Beach going and purging

Jennifer Ellen wanted me to give the blog the latest on our travels, specifically about our trip to M— beach. It’s a bit of a remote place, and Gerhard stopped several times while driving the white “family van” here. He’s not a bad driver considering the varying road conditions, lack of street signs and unfamiliar traffic patters. If you’ve ever been to developing parts of the world, you’ll know what I mean. It’s like that. And full of life.

So this beach — we got to this head up over a cliff and hiked down over stone steps and beaten pathway. Through the trail, we witnessed a surprising array of plant life: ferns, pines, cacti, flowering tropical fare, trees sprouting roots the middle of their trunks. Grass. Actual grass as well, which was an oddity, actually, for this region. When we emerged from through the lush green trail, we came upon a large stone embankment. This had been installed recently, with construction crews still finalizing parts of the largely granite fortification against the occasional and season wild tide.

People here consider beaches as we know and love them (you know, white sand, no rocks, etc.) as a sort of wasteland. Who wouldn’t want some greenery and little tidepools in their beach scene? Well, we indulged as some of the only luxuriants along the coastline. There were, of course, the construction crews, who’d poke their heads out and come talk to us ever now and then. But it was open. Wide open. Hardly anyone else there. And for miles to the north, nothing but open beach, with the forest set off from the coast a little ways, and eagles in the sky, swooping about. All very bucolic. To the south, a slopping cliff. The cliff featured palm trees and lush greenery. To the east of the cliff, a nice little lagoon. Actually, it was a bit smelly. And the cliff, off the northwest face, a bit of a dumping ground. No logic can explain to me why people treat their land so abusively. Perhaps some anthropoligists could do the work. It doesn’t come out for me. From other places in the developing world that I’ve visted, and then New York and our American large cities as well — why is there so much garbage. A Texas-sized island of floating plastic is in the Pacific. Hard to grasp, but looking there at how much beauty was at the top and off the sides of the cliff, with the sun setting over a white beach. Why the garbage. It’s not my home, and as with so much here that I value good and that I value bad, a suspended judgement and willingness to accept and dive in headstrong is required. The sunset, trash strewn over the cliff face, white sand, and not in the cloud in the sky. Couldn’t have been better.

We got back to the car and headed back to the Happy House.

The day before our trip to the M—- beach, Nicole, Ryan and I had our “purging day.” This came at the end of seven days of treatment for the three of us, and marked my halfway point with treatment and the embarking of the other two onto their next leg of training.

The purging involves the drinking of castor oil at 6:00am. You then drink cool water, and wait for the bowels to make their movements. It was all over, the cramping and nausia included, in about three hours. We were sapped for energy for the rest of the day, and took the next day lightly.

Treatments are a hell of a think and I’m now who-many-days into the second leg of the two-week treatment. It’s going well. More next time. We’re going to play cards now.

Much love until next time, Patrick

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