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We managed to persuade Laura to come to cala nova beach in the afternoon. We packed snorkels just in case.
As we got down to the beach we noticed that unashamed men flapping in the wind had been replaced by a group of 20 or so late 20 something's. The mere fact that they were observing the underwear rule suggests they were English. I found myself scanning the party looking for my neice Elle, it looked like her kind of scene, forgetting she is partying somewhere in Malaysia.
The pushchair prohibited our travel along the beach so we set up at surfy centre again. Amelia has taken to the sand in the same way she plays in water, with curiosity and gusto. This is a good thing because Laura doesn't like the beach, and I sense that one protestation from Amelia would give Laura good reason to never take her again.
Desperate to try out the snorkels, we wandered the shoreline with Amelia checking out the surf and state of sea weed. Rocky right seemed too treacherous, the water deffinately warm enough and relatively sea weed free, the sharp lava rock under good prevented sub aquatic exploration. We head off to the less rocky left of the cove where there seemed to be almost another little sandy cove. We had noticed one or two people in the sea expressing themselves through the exposition of flesh but quite used to it now we continued in our pursuit if the perfect snorkelling location.
Then disaster struck, my gaze moved from the shoreline to the beach and there in all their glory were at least 20 or so 50 something's basking in the sun like well fed seal cubs all lolling about in huddles. The mere fact they were not observing the underwear rule, the body hair rule and the sheer size if the women suggest they were German.
I ushered vikki back to surfy centre and once more our snorkels went back in the bag.
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