Mid-morning, we went to the beach slathered in half the tube of sunscreen. The Airbnb supplied two chairs, beach towels and a tiny, mostly useless umbrella, which we duly lugged around the corner and down the eighth of a mile to Elbow Beach.

Steps to Elbow Beach

Elbow Beach

The astonishing clear, turquoise water went from cold to tepid to bathwater in five minutes. The waves were high enough that for the first time in 25 years, I could throw myself in front of one and ride it towards shore. As a kid, I loved the Washington State waters because it was all I knew. I grew up swimming in Puget Sound and didn’t know it was cold. I lived for the times we went to the ocean and I could throw myself in front of the waves. In the Sargasso Sea that surrounds Bermuda, I was ecstatic, squealing with the pure pleasure of being thrown about.

Andrew swims like a fish. He has the broad shoulders and long body of a swimmer. I loved watching him dive into the waves head first like a dolphin, then loll on his back, toes in the air, waiting for the next one.

Several times, I threw myself into Andrew and we stood in the swirls, holding each other. We were in Bermuda. We were in the Gulf Stream, holding each other.

Sargasso seaweed floats in the shallow waters and washes up onto the shore where it creates hedges in the sand. Portuguese man o’ wars come riding in and nestle themselves into it on the beach. We encountered one such creature putzing along on a wave, supremely confident that no one would challenge it, even the seaweed giving it a wide berth.As a kid, we inspected the jellyfish on Puget Sound, unimpressive and harmless little blobs. Occasionally my brother would soberly inform me that he thought one of them might be a Portuguese man o’ war.

We came back for lunch and a long loll on the bed. I baked two potatoes, grated some cheese and cut up some butter. Andrew cuts his potato halves into a grid and lets the butter and cheese melt into the nooks and crannies. I smash mine all over the plate, melt the butter on it, eat the pulp, then roll up the skin—my favorite part—like a cigar and let the remaining butter drip all over my fingers as I eat.

Late afternoon, we were back on the beach for another hour of diving and squealing in the waves. Andrew said that after watching my joy in the water, he decided he had racked up a trillion honey-do points by bringing me to Bermuda. I had to have that explained to me, after which I washed all the day’s dishes.

In the evening, we piled clothes and towels into the washing machine, which was in a little cupboard on the outside of the cottage. After an hour in the dryer, the laundry still felt heavy and damp. Andrew inspected the filter and pulled out a pile of dryer lint the size of his head. We stayed up late playing cards until things finally dried. Meanwhile, the air was damp and soft, little patio lights came on and a bright moon rose over the sea.

We played gin rummy. (I won three games—unusual for me) Moving on to Casino, we discovered the three of clubs was missing from the deck. I made a note on the card box and threw it with disgust into the kitchen drawer.

I’d been telling myself that this was a Beach Cottage on an island. I expected casualness and lots of sand. But that lint trap in the dryer was rusty, the knives were dull (I rather expected that, too), the chain on the ceiling fan broke off every time I reached for it, there was next to no water pressure in the shower (this, we later learned, is a feature of Bermuda—low water pressure) and the traffic noise was constant. All of this accumulated and spilled over for me when we stayed up too late and the three of fucking clubs was missing from the card deck.

On the other hand, there was a lovely teapot in the Airbnb, which I used every morning.

Our third day was much like our second. We swam in the morning and pottered around until lunch at the Paraquet Restaurant down the road: the two-lane road with sometimes sidewalks. We crisscrossed the road to keep on the sidewalks, skirting the maniac drivers until we got to the restaurant. We both had fish chowder with rum, an island specialty. It wasn’t particularly special at the Paraquet. Andrew had the other island specialty: wahoo fish sandwich on raisin bread. He was now on a mission to find out why the wahoo fish sandwich on raisin bread was supposedly such a treat because it fell short of that at the Paraquet. I think that 65 per cent of traveling is finding food one can eat and ways one can be comfortable.

We continued down the road to explore what we could in the heat and humidity: the Paget Nature Reserve and the Railroad walking trail. We ended up back at the market where I bought more sunscreen and a deck of cards. We dozed and read and went for another swim. In the evening Andrew grilled chicken and we played cards with a full deck and the moon again rose over the sea..