My husband tells me that Horseshoe Bay Beach is considered the second most beautiful beach in the world, according to The Travel Channel or TLC or Bridget Marquardt or some other knowledgeable source. So, of course, our (and everyone else's) trip to Bermuda had to include a trip out to the southern shore, and indeed, Horseshoe Bay is beautiful. Rock formations create little nooks and crannies, parrotfish dart about in crystal clear pools, and brightly colored birds brave the crowds. The sand is warm and soft, the water is blue, and the surf is just big enough to body surf without thinking you might drown.
After leaving Matt to explore the beach a little (actually, I was desperately looking for a perch to take a bird's eye view of the horseshoe shape of the bay), I wandered back over to him. He was watching bright blue fish peek out from the rocks, circle quickly around in the open water, and then hide back under the rocks. Lured by some prehistoric trilobite type creatures in the rocks and a bright opening beyond them, I left him again and scampered up into one of the rocks.
I wanted to see what was beyond the opening, and to tell you the truth, I was a little frustrated. I had already attempted to climb two different rock formations and had been denied twice. Like I said already, all I wanted was to see the beach from a high point to see the horseshoe shape. This little climb wouldn't give me my view, but it would give me the satisfaction of having successfully climbed some rocks on this beach. I did have to steady myself with my hands at one point, but it was worth it: the cove beyond the opening was the only spot in the area without any people.
I snapped a picture and climbed back down to join Matt and his parrot fish. As soon as I waded out to join Matt, camera still in hand, a low, slow voice called to me:
“Young lady!" Surprised to be addressed (probably since I'm not used to being called young lady), I turned to see a man, whose salted beard immediately suggested there was wisdom to be shared.
"Young lady, you are risking your life when you climb up into those rocks,” he said to me. Slightly taken aback, I wanted him to know right away that I wasn't an irresponsible, thoughtless tourist, like all the others he must caution every day. "I know," I lied, "I realized that once I climbed up there." Honestly, I hadn't. It seemed fine to me.
“I’m Bermudian, you see, and I’ve seen and heard large chunks of sand and rock collapse right from those cliffs.”
And, as he walked away, I heard him say, “Lots of deaths here at Horseshoe Bay.”
Afterward, as I lay on the beach, I thought about the warning and day dreamed that I had disrupted something unlucky. His warning, his beard, and the straw hat I saw him in later conjured images of a tarantula in Peter's bed and Greg's surfing accident.
Sure enough, on our way back from the beach, I saw the following warnings, confirmed that Horseshoe Bay is indeed a dangerous place:
We lazily paid a stoned van driver $2 each to drive us back up the hill to the bus stop (he shared that no large animals live on Bermuda; interesting, eh? I looked it up on wikipedia and saw that, indeed, the only indigenous mammals on the island are bats). The only bad luck I had was that the bus never came and we had to take the ferry back instead. And that was it, my almost-adventure in paradise. Kind of a boring story, eh? That's Bermuda: 2nd most beautiful beach in the world, but only almost-interesting stories to tell (unless you are Matt, who can literally make a trip to the bathroom interesting). It's back to Hawaii for me...
tiki photo credit: http://www.tikiroom.com/img/2090x49f3e60a.jpg