Beach‑upmanship
It has been calculated that every five seconds, someone somewhere is either talking about their holiday or just about to. Just recently Down Under, I witnessed what must have been the grand finals of the 2018 World Beach-dropping Championships. It was on Bondi beach – so long the cradle of beach cant.
The objective is to force your opponent into admitting that he or she hasn’t been lucky enough to have visited as many diverse and exotic beaches as you have, and is therefore a dreadful bore and a very sad individual who has lived no sort of life at all.
The contenders were “Mr White” and “Mr Gold.” The latter chose a textbook opening. “I see from your T-shirt that you have been to Belle Mare Plage Golf Club in Mauritius. Glorious, isn’t it? But I’ve always liked Trou-aux-biches, and I’ve a lot of happy memories of Madagascar’s Ile Sainte Marie. Or Nosy Boraha, as they call it in Malagasy.”
Mr White calmly parried this classic opening. “Yes. But a passé. Like Palolem in Goa and even Serena Beach in Kenya. And to a certain extent anywhere in the Maldives. And, if we are talking Indian Ocean beaches, I am very fond of dear old Pangani. Tanzania’s finest.”
Mr Gold smiled. “Passé? I wouldn’t be caught on Khao Lak. The Similan Islands are gorgeous.”
Mr White remained impassive. “Much the same with Datai Bay at Langkawi. If you want the real Vietnamese Riviera, it’s Nha Trang. And never forget the White Beach on Boracay in the Philippines.”
Mr Gold instantly dismissed all 74 of the Whitsunday islands and the Seychelles, before making a very cutting remark about Aitutauki on One Foot Island. He also muttered something about the congested Mexican pipeline, singling out Puerto Escondido and Puerto Angel.
Mr White switched to South America and fell into the Leblon trap. Mr Gold naturally jumped in: “I prefer Praia do Rosa close to Florianopolis. If we are talking truly outstanding Brazilian strands.”
Feeling threatened, Mr White returned with the rather pathetic, “Madeira’s sister island, Porto Santo, home of Christopher Columbus’s wife, has unsung quality medium-fine sand.”
He frowned at himself. Seeing the panic, Mr Gold visibly swelled, taking on a tone almost of correction. “Not what I’ve heard.”
Mr White had forfeited the advantage and his weak defence was infiltrated. The coup de grace was not far off. “Playa Flamingo in Costa Rica knocks everything into a straw hat. Mullet Bay on St Maarten. Little Katouche on Anguilla. Not forgetting Seven Mile on Grand Cayman, and Martinque’s Diamond and Luguillo on Puerto Rico.”
Mr Gold looked Mr White in the eye and said: “I’m as good as Cane Garden on Tortola. And even Pigeon Point and Man-o-war on Tobago.”
At that point Mr White waved the white flag. Mr Gold had won the battle of beaches. Mr White had been well and truly tanned.