Chapter 29
THERE WERE MORE THAN A Dozen breathtaking beaches on the island of La Maddalena, but only one that looked like it was within walking distance of the hotel.
The city beach, Spiaggia di Punta Tegge, was less than a mile from the center of town, so on Sunday, after another round of cappuccinos and cornetti, Paul and I stuffed two hotel towels and a book apiece into our smallest duffel bag and set off walking.
The walk was not a pleasant one. Once we got past the harbor, the sidewalk petered out, and on the way out of town, the cars picked up speed.
Paul recommended we walk single file, so as not to make ourselves an easy target, but even so, there were several points at which I jumped off the road and into a patch of scratchy grass to avoid being struck.
On more than one occasion, I suggested we turn back and maybe look for a taxi, but Paul kept insisting that we were “almost there” until eventually we were.
Spiaggia di Punta Tegge was located on a peninsula of solid rock that jutted out into the sea like a prehistoric skin tag.
A dirt path, wide enough for a car, led from the road to a small parking lot, which was crowded but nowhere near as bad as it could get—I would learn later—on a hot day in July.
On the other side of the parking lot was a small whitewashed building that we confirmed was a café, and past that was a dive center, still closed for the season.
At the farthest end of the peninsula was some sort of walled structure.
Once we’d gotten the lay of the land, we surveyed the beach.
It feels criminal to say this, but Spiaggia di Punta Tegge—the part with the actual sand—was only okay.
By American standards, you could have put it head-to-head with Folly Beach or Sullivan’s Island, and it still would have come out on top.
But compared to other beaches I’d discover on La Maddalena, it was nothing special.
A narrow shelf of sand, a couple of big granite boulders, and a view of Palau on the other side of the channel.
Of course, at that time, I was convinced we’d arrived in a heaven on earth.
Paul and I spread our skimpy hotel towels out on the sand and kicked off our sandals.
The temperature was only in the high sixties, too cold to sunbathe, but we’d worn bathing suits anyway.
Mine was a turquoise one-piece I’d owned since high school, and when I pulled my T-shirt over my head, Paul let out a low whistle.
I pretended to be embarrassed, although I was secretly quite pleased.
“I haven’t seen you in a bathing suit before,” he said appreciatively.
“Likewise,” I said as I eyed him in his too-short trunks.
Paul had a copy of All Quiet on the Western Front, and I had brought along Carrie, which I’d purchased at the airport, so we lay there reading on our towels for, I don’t know, maybe seven or eight minutes before Paul announced that his book was boring, then asked what I thought of mine.
“It’s good,” I said, hopeful that if I didn’t elaborate, I’d be allowed to return to it.
“Do you want to swim?”
“Too cold.”
Paul sighed, a little too loudly for my taste, then spent several minutes digging a shallow trench between our two towels with his flip-flop. I continued to read, or at least pretend to, but then he started complaining about the wind.
“Maybe you could go for a walk,” I suggested before returning to my book.
Paul sat up and stared out at the water, then over his shoulder at the walled fortress or whatever it was at the far end of the peninsula. “Want to go explore that thing?”
I didn’t lift my eyes from the book. “Not really.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, tracing a finger along my thigh. “It could be fun.”
I’d asked to go to the beach and Paul had granted the request, so I felt I should be allowed to enjoy it. “This is fun,” I said, gesturing at our beautiful surroundings, but I knew I’d already lost.
The fortress thing was actually a collection of cottages and outbuildings surrounded by a tall stone wall.
A narrow path traced the perimeter of the complex, and Paul beckoned me to follow him around the backside, where there were these huge granite boulders and a two-story concrete tower built right into the rocky coastline.
“It’s pretty isolated back here,” Paul said, suggestively.
I was annoyed by what had happened on the beach. “I am not having sex out here, if that’s where you’re going with this.”
If Paul picked up on my irritation, he didn’t let on. “Too exposed?” he asked, nodding at the sailboats in the far distance.
“Paul!”
“How about just a blow job?”
I rolled my eyes so far back in my head, they were in danger of getting stuck there, but in the end, I followed him behind a big boulder and obliged him. Not my finest moment, but there it is.