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It’s not often that you come across a sunrise-gold beach. That was our privilege as we gazed out at the slothful sea. Ebbing ever so gently, it looked at peace in its Neptune-blue gown. The beach was so soft, it felt like we were walking on a blanket of candy floss. The shimmering sand swept around in a scythe of beach, hemmed in by towering cliffs. Far out to sea, streams of pulsing light saturated the surface with a golden haze. It was confessional-quiet and this Babylon of beaches felt like paradise. The horizon seemed to be stitched with a line of silver.

A flock of noisy seagull were squawking over our heads and squabbling about something. They wheeled and arced, their raucous cries ringing off the cliffs. There was a strange glamour to their timeless call as they soared between the wands of God-goldened light. A single yacht bobbed and lolled in the incoming tide, like a toy in a bath. Its lights winked saucily as the wave-crests rose gently. The siren call of the sea was soothing, the wave music welcome. The rising sun laminated us with warmth and a carnival of smells drifted towards us from the hotel kitchen. We had coal-fired lobster for breakfast and it tasted as galactic as the hotel’s name: Heavens Hideaway.


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