Its always better than the picture

It was a clear, thirty-something-degree day that I stepped onto a beach on the Dalmatian Coast. The short walk from my hostel left me slick with what felt like the hundredth layer of sweat I had acquired since arriving in Dubrovnik, two days previously. Surveying the inlet that was the local beach, I was again struck by the azure quality of the water; a sight that I was gradually coming to realize was a reality, and not just the mirage of the slightly crumpled magazine cut-out that was stuck to a wall of my room back in Australia.

I picked my way through the white stretch of sand that was littered with caramel skinned locals. These Croats put my freckled skin to shame and proudly exemplified the European stereotype by wearing negligible swimwear. Trying to act like a local, I brazenly walked to an open spot and rolled out my towel, pretending that the unfiltered nakedness surrounding me was commonplace, and not one of the most cosmopolitan things I had come across in Europe. The few foreigners on the beach tried so hard to blend with the natives, but despite our efforts, we were reduced to prudish, pasty imitations.

But not even the pornographic population on the sand could distract from the water. That crystalline blue water, that looked like glass and whose freshness was the perfect foil to heat that permeated the enclosed walls of the Old Town. I skimmed across the sand to the waters edge where I hovered briefly in anticipation for the cool. Forgetting my social awkwardness I slowly waded in, trying not to disturb the calm and deeply inhaling the salty smell that was so familiar. When I was waist deep I gingerly placed my palms against the film of the surface. The ripples my fingers created were the only movement on its otherwise mirror-like appearance.

After a month of solo adventures in the landlocked, urban, capitals of Europe, finally I had come home to the sea. However, this sleepy Mediterranean beach was a far cry from the packed stretches of sand at home where the turbulent waves could put you on your back in their exuberance. I took a bracing breath, taking in the unfamiliar sight of the far off islands and the laconic sounds of the beach behind me before immersing myself into silence.

As I emerged the horizon had transformed and I lost my footing. For a moment the blue line had not been a part of unfamiliar Croatia, but rather, a small piece of my island home, tens of thousands of kilometres away.