Monday, June 25
When the thermometer in the coolest shadiest outside corner reads 32 degrees C at 9.30am, you know that the only sensible thing to do is go to the beach and spend as much time as possible in the water.
We took the (red fish) boat over to Adolfos and Carlo paddled over in his canoe. As I opened the beach umbrella inherited from my parents, a sprinkling of fine white sand fell over me. Florida sand, still trapped inside the umbrella from many years ago. What a difference, this small grey pebbly beach compared to the never ending white sands of St Petes beach.
Carlo arrived and we swam in the clear sea, playing with my new toy, a waterproof camera bag. I had imagined taking all sorts of exotic underwater photos of us, swimming mermaid like under the water. In reality it was quite difficult swimming underwater, trying to look normal, without cheeks bulging with air and bubbles pouring out of our nostrils.
After lunch we found a friend with a boat and jetted off to a nearby cove for a swim. We anchored near the shore and all dived into the clear sea, treading water whilst the kids launched themselves off the back of the boat. A large wave suddenly swept us up high and we floated over it and watched in astonishment as it crashed into the rocks on the shore. Another wave arrived and we realised that the sea had changed, it was getting really rough, and we had left all our belongings on the small beach.
We climbed back into the boat and drove back to the beach, but couldn't get anywhere near it. Huge waves were rolling in, sweeping over the small jetty. All the deckchairs had been pulled up and the waves were hitting the restaurant, a small crowd of people stood and watched the sea in amazement. We had to get back and find our bags if they hadn't been swept away already. There was no way that the boat could get any closer so we decided to swim for it.
I was a bit scared, I didn't like the idea of swimming in through the crashing waves and arriving on the beach, but Carlo reassured me that it would be OK. We borrowed some waterwings for Skye and jumped in. Rising and falling with the waves we swam closer to the beach, pulling poor Skye by the arm. We stumbled onto the shore and a few people smiled at us in relief and congratulated her for being so brave.
Carlo swore, and I turned to see that his canoe had flipped over and was filling with water. He dived back in throught the waves and managed to turn it back over, rescuing the oar that had floated away. I frantically packed up the bags, folded the umbrella and gathered our flip flops that had been scattered all over the beach. There was one boat going back to town and I wanted to get on it. The alternative was 420 steps up to the road and a mile walk back into town.
It took about half an hour to get everyone on the boat, in the lull between waves shouts of "go go go!" "Stop! Wait...Now! Quickly! Go, GO!", strong hands grabbing arms and pratically lifting people into the boat, rolling sea lifting the boat scarily up out of the water. But we made it back into town without mishap and happily climbed onto the pier where we watched in amusement as other boats came in and tried to disembark their passengers as the sea continued its little temper tantrum.
at 9:11 PM