The sun is out at Vecāķi Beach, and the temperature's up to five above zero. We walk along the flat, horse-shit splattered sand to the mouth of the River Daugava, which spills gently out into the Gulf of Riga six hundred and thirty four miles after rising from the Valdai Hills in the far north-west of Russia. Snow melts on the concrete pier. The remains of a ship rust slowly in the water.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Vecāķi Beach
The sun is out at Vecāķi Beach, and the temperature's up to five above zero. We walk along the flat, horse-shit splattered sand to the mouth of the River Daugava, which spills gently out into the Gulf of Riga six hundred and thirty four miles after rising from the Valdai Hills in the far north-west of Russia. Snow melts on the concrete pier. The remains of a ship rust slowly in the water.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Great piece. Any plans to compile your musings into a larger opus?
I wish. One day, maybe. There's potentially a great novel to be written about teaching English abroad. But not by me.
Five above zero! That’s almost T-shirt weather. Going off subject, your advice on the para run sounds very wise.
Truth be told, I did almost take my sunglasses along.
Post a Comment