There are so many Greek Islands.
Nowthink about the number of beaches. All those little inlets surrounded by crystal waters and baking sun. If you do not know the geography, take a break, check Google maps, and prepare for paradise. This is the land of Odysseus. The land of marvels.
It was via my phone that I learnt about this specific beach. Far off the tourist trail, and accessible only by a forty five minute boat ride. You had to pay triple the usual fare, and in cash.
But if the rumours were true, then here were the last of those ancient treasures. Circe and Polyphemous were long gone. Two of its sisters were gone too. But one remained.
Four others rode on the boat. The driver, two women in their twenties, and a wizened traveler with thread in his hair. You can choose to put in wax. We did not. The restraints are compulsory.
A cave was the only blemish on the horizon. The weather was a gorgeous reflection of the sea, the cliffs crumbling white towers.
She was over eight foot tall. Her hair was greasy scraggles, the patches of feathers sagging and oily. Her one remaing eye was milky grey. But I could not stop looking at her.
She spoke in Greek. But the rhythm made me push at my restraints. Each syllable made me think of Christmas mornings.
I should have told them beforehand the rope was not secure.
The water was so cool. I swam in a frantic doggy paddle. Of all the thousands of islands, this was the greatest.
