Bournemouth

Last weekend we went to Bournemouth. It turned out that as is expected, the met department made some useless assessments and what was to be a grey and wet day turned out to be a bright and sunny one. Perhaps even too sunny with the sun shining mercilessly into A's eyes as he drove for over a hundred miles to get us to the coast.

It was worth the one and a half hours of negotiating with winding traffic. The beach was beautiful and I was surprised to see such a vast sandy shoreline. We stood and admired the Atlantic for a while and then hurried into the Oceanarium, which boasted an underwater feast for the eyes. Not exactly what I expected it to be, it was a small-ish assortment of sea creatures, almost like a very big aquarium. Perhaps we had set in our minds some very high benchmarks, ie, Underwater World in Pattaya, Thailand.

After what felt like a very short trip in the Oceanarium, we came back to the real thing, the ocean. Bournemouth apparently is one of the most popular tourist destinations in the UK, with a vast sandy coastline and almost continental weather in summer. But this winter Saturday in January, it looked almost deserted. There were almost no eateries on the seafront and the pier closed at 4 pm with little else to do. The sea still looked beautiful and we sat and admired the passion and determination of a handful of amateur surfers who waited patiently well into the freezing waters for the elusive wave to hit the shore. I'm sure their body suits protected them but what about those open faces?! Surely that was the best recipe for some frozen eyes and noses!

Since everything 'touristy' was closed, we decided to walk on the seafront. It was a very pleasant and relaxing walk and each of us, armed with our respective packets of chips, quietly walked by the sea. What is it about seas and mountains and rivers and large expanses of sandy deserts that makes us switch to the thinking mode? I thought about everything, work, home, family, the scarf I am knitting, the muffins I intend to bake, the new year and all its possibilities. And all seemed manageable, with the sea where it is supposed to be, the sand in its right place, the wind blowing at the right pace and A's hand gently resting on my shoulder, not holding, not pushing, just there - assuring. Yes, everything felt manageable.

A recent survey claims that Bournemouth is the happiest town in the UK. The official Bournemouth tourism website sites several reasons for that, including seven miles of golden beaches and award-winning gardens. I am not surprised. That city has a happiness bug in the air. I got infected last weekend, and I am not complaining!