16. Chapter 16
Chapter sixteen
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, torn.
Last night after dinner, I was invited to join the group on a full-day boat trip around Symi. They do it every year together as a special ‘start of the season’ and are friends with the captain, who they claim is the best on the island. It’s the same captain listed in the blue binder sitting on my desk, and a trip I was planning on looking into anyway. The idea of doing it with people I now know made the idea even more attractive, so I said yes.
However, now that I’m getting dressed for the day I find myself once again questioning my swimsuit options.
My blue swimsuit that I wore in Rhodes was still damp when I packed it away and I forgot to unpack it from the plastic bag last night. Now, not only is it still wet but it also smells a bit mildewy. So I shove it in the bag with my other clothes destined for the laundromat.
However, my remaining option seems a bit much for a boat trip with a group of individuals who are old enough to be my grandparents. This one is an emerald green two-piece with a long-line halter top and high-waisted bottom. From the front, it’s fine. However, the back is where things get interesting. I turn in the mirror and stare at my reflection. The bottoms are a cheeky cut leaving most of my, very white, bum on full display.
Compared to some of the barely-there string thong bikinis I’ve seen on the beaches so far in Greece, this is nothing. However, it seems like a lot of skin to show when the people I’m spending my day with are all above the age of seventy.
My eyes drift over to my blue one-piece again but I quickly decide no. I do not want to put that wet, smelly swimsuit anywhere near my body until it has been properly washed.
With a sigh, I tug on a pair of beach shorts and an over-sized button-down shirt. My hair could use a wash but I didn’t see the point when I was planning on spending my day on the sea so I braid it back away from my face, securing the ends with a tiny, clear elastic. Picking up my waterproof mascara, I unscrew the brush, but hesitate. I’ll be on a boat in and out of the water all day. With a group of individuals old enough to be my grandparents. I put the mascara down, leaving my lashes bare as I search for my rubber flip-flops.
Checking the time, I see it’s just before nine. The laundromat should be open soon and I have an hour until I meet the group at the pier. Scooping up my laundry, which is pretty much everything in my suitcase, I quickly throw sunscreen and towel into my day bag and head for the door.
Dropping off my laundry is a quick and easy affair. I pass the bag over to the woman behind the counter who weighs it before naming her price. It’s a little more than I had anticipated but I’m desperate for clean clothes and would pay just about anything at this point. I hand over the cash and she promises to have everything ready for me by this evening.
The laundromat is close to a bakery so I head in that direction next. It’s much smaller than the one in Rhodes but the smell of fresh baked goods wafting out the doorway is as enticing as ever. Stepping inside, I see a small counter filled with the classics. Spinach and feta pies, trays of pistachio-covered baklava, bags of small cookies, and a variety of different breads. I order a spinach and feta pie and a large bottle of water before sitting at one of the small tables outside. While early in the day, I can already feel the heat and there’s not a cloud in the sky. It’s going to be the perfect day to spend on a boat at sea.
I people-watch as I snack on my breakfast. A couple of tourists stop in but it seems to me like most of the bakery’s business is coming from the locals. I watch as men, women, and even a couple of children enter, only to leave a few minutes later with brown paper bags in hand. I wave at a little girl in a purple dress as she looks in my direction. One chubby hand firmly in her mother’s grip, she waves animatedly at me with the other as she’s led away.
A couple of older men grab a table beside me, small paper cups of coffee put to the side as they begin to set up some sort of board game. I watch in interest as they take turns rolling a pair of dice and sliding round pieces across the game board. For the most part, they are silent until one groans dramatically, shaking his head and muttering in Greek as the other grins. I may not speak the language, but I still understand. The disappointed reaction of losing seems to be pretty universal.
As the men set up their next game, my attention is quickly drawn to a man walking down the street. While everyone else this morning has been unhurried in going about their day, this man walks with a purpose. The two men playing their game notice him too, their faces lighting up as he approaches. The younger man pauses at their table, clapping one on the shoulder before turning to greet the other. That’s when I realize it’s him again. The one from Rhodes and then the ferry.
I duck my head down, focusing on my breakfast and hoping he doesn’t see or recognize me. I stay that way until I hear his leather sandals slap on the concrete as he bounds up the stairs and through the doors of the bakery. The man behind the counter greets him excitedly and I hear the stranger’s low voice speaking rapidly in Greek as he places his order. A minute later, he’s out the door again, a large bag in hand. Disappearing down the street as quickly as he came.
Thanks to my constant fear of getting lost, I find myself standing at the designated meeting spot a good fifteen minutes before everyone else, but I don’t mind. Instead, I watch as a ferry pulls up. It’s one of the first ones of the day and since the passengers spilling out onto the boardwalk don’t have suitcases or backpacks, I assume they are just here for a day trip.
