Listen to the tiny harbor waves as they gently lap the sandy shore. Order another beer. Share small talk with the yachties and tourists that populate the cafes. Laugh at the eight sunburned middle-aged Canadians who nearly sink their teeny inflatable dinghy as they buzz back and forth to their yachts moored just a few hundred feet off shore. It s hot.
Lunch takes a while.
Not to prepare, but to finish. Don t. Food, beer, shade, water, beer, view. I imagine that many have slipped in to more than one blissful coma here. Cocktail hour, you know. Grab a plastic chair and anchor it in the sand at the water s edge so that the waves periodically kiss your feet.