We made a beeline for the wicker chairs on the beach and plopped down on the soft, plump cushions. I lay back, kicked off my flip-flops and let the sun dance with the fine white sand that shimmered on my toes like glitter. A young tanned man wearing crisp white cotton shorts brought us blueberry mojitos and coconut shrimp from the tiki hut.
I’m on the beach, wearing boots. Boots on the beach? Yes, I know. It’s daft, but true. Those are boots and they look like boots, but it doesn’t look like the beach, does it? More like I’m standing in a river bed, but this is the beach. I swear. No sand-between-the-toes beaches here. Nope. This is the Pacific Rim, and when there’s sand, it’s coarse and grey. It’s like walking on an elephant — as those of you who have, would know.