Sandy Beach, or The Crystal Dream of My Childhood. Story Three.

 

Sandy Beach,

or

The Crystal Dream of My Childhood.

Story Three.

Before we start a little note: The author frequently references "The Twelve Chairs" and "The Golden Calf", two iconic satirical novels written by Ilf and Petrov in the 1920s and 30s. The protagonist, Ostap Bender (known as the "Great Combinator"), is a charming conman and one of the most beloved characters in Russian literature. His "crystal dream" was to escape the Soviet Union and move to Rio de Janeiro, where he imagined everyone dressed in white pants and living a life of luxury. Many of the phrases used in the story—such as "the idiot's dream has come true" and "Be-au-ty, dearie!" (a catchphrase of the character Ellochka the Cannibal)—are famous cultural idioms in the Russian-speaking world.

And now we go...

Do you want to take a swim in the Pacific Ocean? Don't rush your answer, or God might take it upon Himself to fulfill your "idiot's dream," and God has plenty of options...

(Did you remember where that phrase comes from? Right away? If not, don't be mad at yourself: you don't necessarily have to spend your whole life loving and quoting Ilf and Petrov. It’s from The Golden Calf. No, I don’t remember the entire passage by heart, except for the catchphrase "the idiot’s dream has come true." But a 1956 edition still sits on the shelf, a gift from my father to my mother, though I haven’t opened it in a lo-o-ong time. Why? There's the internet! I’ll allow myself to include a little snippet, mostly for my own pleasure of quoting. In the town of Arbatov, Shura Balaganov and Ostap Bender are talking in a droshky: "— How much do you need for complete happiness? — Balaganov asked. — Just understand me correctly. Besides you, here... 

— Five hundred thousand, — Ostap replied. — And preferably all at once, not in installments. 

— What are you going to do with it? 

— I’ll buy white pants and go to Rio de Janeiro. 

— That’s crazy! — Balaganov exclaimed, trying to shout over the wheels. 

— Of course it’s crazy, — Bender countered. — It is the crystal dream of an idiot. But I want to realize it."

I hear you, I hear you—enough about dreams, it’s time to get to the story. It’s a good thing if readers are asking to get to the story; otherwise, I’d have to explain who Ilf and Petrov were or what a droshky is... Fewer and fewer people are left who know the Great Combinator. I say this without reproach, only with regret. And how could Ilf and Petrov be connected to swimming in the Pacific Ocean?! Don’t rush: they are connected, they are, but with a different ocean.

So, you don’t want to swim in the Pacific? I don’t. I swam in it (about twenty years ago now), I know, I remember. The water is always cold. Always. You step in—it’s impossible to get used to it; you can only dip in and jump back out onto the shore. If you decide to "ride the waves," that wave will pack a layer of sand under your swimsuit—fine, unpleasant sand... No, you can wash it off, but then you’ll be vacuuming the whole house for a week after a trip to the beach! Going to the beach for a walk, to breathe the sea air, to admire the ocean, to watch the sunset—yes. Swimming—no. (Did I ruin your desire to swim in the Pacific?)

The Atlantic Ocean is a different matter... They say it’s warm. And the beaches there are endless, and the sand is white, like sugar, and people come from all over to vacation there. 

So I came up with my own "idiot’s dream": to swim in the Atlantic Ocean. One of our outings in Boca Raton was a trip to the beach. (After the trip to the museum and before the trip to watch the sunset. Life was so intense! Just for your information, in case you haven't read the previous two stories: we are visiting a friend in Florida, in Boca Raton, which is near Miami, on the Atlantic coast).

How pleasant and carefree it is to vacation when you aren't the one driving, when you don't have to think about the road, parking, etc.—all the logistics are on my friend’s shoulders. 

She brought us to the beach at South Beach Park.

Here it is, the Atlantic Ocean!!

And the white-sand beach is endless... and blue waves are rolling in... and some people are already swimming...

And there! That dream of a Miami beach vacation, the kind they draw in all the travel advertisements! I see it with my own eyes.

(If only I were young like her... Oh, Lord, I’m not asking, honestly. I love my life, my youth, and my old age). 

You shouldn't sunbathe at my age (and I don't recommend it to you at any age!).

