The first memory I have of the sea is its smell, before I could see it and touch it and dive into its waters and play with its waves.
The smell of that salty mixture reached my nose and then my brain when I was a little girl of only 5 years old traveling with my family in a very large dark blue car that my father had just bought. It had to be big for five girls and a dog named Pelusa to be comfortable in the back seat.
The Caracas - La Guaira highway that led directly to the coast, to the central coast, to that deep blue sea, crossed two tunnels, one of them very long, at that time, in the 1960's, it was the longest in the country.
It was a great thrill for me and my sisters who screamed as we entered the darkness illuminated by the ceiling lights and on both sides of the rock walls, waiting to see the little light at the end of the tunnel.
As soon as I came out of the tunnel, the smell of the sea reached me, and in front of me I could see its blue that was confused with the sky, a thin line separated them. The road went down until it reached the port of La Guaira. My ears were blocked by the difference in altitude and my mother gave us chewing gum to chew and that was a great remedy.
The closer we were to the sea, the more intense its smell was and while the car was driving along the road that went all along the coast I was sticking my face to the window, receiving the sea breeze and observing everything so as not to miss any detail.
There were always arguments between us sisters for that privileged place, which I almost always won. With the excuse that I was dizzy, my mother supported me, to the chagrin of the others, who had no choice but to go in the center of the seat. My older sister, of course, who was going to dispute that place, sat in the other window.
We arrived at a small beach where there were few people. It was early and the sun had not yet warmed the sand, which felt cold and wet under our hands and feet. We undressed and with our bathing suits that we had under our clothes we ran towards the sea.
"The water is salty," I shouted to my sisters, as I threw out what had entered my mouth.
My father from the shore laughed.
"And what did you expect daughters?, of course it's salty".
My father watched us from the shore and also our dear Pelusa who barked and ran across the sand as if telling us to get out of there, that we were in danger.
The afternoon of sea, wind and sun combined with my father's games and my mother's food was perfect. She didn't swim in the sea, she said she didn't like it but she enjoyed watching us jumping for joy on the foam of the waves.
It's funny how memories as children are bigger than when we see or feel it as adults, perhaps the overflowing imagination amplifies them. As children we perceive reality differently, we have a great capacity to be amazed by the wonders that surround us.
I have returned to this place after many years and neither here nor in any other beach I have visited I have felt that penetrating smell of the sea that I still keep in my memories.
Thank you for reading my entry in Creative Nonfiction in The Ink Well Prompt #31.
The photograph of the presentation is my own
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version)