comfortable enough to bare my own insecure flesh. I was so aware of the nakedness at first. They were so noticeable, the other breasts i mean, amongst those who decided to keep their tops on. I won't lie, it was distracting at first; even as a women, heterosexual at that. I would look and compare my own them, the shape, the size, the way the flesh fell, the individual characteristics of the nipples. Not all of the breasts were pleasant to look at, but they were surely out there. I felt so insecure of mine-top on. It took three days for me to work up the courage to swim topless; the waves shielding my shame. But I did emerge from the water, with the coaxing of my mom- already willing to walk the beach. How could I compete with those already out and about? How could I bare to be seen? My North American need to be chaste, appear pure, and to keep clothed, screamed obscenities as i walked from the water, hands clutching my chest from the world. " Be proud of them" my mom said, pushing my arms away . I closed my eyes and held my breath. I expected pointing, gawking, hushed words from strangers about my nakedness. But there was nothing.
I walked the beach normally after that, meeting only a few glances from those who too were unfamiliar with the flesh and the freedom, but mostly I was fine. Now, on the day before I leave, I swim topless with pride, and love the way the water beads down my skin and float on my back in the waves, allowing the sun full vision of myself. I closed my eyes and allowed the water to flow over my body without argument; without regret.