The Beach and the Voyeur
Martine and I came to the end of the narrow, dusty road and found ourselves in a little fishing village – it consisted of a few houses strung out along the beach and huddling close under the cliff. There was a small beach-front path, and a tiny bar that looked like it was made entirely of bamboo, out on the sand, colorfully painted fishing boats pulled up onto the beach, cantilevered over on their sides.