My first glimpse of the Pacific Ocean

When I first glimpsed the Pacific Ocean it was glistening steely white under a strong afternoon sun. I was a dusty, dishevelled young backpacker who paused only briefly to appreciate my arrival, at a coastline that, until then signified the furthest I had ever strayed from home.

Northern Peru’s Punta Sal is part of the country’s longest dip into the Pacific. For locals, deep-sea fishing brings in a living, and traditional reed kayaks lean against roadside walls. I wasn’t concerned with the daily catch and found myself here with the sole intention of catching my breath, on a mammoth gallivant across the South American continent. Punta Sal was the perfect pit stop.

As my first day ended, the sharp silhouette of my sand-pitched tent was the only obstruction of an oversized, hurried sun plunging into the ocean. The only sound, a faint scuttling of miniature crabs retiring to their rocky homes. Night arrived suddenly, casting spritely shapes from the campfire across the shore. The electric lamp of a solitary, abandoned beach bar punctuated the darkness like an accidental smudge on a gloomy canvas.

The decision to swim naked was a sudden one. Easing myself into the still water, my sore muscles were immediately soothed. To my delight, as I swept my arms in a long, slow breaststroke the water glowed an ethereal green. The unexpected phosphorescence shone around me as if I was falling through a dream. There was nothing above me and blackness below. I was alone, save the tiniest of earth’s creatures.

I woke up sweating in pre-dawn warmth and unzipped my very simple doorway to the world. Daylight pushed through a silent, heavy haze. As my ears adjusted to this most subtle of environments, I could focus on the lapping water, the clacking of the now familiar crustaceans and the occasional rude interruption of an excitable pelican. My one glorious task was collecting firewood from the surrounding shores. I revelled in the notion that my dual existence in a city-swamped concrete shell now seemed alien and uninviting. Peru’s small slice of the world’s largest ocean had become my familiar.

Sometimes when I shut my eyes, I’m strolling steadily along those safe shallows, a lonesome vulture, circling overhead. I panic: Did I capture everything? One of the greatest pleasures of travel is living in the moment; becoming a sponge to your surroundings. As the years have passed I’ve seen many more oceans and slept on numerous sands, but Punta Sal will always be my first.