You wake up on fine sand, half in and half out of the gently lapping waves. The sun is warm on your exposed skin, but the parts of you that are wet from the water are cold. There's a gentle breeze from somewhere that's full of the smell of salt and the ocean, and from somewhere nearby you hear the sound of a sea shanty. It's a simple song, one you feel like you might have heard before although you can't quite place it. The singers sound cheerful if a bit tired, as though after a long day's fruitful labor. If you opened your eyes, you could see you lie on a long stretch of beach perhaps a few hundred yards from a a cluster of buildings with plain white siding and worn red roofs and a wooden dock with a small sailboat pulling in to tie up there.

You don't know where you are, but you have the feeling already that this is a good place to have washed up. A kind place.

What do you do?