But what about a swim? The water turned out to be warm, but not warm enough for a swim. (Again, let’s laugh at ourselves and add the disclaimer: at my age. Plus, right before a cruise, it wasn't worth the risk. 

So what happened, did I refuse it myself? After I talked it up so much! My "dream," she says...)

The girlfriends settled in to sit on the beach, but I, of course, while we were still driving up, had spotted a gazebo from which I wanted to take photos of the ocean and where I absolutely had to go up. Well, it was just necessary, and if you read the previous story, you aren't asking why anymore.

And so I went for a wander...

I reached that very gazebo.

Beautiful, solid, expensive.

The views are, of course, foolproof: the long beach, the young people playing some new ball game, and vacationers sitting under umbrellas.

I stood there waiting for a boat to float into the frame, took several shots, here is the best one.

And you can’t even see the boat in the photo! If only the boat had been closer, or the ship itself had been bigger, or the camera had been better... 

In short, any excuse will do (except for a lack of photography skills).

On the way back, I decided not to go across the sand but along the paths of the park that runs along the beach and the ocean.

The park is absolutely unlike the Californian coastal ones. (Which is understandable and was known before I arrived. But it's one thing to read about it, and another to see it with your own eyes).

My daughter bought a wonderful tree, it stands in a pot in her living room, I liked it so much!—and here these trees, with beautiful curved trunks and large, uneven dark-green leaves that look as if they are covered in wax, are just growing.

They just grow on the street—and somehow no one admires them. They’re used to it. But they look so textured in the rays of the setting sun!

And "mother-in-law’s tongue"?

My son’s dream; I gave him a sprout, I hope it didn't die—at my house, for some reason, the "mother-in-law’s tongue" withered away. (For those who love scientific accuracy, it’s Sansevieria.) But here in Florida, you wouldn't even want to grow it in pots: it isn't exotic; look, it grows along the paths like a weed!

(Oh, how I wanted, out of old habit, to break off or pinch off a piece, to bring a little sprout back as a souvenir! But I can’t! You can’t transport plants from state to state, which I generally agree with. But the temptation was great...)

And the sky overhead is so blue, light clouds are racing by, you can't get enough of it! Though looking up isn't always best. Here I was photographing the path, the clouds, the trees along the way... "Be-au-ty, dearie!"—as Ellochka used to say, though about something else. And then I notice a spiderweb above my head. That web stretches across the path, from one side to the other—it's a good thing it's high up. And on the web, naturally, are spiders. And those spiders are the size of my thumb. And I am not exaggerating one bit. There are several of them, and I am walking under them. Curiosity won out over fear; I stood there for a bit, choosing a camera angle so the spider would be more visible in the photo. Here it is! A beauty!

(Just compare it, hanging over my head, with the leaves nearby—the spider is on the same level as them.)

I will never walk in Florida without paved paths (well, if I'm lucky enough to come back) and I won't go into the thickets, and don't try to reassure me that these spiders are harmless to humans. (When you are caught up in dreams—look around, or someone might bite you on the way to the dream.) 

I return to the beach the same way we came.

And again, right here, that same feeling.

This is Florida! There are the palms!

There is the Atlantic Ocean!

(Where I didn't manage to swim. For now, didn't manage for now. Read on, there will be more about the ocean in about two stories; I can't write everything at once). Even without the swimming, did the dream come true? That same long-ago, childhood, bookish dream, remember:

"—Rio de Janeiro is the crystal dream of my childhood, — the Great Combinator replied sternly, — do not touch it with your paws. — You know, Shura, — he continued, — the Atlantic Ocean rolls its waves along the shores of that city. Ocean liners from Sheboygan go there... Mulattoes, the bay, coffee exports, coffee dumping, palms..."

Almost everything came true: the Atlantic Ocean rolls its waves along the shores of Boca Raton, palms are in abundance, though coffee costs the same as everywhere else and there's no coffee dumping—but several thousand people here walk around in white pants every day. And I allow myself to as well while on vacation! 

Is that really all? 

Did the "idiot’s dream" actually come true? 

No, I won't give up that easily. After all, my life’s itinerary isn't finished yet. After all, this isn't Rio de Janeiro, is it? In my life, I still need to sail to Rio, the crystal dream of my childhood...