Holiday Snaps: The scandals and sandals

The wonder of dunes

The sand dunes of Maspalomas in Gran Canaria one of the Canary Islands are a wonder of nature. Lifeless as they seem, the sands shift sculpted by the wind to living expressions of nature, undulating landscapes, curves, arcs and bends that would defeat the construct of any calculus expert.

To walk these sands, you need very good footwear, a pair of good fitting sandals. The ones I wear, I bought from a shop in Berlin over 12 years ago, lots of leather and Velcro grips with hard wearing soles that have been trusty and trusted to handle each climb and descent, round the nature reserve, to the beach or just on the random loiter.

Other footwear

Shoes don’t do it, they get filled with sand making your walk impossible as you take them off every few steps to empty them of sand.

Bare feet in the cool of the day could be good but there are parts with spiky seeds that you do not want to step on, there are times sandals gather so many of those seeds that they become platform shoes of sorts.

Some people walk the dunes in trainers and socks, dumb does not begin to describe the fact that practical trumps fashion sense in this case.

Crocs are a downer

Talking of fashion, the new kinds of footwear sported by some people are called Crocs, whilst they might have ergonomic wearing potential, they are so dastardly ugly, it appears that is their selling point – ugly is the new beauty.

The range of colours have a spectrum of sickly to hallucinatory, if I were shod with those in my coffin, I would sure resurrect for the purpose of taking them off and return to my eternal repose.

Heel and heels deep

When I thought I had seen it all, there came this lady, or was it a man, I could neither tell whether he or she were a female impersonator in drag or a transvestite, it did not matter but walking the dunes in stilettoes was a scandal beyond the topic of sandals, the way she struggled, I was caught between the extremes of empathy and sheer derision.

You almost want to have a spare pair of sandals for the stoned and deranged that wander those sands wrongfully shod and learning no lessons from the fact that they are walking with great difficulty.

Thought Picnic: The sands of light

A longer walk than most

On my walk to the beach which took probably twice the time it takes for people to cover the distance, I decided to do it in silence, in contemplation with deep reflection.

Thinking about how fortunate I have been in my life and experiences even when things have seemed so seriously out of control and beyond me, there has always been some hope, some inspiration, some angling for change and possibilities that in the depth of those situations is far from view.

The grains of sand that make up the living dunes of Maspalomas revealed a part to them that I had never before noticed. Innumerable as they are and brown as they seemed, in the high sunlight of the day grains glistened and reflected back the sunlight in thousands or more of mirrors.

Each had a light for me

All those evident from my moving through the dunes, as I looked in every direction there was a flicker of light and I could imagine there could be millions of reflectors reflecting heat and light at my body from all angles just because I was there.

The grains were self-existent and mutually supportive creating this amazing landscape constantly sculpted by winds and other weather conditions the dunes experience.

In general the grains would remain unmoved and untouched except when affected by external stimuli which includes the many feet that walk those sands creating tracks some well tread and some very new soon to disappear as if no one was ever there – a clean slate every few days that would make a novice of an expert bush tracker after a while.

Dunes of memory

And so, I wondered about how we live our lives sometimes not affecting or affected but there for circumstances and situations to give meaning to our existence as each grain of sand became a reflector to me even though without my noticing this before, the grains were reflecting regardless of what I thought about the composition, the refractive index and all other optical components of sand and silica.

Each significant bit becomes part of the whole and so does the memories of the many who have come and gone, who have touched my life in many ways innumerable to mention, they will not be forgotten but each reflection and thought is replayed over and over again forming the dunes of my own personal experiences and more.

The verge of pleasurable disgust

No care for the body

Overheard as I wended my way to the beach through the Maspalomas dunes, he said, “Is that a man or a woman?”, “Maybe a man,” came the response and then the conclusion, “He looks like a very fat woman.”

This is not to be disparaging, but in general men and women are not taking any care of themselves anymore, it is not a case of if you’ve got it, flaunt it; but one of whatever you have just let it droop.

It is more than an eyesore, the possible David of Michelangelo that walked the dunes is now cloaked in layers and layers of lipidinous (An adjective of lipid, if I could be excused this licence) excess, bloated and drooping almost to the ground.

Sharing the unwanted

The dunes are some sort of nudist reserve where ones reserve is taunted to the unacceptable that one is on the verge of being sick.

Halfway down, there was one man who appeared to take some care of himself and was in full view spanking the macaque; monkey would be have been overly generous, as one resisted the tendency to be indecent he beckoned as it were for one to offer a service to his lady.

Just as a wave of charitable concern was about to engulf me to allow for becoming a eunuch so that I could be castrated to help this man, I realised that even if I were Tarzan I would never be a swinger if I could help it – the revulsion of the thought allowed me to close my eyes 5 metres to the scene and close my ears to the giggling as I paced 5 metres after.

Give me oxygen

The thought crossed my mind of protuberances cosmetically enhanced by donations from Africa but what would the pleasured do with an amalgam of ebony and ivory all for the sake of the climax they once knew.

Suffer me no more the decadence of men but what people get up to on holiday leaves one completely astonished.

Back hand to the brow of a head tilted backwards, I sigh and beckon for a dose of pure oxygen.