Save the beach dogs, the beach was ours. No groups of curious, smiling children huddling around, no constant parade of beach traders hawking their colourful wares and no chains of fisherman hauling in glinting nets full of squirming fish. The lack of colourful intrusion made the scene pastel and washed out yet serene and peaceful. The wind played xylophone in the palm above and the crashing Indian Ocean waves provided percussion in this momentary break from local colour.

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