Tides are capricious.

Some places on this beach you find no nasty presents from high tide. There is white sand, pools of trapped sea water, an occasional shell. Other places you find a narrow strip of seaweed, like Christmas tinsel on a living room floor. In the worst places you find piles of seaweed drying in the sun, an obstacle to beachcombers and an offense to noses.

Early morning, hotels hire men with shovels and rakes to move seaweed. Sometimes they cart it away in wheelbarrows, dig holes and bury it, cover it up with sand, or,best yet, haul it off in a wagon pulled by a tractor. 

Each morning there is a new batch to be disposed of.

Job security is hard to get, but these guys have it, as long as they want it.

Even in paradise there are chores. For every happy tourist in a beach chair there are two or three locals working behind the scenes..

It doesn’t take more than a smell to know that shoveling seaweed is a job waiting for Mike Rowe.

 

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