On holiday
I spent this past week on holiday in a quaint town on the coast. Though it was some ways from mare nostrum, the town nevertheless had a certain Mediterranean liveliness to it.
I suppose such a distinction is more cultural than geographical anyway. Indeed, I’ve felt airs of Mediterraneaity, and seen affectations of the same, in deserts and on mountaintops. The shore has almost nothing to do with it.
The warm spring sun was just beginning to transform itself into a hot summer one; and amidst these comfortable transition days, I found myself stripping down and wading into the salty deep. On one occasion – this past Wednesday, I believe – I swam out a bit father than I’d intended to. Fish darted freely around me as did other orders of sea life. And as they nipped at me, I felt, oddly enough, like a part of the food chain rather than the capital of it. I did not enjoy this sense of things in the least, unused as I am to being preyed upon.
In disgust, I kicked at the horrid creatures; but I soon realized just how out of his element man is in the water. Making my way through through the offending fauna, I swam vigorously and eventually reacquainted my feet with the ground. I spent the rest of the afternoon brooding on the beach, sipping cocktails and glaring at the ocean.
In a cooler state of mind, writing this now, I suppose I must admit the folly of my action and take some responsibility for it. Swimming in the ocean is, after all, a bit like taking ones constitutional on the Serengeti. When casually recreating in wilderness spaces, one shouldn’t be surprised when nature reasserts itself over the natural order.
It’s only in the city that man dominates, myself most of all.
