Island relief

The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea. – Isak Dinesen

Even, it seems, for fatigue of the spirit and weariness of the soul.

When I got on that bus one Monday morning, I was fraying at the seams and in dire need of an escape. Any escape.

A couple of hours and a long trike ride down a dusty lane later, I found it.

One of the great charms of island life is the ability to go on these spontaneous adventures with only a backpack and no plan, nary even a reservation for the night, and discover places that the tourist hordes haven’t stampeded all over yet.

This is one of those magical places. Unblemished sand, limpid innumerable shades of blue in sea and sky, eye-watering sunsets. The locals are unobtrusive, and there is a quietly warm, welcoming air of the sort still found in towns like this. Even the dogs are an inquisitive, friendly bunch; one even ventured to approach for a questioning nibble on my sarong.

Best of all: there is almost no mobile-phone signal.

The marvelous restorative properties of an enforced digital detox cannot be discounted, because weaned off your phone, far removed from the all-consuming work inferno that you think is normal, and cut off from your many social spheres online, you have no choice but to inhabit the moment, be fully present in each conversation, live every second with all your senses.

And when you have your toes in the sand, the sun in your face and the everlasting waters of the sea around you, all your worldly worries and millennial neuroses shrink into nothing.

If you live round these parts, you probably know which beach I’m talking about.

If you don’t, you could ask nicely and I might tell you. But I’ll have to think about it first.