As I mentioned, there was a glorious, expansive sand bar off the coast of Mataking Island that just beckoned for frolicking.
When the tide was low, it connected Mataking to its second, uninhabited isle.
When the tide was high, you could wade a bit out to the sandbar—if your feet could take the heat, that is. It’s so hot hot hot in Borneo, the water literally felt like one very steamy Jacuzzi
Naturally, as tends to happen when you stick a camera in SVV’s or my hands, a sandbar photo shoot meant one thing: Hang time!
That’s my sun hat—no one wants wrinkles at 27, you know—not a bird, mid-flight.
And then again…and again, every day after that.
Tell me you wouldn’t feel the need to jubilantly jump about in a place such as this.
It helps, too, that I have a partner who shares these childlike sentiments.
(And who also willingly offers up free tickets to the gun show.)
If I could claim one plot of sand in the world and call it my own, this would be it. Does anyone know how you go about doing such a thing?