A Tenby, where I am lucky enough to live up to the end of January, there is a choice of three beaches: North Beach, South Beach and the beach of the castle. South Beach, exposed to the winds, is spectacular, constantly changing color and more exposed to westerly winds, does not fail to attract attention. The beach of the castle is smaller and surrounded by huge stone walls. North Beach has a small port, where boats are anchored nonchalantly between tides. This is where my little refuge is located. I can not choose between the three beaches, each of them having its own charms, but the local population has strong views on the subject. Thus a newly met acquaintance tells me, in confidence, it is better to live on the north beach, which is much more beautiful and overlooks a working port. This confession leaves me a little puzzled because I never thought that the small beach where boats are anchored without conviction was an active port.
The next day I decide to identify the action and I immerse myself in observing the comings and goings in the port. I need a little time to get there, but I finally see it : a little blue boat, with white and red. Two men approached slowly in an inflatable boat and now they are moving away from the shore about three hundred meters before anchoring again. They stayed there until nightfall, before going back.
This man was right : I had not seen anything.