A Perfumed Week in Ngapali Beach

Ngapali Beach is a paradise of puppies and palm trees, where the air smells of sardines but the water is so clear that you don’t even care.

Tall, slender palm stretch their heavy coconut heads towards the ocean, wanting to trade places with the wooden fishing boats bobbing in the cove.

Every day at 4pm men begin to emerge from the palms and congregate in the shade. Then, in a single file line, they walk down to the water and wade in with longyis overhead. Their bodies are lean but strong and they climb effortlessly into the boats. They will fish through the night; their distant lights bobbling on the horizon of the bay. When they return around 11am, their women are waiting for them, basket on hip, ready to sort the catch.

Meanwhile, the puppies and beach dogs are grazing happily on the thousands of little fish spread out on plastic tarps to dry in the sun. After a healthy snack they have a nap, then chase each other on the beach until they’re hungry again.

Each afternoon we feast on fresh coconuts and watermelon from our little “fruit family” who comes each morning to sell whole fruits to the tourists. They won our daily business with just one smile. After we’ve finished drinking the coconut water, Fruit Mom will chop open the coconuts for us and pry the flesh from the shell. She’s also the fastest mango peeler I’ve ever seen. Today, Fruit Daughter made Michael and I each a bracelet of pink saltwater pearls.

Thanks to our pal, ShoSho the days float by on swirls of perfumed smoke. Sun, ocean, coconut, read, repeat. The bay is still and crystal clear; its waters cool enough to ignite your blood flow and on the sun warmed surface, you can float as long as you like. Lazy afternoon hours are mitigated by powerful pots of happy hour coffee and traditional Myanmar massages on the beach. All the local restaurants serve a version the same menu so by the second night we had perfected our dinner order: two whole grilled snapper, avocado salad, green papaya salad. As we biked back and forth between town and the fishermen and our brand new resort, we remained conscious of the many dualities that come with being a tourist in a poor fishing village.

monk babies begging for breakfast...

...our view for breakfast

locals erected a cobra altar beside the resort to protect themselves

abandoned house down the beach

best friends

Softest sand to ever tickle these toes.

Bike rides into town.                    

Blazing orange sunsets on a cloudless horizon.

Snorkeling and island hopping.

Scattering Grandmommy and Granddaddy’s ashes into the seemingly endless Bay of Biscay.                
Flowers adorn my hair, placed by tiny hands and christened with giggles.

Adventure around the jetty into the neighboring cove where I left my buddy, Jay to float in a shallow pool bathed in gold.

Tears for our early departure.

our snorkeling guides

while we dive, they fish

reef fish are fair game here

 ashes to ocean

If I'm ever stranded on an island I hope it has a tiki bar like this...

Love ya Jay, enjoy your private cove