The sand was wriggling between my toes, nestling on the wet surface of my feet. I had freshened myself in the cool water known as the Baltic Sea. With the hot sun high up, staring down with a vicious glare, this salty liquid made for a great escape. With my backpack as support, I sat down and stared out to the ships and boats sailing past. My head felt dim as my mind drifted away.
The evening before, I decided I would travel to the next destination over the beach. I had to push through, when come morning my shoulders were once again blessed by Ra, as they shone redder than the sweetest strawberry. But being positive, I pointed out that the rain had cleared, thinking of the nights in Palanga were the long street was filled with water. Although it had poured, Palanga stays a memory kept well. Dancing people as music flowed in the air. Delicious food around with souvenir shops after every few. Time spent with artists or a scamming magician. Muscle cars pumping sound with their subwoofers next to the children’s play area. All on the same street, leading to the magical place where the ground is a yellow golden path of joy ending at a cool, seemingly never-ending kingdom of water. The beach. Observing this madly filled place, I couldn’t help but notice all the different kind of people that had come out here. A father letting his daughter fish, as she reels in one after another, screaming teenagers volleying the ball to the other side. An ignorant trio playing their gruesome music louder than most would prefer. Families building castles in the sand, while a dog was digging in excitement. Jogging joggers. My eyes went to the deck of bean bags where I spied a group of musicians enjoying a cold one while on the other side one got lost, sucked up by the sand, as a middle-aged man far in his buzz spilled his glass. The look of his belly suggested the comfort of relaxing on a bean bag was one he knows quite well. Thirst got the better of me. Quick to help, I was soon able to sit down in these odd seats as well. I began a conversation with my neighbours, as there was not much chance of staring into the distance with the chaos, not this close to the main entrance of Palanga’s beach. Interested to have to adjust their tongue, they spoke an English far from poorly. A group from Kaunas for the festival in Palanga. The reason for many.
As a small cloud moved in between me and the sun, I came back to reality. I realised I had fallen asleep, but with the sun barely moved, it couldn’t have been long. I slowly slid my backpack onto my sore, burned shoulders. I noticed my bodice had began to turn red as well. The layers of sunscreen had not been of much help it seemed. “Only a few kilometres!” I told myself, as if I had any clue what the real distance was. The sand felt burning hot on my bare feet, so I paused a minute to get into my slippers. I marched on and on as the strip of sand never ended, giving me only a small view of this stretch. When the burning sun, giving off degrees to high for my cool head, became too much for me, I sought shelter of shadow. Fighting off bloodthirsty mosquitoes, I asked three passing lads how far I might be from my aim, Klaipeda. Luck be with me, when it was only a few kilometres. However, my legs went no further as Jokubas did the work for me. Safe and sound within his car.
What I did to deserve it all, I did not know, as only an instant’s moment later I am told I can sleep and dine with his father’s family. A lovely family. An artistic family. The man of the house was an actor and his appearance did not shy away from that fact. As was the lady, working together with him in plays. Two children roamed the house, a small daughter crippled by a broken leg yet blessed with joy on her face. She hummed a tone every time I walked by, laughing loudly when I would repeat. This girl would tell everyone to stop laughing, when it was her voice echoing through the house. An older brother occupied the attic. Julius. He is around my age. When we all sat outside, before departing defeated by the bloodsuckers resisting the repellent, he sang us all a song. “Do you know Ed Sheeran? You look like him.” I was told. The mother, proudly, began to perform a circus act with the small, well-trained dog. Her English was not the best, however she tried and often made her point. When night fell, all of us retreated to our domes. In my warm bed, freshened and with a filled stomach, I was grateful. How blessed I had been, to go from a long, sweaty walk to the home of a loving family. All had been offered, where nothing had been asked. This world, how amazing it can be…