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The Beach House The guesthouse was the embodiment of leisure. Not by its aesthetics - it lacked almost any beauty - but entering it lulled you into an easy joy. The walls, doors, nails, screws, and hinges gave the air of such lackadaisical whimsy they barely took their jobs seriously. They wiggled and swayed frivolous in knowing life was too short for anything but unabridged fun. The self-appointed caretaker of the property simply refused to leave after arriving 32 years earlier for a weekend visit - smitten with the salty ocean air of constant kisses of rust, softening of timber, and a soul deep calmness in the way the breeze moved coconut trees. Teased by an orchestra of wild parrots, a...View all