The sea water does wonders for my poor feet. All blistered and bloody and itchy with fungus they were after the camino in Spain. It's the salt I suppose. It dries the skin, washes the wounds.
In Spain, a Basque recommended to me that I bathe in the sea because it's very theraputic. And I did. And I did feel it very theraputic.
And in Portugal, my first day on the beach, a man was asking me what I was about. I said I had just finished the camino in Spain and am now resting here. And he looked at my poor feet and said, that the sea will help that. And it did. My feet recovered.
And since, because I am still walking every day—my feet are my only carriage, afterall—I like to wash my feet in the sea every chance I can. And everytime I walk towards the sea,—low tide or high tide—the sea comes to greet me.
She is a bashful, playful one, the sea. She likes when I stare at her. I do every day for at least a total of 2 hours, it must be, I'd say, at the least, throughout the day. She likes me, the sea. And as I go to her, she comes to me.