I watch several people stop, just a few steps off the boat, to whip out their phones and cameras and start snapping photos. Further along is a young family. The mother holding a toddler on her hip. She puts him down and he instantly takes off, his pudgy little legs moving as quickly as they can. His parents let him go for a little bit, but the dad quickly swoops in to redirect him as he gets a little too close to the edge of the water.
Calls of ‘kalimera’ echo from the alleyways that tourists veer down. A couple of servers from various tavernas stand outside straightening table clothes, setting out silverware, and smiling warmly at every passersby. Hoping to entice the newcomers to sit down for a cup of coffee or maybe even a late breakfast.
My people-watching is disrupted when I hear my name called out from behind me. Turning, I see Ed, Mary, Margaret, Tom, and Arthur making their way to me.
“Kalimera dear! How are you this morning?” I smile at Margaret’s warm greeting and join the group.
“Great, thank you! And you all?”
Everyone chimes in that they are well with additional comments about the blue skies, warm sunshine, and, from the looks of it, calm seas. A perfect day, I’m told, for my first experience with Captain Spyros.
“There, Calla, that’s the boat.” Arthur points to a white boat decorated with wood details and blue trim. There is one tall mast, though no sail to be seen. Instead, it is covered with tiny white and blue triangular flags. The boat has one deck, part of which is open in the sun while the rest is covered, offering shade to those who want it. Half a dozen orange life rings are tied onto the rails of the deck and the finishing touch is the large Greek flag, currently blowing gently in the light breeze, jauntily displayed off the back of the boat.
“The Elena,” Arthur tells me, as I spot the name, written in the Greek alphabet, in an elegant blue script up near the bow.
“It’s a traditional Greek boat. The family used it for fishing before Spyros started to do these day trips. It’s named after his grandmother.”
I love it immediately. It’s much smaller than the boat I was on in Rhodes, probably only about 20 people could be aboard at once. But it has character and it has a story.
The others soon join us and, as a group, we head towards the Elena, everyone excitedly telling me what to expect for the day.
“The most gorgeous swim stops, Calla, you just wait and see!” Nora gushes.
“And if you’re lucky, we’ll spot a seal,” Peter jumps in. “Not too common to see but they are around!”
“Don’t forget the dolphins!” Mary chimes in.
“I haven’t seen any dolphins while out with Spyros before,” Jim demurs.
“Well,” Ed laughs, “clearly you need to go out with Spyros more.”
“There’s a big barbeque lunch too,” Arthur tells me. “Spyros’s nephew usually comes on as an extra pair of hands and does the cooking. Great cook that boy. Plenty to go around, lots of salads. Wine, beer, ouzo. You’ll see.”
They continue regaling me with their memories and tales of the boat cruise as we approach the Elena.
“Oh, there he is,” Ed nods further up the pier towards two older men who are in mid-discussion. “Hello, Captain!”
A burly man with short, salt-and-pepper hair turns and flashes our group a big smile. He gestures for us to go on board, indicating he’ll be there in just a minute.
One by one, we cross the long wooden plank separating the boat from the dock.
The interior of the boat has long bench-type seating around the sides, the wooden seats are covered with white cushions. There is a small table in the middle and beyond that, stairs that go down into the hull of the boat. I peek down quickly and see what looks like a kitchen below.
“Now,” Margaret says, “are you a sun gal or a shade gal? We’ve got a real mix on board although most of us end up going back and forth. The front gets full sun which is lovely in the morning. I usually like to start out there and then move back to the shade when needed.”
“Sounds great,” I tell her, and follow her up to the front.
The long benches along the side continue all the way to the tip of the bow, but there are also four long sunbed-type cushions lined up on a raised platform facing the bow of the boat. The perfect place to stretch out and enjoy the view.
“Grab one of these,” Margaret tells me, “Don’t worry, go ahead. We’re an old bunch. Getting down this low isn’t for all of us. The others tend to prefer the benches along the side.”
I laugh and drop down onto the cushion, stretching out my legs in front of me, eager to start the day’s adventure.
Margaret and I are soon joined by Peter, who grabs a cushion beside us as well as Nora and Mary, both of whom settle on the benches along the side.
Towards the back of the boat, I hear a sudden roar of excitement coming from the rest of the men.
“That must be Spyros then?” Peter asks, casually leaning back and crossing his hands behind his head, which he tilts up to the sun.
“I expect so,” Nora says, as she leans back. “Can’t quite see from here. But we’ll let them say hi. Spyros will be up here in a moment to see the rest of us, I’m sure.”
Understanding that I’m ok to stay where I am, at least for now, I dig into my bag for sunscreen. I had meant to put some on before I left the apartment but forgot in my eagerness to drop off my laundry. While my skin has started to take on a bit of a tan, I’m still not taking any risks.
I listen to the others chatting as I squirt a big white blob of SPF 50 into my hands and start rubbing the thick cream into my legs. Suddenly, a new voice joins, or rather interrupts the conversation.
“Who are you?”