Indian Ocean

Ramadan, dawn, ocean still, wind light, air warm and moist. From the nineteenth floor the hotel lay quiet save for fumigating machine, hammers of workmen, and an ocean quietly lapping, lapping a beach picked clean by workers. The fountains of the pools splashed, all water, water everywhere, water as if the hills behind were not as dry as death, the hard bare rocks barren even of grass. At poolside, any time of day, drinks of sugared liquid quell any sign of thirst.