One of those low-pressure systems responsible for gale force winds, 5-metre waves and cancelled plans was forming somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Someone from the reservations team called up to inform that because of the unsettling weather conditions, the beach will be out of bounds for guests. Now, there’s a reason behind why beach resorts are called beach resorts. Yes, it’s a five-letter word that rhymes with peach. And if you don’t have access to this particular aspect of the resort – then the entire concept stands compromised. Guess that’s why the lady sounded very concerned. ‘Sir, there are huge waves pounding the beach. Nobody is allowed.’
I assured her that I am located very far away from those dangerous waves pounding the beach. In fact, I am not even in the resort. I am precisely 147.7 km away, quite settled in my home. Playing hide&seek with my nephew. Shooting the breeze with my brother. Catching up with my sis-in-law. And sniffing the air appreciatively, along with the cats, as the better half concocts something delectable in a boiling cauldron. ‘I know you’re not in the resort, Sir.’ The friendly tone dipping just a wee bit. Obviously she had a lot on her plate. And the last thing she wanted to know was how my evening was going. ‘All we wanted to know is whether you want to cancel the reservation. We’re informing everyone. Many have cancelled.’
After a quick family huddle, the decision to not cancel the trip was taken. The idea was to head out of town. A family trip. Long drive. Listen to old playlists. Watch the nephew scamper around. Would have been better to see him do that on the beach. But the swimming pool was open. So, we’re good.
Next morning found us hitting E99. An hour and half later through a desert and over a mountain range, we were at our destination. The sun beamed at us. Gloria from reception greeted us warmly. It turned out that she was the one who had called me the previous evening. I couldn’t help ask her. ‘What about the storm?’ She replied. ‘It rained very heavily last night. But it has more or less passed. The beach is open. But you cannot go into the water, the waves are still quite rough.’ With a bright smile plastered across her face, she extended her hand. I shook it. And then realized that she was giving me the key to our cabin.
The vibe of the resort was something straight out of a 70’s beachside community. Generous dollops of susegad and a sprinkling of Marley. The cabins were laid out in neat rows, each one with a view of the ocean. The birds chirped their welcomes. A cool breeze made its presence felt. And the little nephew started running on the lawns with arms outstretched. That sight itself was the price of the admission ticket. Everything else was a bonus.
The thing about storms is that you can do precious little about them. Unless, of course, you are Mark Wahlberg. Then you can head out to the high seas, battle fearsome waves, and rescue Matt Damon from the decidedly fishy embrace of a mermaid. But you are not Marky Mark. So, you wait. Patiently. Nursing a cup of Earl Grey. Or maybe something a bit stronger. Because the good thing about storms is that, sooner, than later, they pass. And you can basically get back to what you were doing. Which is what the gentleman featured in the photos did. Surfing conditions get better after a storm. Guess silver linings are not exclusive only to clouds.
