Beach.

In the daytime the fishing village was quiet and peaceful, the silence only broken by tanned children who ran riot in the cobbled streets, screaming with delight as they played amongst the sun-baked buildings. Most people were filled with the freedom of summertime.

I had been travelling around the coast and countryside of Spain for two months now. My decision to travel was an impulsive one, which I made soon before graduating from school. I knew I needed a break to find myself, find motivation and discover new things. I wanted to discover what I wanted from my life and I decided to do that alone.

I felt lucky that I had come across this village on my travels. I had spent an evening last week in a café on the east coast of Spain, which was hosting a night of traditional Spanish music. There I got talking to an ancient man for a long time about my travelling plans and my love for the Spanish culture. I must have passed the test, because he beckoned me closer, as if he had a secret. He told me quietly about a town in Mallorca called Deia. He told me it was a peaceful, traditional village where he had grown up, and it was most definitely worth a visit. He descibed it as a 'jewel of the mediterranean' and a place that is never forgotten. I wondered in depth what caused the village to be so remarkable, but the man explained no further. It sparked my interest, and before I knew quite what I was doing I was taking the early morning boat from the eastern Spanish coast to Mallorca.

I arrived on the island in the afternoon and took a rented car from Palma to the village. The initial view from around the headland was stunning. Deia was built on a towering hill under the mountains Serra de Tramuntan. An ancient church stood out at the top of the village, with an amazing view of the glistening, deep blue ocean. The buildings were ancient and yellowed with age, some engulfed by creeping ivy. The shutters were closed when I arrived, as the inhabitants were taking their daily siesta to escape the blistering heat of the sun overhead. I learned that the village had been inhabited since prehistoric times, and that many of the buildings were many hundreds of years old.

I found a little, authentic hostel, left my single bag of clothes in the bedroom and spent the first day exploring the village. I fell in love with the atmosphere, the views of the ocean, the smells, the colours. The earth near the mountains was scorched brown with heat, and I spent some time walking among the olive and orange groves that thrived there, despite the unforgiving landscape.

I decided to make my way towards the ocean in search of an evening meal. There I found a tiny restaurant built on the edge of a high cliff face and enjoyed a delicious meal of paella with seafood caught in the very waters below the restaurant. I adored this little village after spending only a few hours exploring and I was very thankful for that odd man who had let me in on his secret. i thought a walk on the beach was the best way to end my perfect day.

Upon discovering a route down to the beach, I braved the hundred-or-so wooden steps that led down to the soft white sand. I treaded along the sand, enjoying the cool night time temperature of the sand on my feet after the searing heat of the day. It was a comforting feeling on my bare feet, the softness of the pure sand broken by the hardness of dried seaweed, which scratched but didn't bother me. It was night, almost midnight, I presumed, but I couldn't be sure. I had left my watch behind in the hostel but I was glad to not be reminded of the time. Being in a village like Deia made me lose all concept of time and the real world. The moon shone above the horizon out to sea. It was a perfectly round, glowing yellow ball in the sky, reflecting off the black ocean. It brightened the night sky and I could see every ripple of the peaceful sea.

I kept walking along the beach, and on one side of me rushes and grass grew. I put out my hand to feel them as I walked past, feeling the smoothness of their stalk and the sharp prick they offered at their ends. This feeling of peace was overwhelming. The beach was desolate and I couldn't see one person from any direction I looked, and I enjoyed that feeling of freedom and seclusion.

The waves made such a soft whooshing sound as they washed to shore, almost like a crowd of people whispering. I could see every crater and crevice in the moon and the sky was littered with stars, some so painfully bright and others dim and difficult to see. Every star added to the beautiful blanket that was the night sky. The sky was like a vast ceiling, spreading out in all directions. So close and yet so far; too far to be touched and yet I could feel it bearing down on me and keeping me safe in my newfound haven. It seemed inconceivable to me how they could possibly have got there. Perhaps they were painted on a canvas too large and exquisite to be understood by someone like me.

And the moon... so huge, so yellow, so vibrant, I felt like I could reach out and touch it. It seemed amazing to me that there was something so bright and luminous looking down on the world in the dark, brightening everything so I could see.

Everything on this beach was so pure to me, I felt like I was safe, like this village was home. This beach was unimaginably far away from anything obscene or dangerous. It was ridiculously removed from everyday life. I had a certain feeling that I had been severed from the world and this beach was like a transient universe, a beautiful, celestial place. So far removed from anywhere else I had been before, even on my travels.

The scene and my state of mind was so achingly beautiful and peaceful, I began to realise that I would never know why this was and why I was here, and if this was real. I simply knew that this is what I wanted from my life: peace of mind.