“I cannot leave you alone on the beach, Miss. I cannot.”
A stone’s throw from the coast of Asia Minor, I’m on the island of Symi trying to convince a woman with a boat to leave me on the island’s most beautiful beach.
Concerned over what could happen to me, she’ll only drop me off if there are other people on the beach as well. So far, everyone else is going to the tourist-developed beaches and, with just 15 minutes before the boat leaves, time is running out for me.
Most tourists to Symi are Italian, which I love, however, most italian visitors to Greece don’t venture far from a sunbed or a restaurant with grilled calamari — all the better to see and be seen.
The beach at Agios Georgios is wild, remote, and gorgeous. A vertical cliff dive into the Aegean and a pebble beach at the bottom.
I search my mind for a convincing argument.
The American in me wonders if it’s a question of compensation. If I offered her more money for the extra fuel that would be expended by dropping me off, would she accept it?
But I risk offending her with this offer. She’s already stated her concern for my welfare as the reason she can’t leave me. To backpedal now would compromise her integrity.
Is Agios Georgios really such a dangerous beauty? I’ve never seen a jellyfish in Greek waters, or a shark. (I always ask about sharks. Greeks swear they don’t exist in their boundaries.) I have plenty of water and food with me…
The speed boat ride to the beach would seem to be the most dangerous part of my excursion.
I feel my inner Simone De Beauvoir rise and percolate. Would we even be having this conversation if I were a man?
I tell Simone to simmer down. The argument is a weak and unconvincing, and I’m talking to a woman. It would just make her defensive, and rightly so.
I could tell her about how I survived two war zones. Maybe talk about the hand grenades and landmines in Bosnia and how I ran to a bunker (in platform heels, no less) every night as mortars and rockets pierced the sky above me during the month of Ramadan in the Middle East.
I could tell her about nights spent in a tent during a freezing winter, or how apocalyptically orange a sand storm appears as it builds momentum and rushes across a lifeless desert.
I could tell her what a safe place this beautiful beach, named after a swashbuckling saint, would be for me.
According to Greek mythology, the Three Graces were born on Symi. They ruled over social interactions, manners and culture.
I stand there on the dock, contemplating my next move, when the will to power suddenly leaves me. I thank the woman with the boat for her kind concern and find a seat for myself in one of the people-watching cafes in Symi’s breath-taking Italianate harbor (Hello! Beautiful!). I spend the rest of the morning sipping a frappe and watching the boats come in, wondering how I got so lucky.
I’ve reached my limit on laptop time, so this is my last post from Greece. I’m going to spend the next few weeks lolling about, far from the internets. I’ll add a couple more island posts when I’m back in DC in September.
Αντιο everyone.
Enjoy the rest of your summer!
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