It takes a couple of days to get used to the heat again. That sort of sweltering, suffocating heat that sticks to you. The kind of heat where everything is hot and the only thing that can quench your thirst is a creamy piña colada. The sun rises at 7 am, but we miss it, or at least I do. The black-out curtains let only a sliver of sunlight in at the corner of the wall. Surrounded by water on every side, all I want to do is dip my toe in the Mediterranean.
The days are exclusively lived in swimsuits and loose dresses; ice-cold lemon Fanta and blackberry smoothies. Sweat slides down the back of my legs and arms when I read by the pool. I plunge into cold water to shake off the heat. Rinse and repeat.
For whatever reason, we choose the day with the roughest waters to go kayaking. Our little orange boat bobs aggressively against the ocean’s current; small frothy waves lap at the edge, water spilling over one side and out the other. In the distance, multi-million dollar super yachts set their anchors and we’re miniscule in comparison. I google the price of one of them, an eye-watering £250 million. We all agree that’s silly money.
The seaside bar is heaving with busy waiters and even busier drinkers. There’s a ladder that leads right into the ocean. Some arrive by boat, drop their anchor and swim to the bar for an evening drink before leaving the same way they came. The beach, just a little bit away, is nothing but multi-coloured parasol umbrellas and brown bodies. Water laps at the edge and there’s the smell of sunscreen and salt that is unmistakable. I slide my sandals off and feel the damp concrete and trace of sand between my toes.
The first plunge shocks the system. Cold seawater sweeps through my body, swallowing me whole. For a moment, everything falls silent. Bubbles fill my vision as I kick back to the surface and swim back to the boat. I get back on board and leap off again. I do it repeatedly till my heart thunders in my ears, my back hot from the sun beating down, browning me in freckles. All I taste is salt.
I grab B’s hand as we swim side by side, scared he’ll be swept away from me. Schools of fish surround us as we push and kick toward the shore, the sandy undershore comes closer and closer until we can walk through the gentle water, seaweed tangling at our feet. In the distance, we watch our anchored boat bob, and beyond that, the sky and horizon become one.
Back on the boat, we huddle-shuffle in towels, skin coated in a thin layer of dried salt, hair tangled in knots that can only be undone with an excessive amount of conditioner and a gentle comb. Back at the hotel, I keep the shower cool against my sun-stung skin. But the feeling of rough salt remains.
What a sensory experience this has been Natalie! I feeel you. I'd love a cream pina colada right about nowww
I can almost feel that intense sun, the cold seawater that swallows you whole, those essential piña coladas. Nice writing!