We went down a few stairs into the pebbles and stones of the beach. I left my friend's hand and continued down the sloping shore up to the water-line. The ocean roared in my ears, the wind was quite strong and my microphone, snaking out of my coat pocket, where my trusty tape-recorder was, caught mostly the wind. During short lolls, I could hear the ocean louder, could separate tiny drops of water in the multitude. Waves crushing on the pebbles have such a different sound than the ones I heard on the shores of the American side of the Atlantic.

Using my white cane, I am quite adapt at hiking on different terrains, even with the little sight I have. My friend and I ran along the beach, picked up interesting stones in different textures, shapes and sizes. We found shells and some other things that should not be on beaches. I could have stood there for hours, listening to that haunting sound I have yearned to hear for years, the authentic roar of the English coastal surf but we had many things to do. We walked back to the street, walking on the small pebbles sounded like trudging in snow.

Our next stop was an unexpected open-air sax performance. We sat on the bench to listen but left a few minutes later to browse in the book-shops. This country is audio-book heaven. The Brighteo open market beckoned us to nose around and buy some olives. That always reminds me of home in Israel.

The highlight for my friend was the many casinos on and by the pier. We walked in and out, playing the machines a bit, while I was recording the excited voices of hundreds of people, music playing, usually four or five tunes at the time in one place and many coins, falling mostly out of slots that were not ours.

Having spent all the five, ten and twenty P coins we brought along, we stopped for a lunch of delicious chips and wonderful mini-donuts for dessert. We sat on the pier, and then I noticed that the sea was right under my feet. "Did they build the pier partly over the sea?" I asked, amazed. All the piers I have walked on in my life were on solid ground. I lingered on that bench, long after the food was gone, listening to the waves hurrying to reach that pier with that special hidden intensity only ocean waves possess. They left a lingering smell of salt and teaming sea-life.

My friend could not resist the temptation and left to change some money and do another casino round. I was left to the undulating peace of the ocean, the gulls over head and the magic of water stroking wood under my trekking-shoes.

When she picked me up again, we walked back and forth along the wide pier, listening to music coming out of casinos restaurants and speakers mounted high above me, along the wooden boardwalk.

It was getting colder, the sun was going down but we did not want to leave yet. It was four in the afternoon, a perfect setting for a sun-bath in zero temperature. We sat on the beach, I just could not get enough of the sea, its sounds and smells, its presence in the air. It strangely felt like a long forgotten home to which I have returned. While sitting at home as a child, reading all the English classics, I longed to go there, to experience the magic of the place for myself. Well, here I was, sitting on the pebbles, my back resting on a rock, the sun setting sort of sideways into the sea and I felt bliss, I felt I belonged to that place. Maybe, in a past life I had.

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Imbar Golt is a public speaker and writer based in Israel. Her articles have appeared in Hebrew magazines devoted issues related to people with special needs.