Wednesday 19 November 2014

The Beach - Part 2

I remove my sunglasses as I sit astride the quad bike and take in the view. The engine spits and spurts beneath me - the smell of oil and exhaust pervade my senses, almost as if the bike is doing it’s best to remind me that it’s still there.

It's a small beach, dotted with a dozen or so sun loungers which sink into the deliciously inviting soft yellow sand. Powerful looking waves, egged on by gusts of wind seem to pound into submission anyone who dares to paddle in the water. After a morning of riding around in the sun and the dust it looks like the perfect scene for a change of pace.

Sitting on one of the sinking loungers I slowly glide a plentiful amount of sunscreen into my reddening limbs whilst I people watch the activity of those around me. Sunbathers leisurely coat themselves in oil, two groups of people play with bats and balls and couples stroll hand in hand along the shoreline. People frolic in the water and get hit time and again by the crashing waves. The sunshine feels almost too hot and the water looks so seductive that no sooner are my arms basted like a turkey on a christmas morning, than I'm walking towards the water's edge.

The water is refreshingly cool as I wade just past my knees. Wading further I notice a wave heading towards me. It's deep blue growing in size as it moves closer to me and I closer to it. I turn sideways on as I watch it break and in the next second it connects heavily. And then I'm underwater and I think i'm upside down and my left knee hits the seabed as the wave moves on to claim others who paddle closer to the beach. I start to stand and spit out a mouthful of water when I take the force of another wave to my right side. It washes me up on the shoreline, leaving me to wipe my eyes and pull sand and stones out of my shorts as the water recedes. It's invigorating though and my heart quickens, making me grin as I wade out again to fight against the next one. A few seconds later and I'm spitting out more water and recovering my shorts from half way down my buttocks. With each rush comes an extra bit of confidence as I wade out further, sometimes jumping through waves and sometimes treading water and bobbing through them. 'Fucking awesome' I tell myself as I watch the last one move into shore having passed through me. I put my feet down to touch the seabed. I must have been carried out by the tide though as I'm out of my depth. 'Time to swim back to shore.'

The sea seems to have calmed. Whilst still choppy, the waves no longer crash over me as I swim half a dozen or so strokes towards the beach. I stop to put my feet down and my head goes beneath the water. 'I'm still out of my depth' I realise as I tread water. I kick with my legs and put my face back in the water, bringing my right arm overhead and into the water followed by my left, and then my right again, taking a breath every third stroke until I have completed a dozen or so. I gasp and take a breath, putting my feet down. My head bobs below the waterline again before allowing me to come up and spit out a mouthful of seawater. I tread water and ponder my situation. looking around I realise that I'm no closer to the beach than I was before. I feel a chill it dawns on me that if anything I have been carried further out.

I want to be calm and rational. I want to think logically as to the best way out of this. But I can't because I'm unable to swim back and I am being carried further out to sea and everyone on the beach and at the waters edge seems so very far away. And then I feel alone. So alone - so sickeningly and painfully alone and helpless as I feel my heart pounding in my chest and a realisation begins to bear down upon me. 'Fuck - ttis is it.'

I think of my family, of my mother and what she's going to think. 'This isn't supposed to be me. I'm only half way though my life. I'm supposed to be one who usually lands on his feet.' And then I have a clear vision of myself rehearsing my school nativity play as a 10 year old. I look down at my lines and read them out nervously, only for Miss Lovell, my teacher, to bellow from the back of the school hall "Speak up - open your mouth, we can't hear you!!".

“HEEEELLLLLPPPPP!!!!!” I hear myself shout, as I wave my arms. “HEEEELLLPPPPPP MMEEEE!!!!” I look at the beach but no one moves. “HEELLPPPPP MEEEE” I shout it again and again. 'Please hear me'. In my desperate attempt to be heard I want to cry. How did I get here? '10 minutes ago I was lying on the beach just enjoying the view.'

"HEY!" I look around and see a hand waving at me. It's a guy wearing a wetsuit and holding onto what looks like a body board. "HELP ME PLEASE" I cry out as I wave back at him. 'Stroke by stroke I watch him make his way over to me, cutting his way through the choppy waves - the body board floating in his wake as I see that he's wearing flippers. "Are you ok?" he says upon reaching me. I tell him the situation and he straps the body board onto my wrist and together we both start to kick out way back to shore. It's hard work to begin with but in minutes we are breaking through the bigger waves closer to the beach and then on into shallower water. A few minutes later a big wave knocks the body board out of my grip and I put a foot down and feel the seabed. "Oh Thank God' This time the waves carry me into shore as I am only waist deep. I catch my breath before walking out of the sea - dragging the bodyboard in my behind me.

I can hardly believe the feeling of the sand beneath my feet - something that 10 minutes ago I thought I would never experience again. I lean against a parasol with one hand, catching my breath and reflecting on how close I have just come to drowning. The guy - who turns out to be a lifeguard - pats me on the back to make sure I'm ok before pointing out the red flag, which naturally I handn't seen. I hug him like a long lost brother. "Thankyou"

Friday 29 August 2014

The Beach

The wind in my face is pleasantly warm and satisfying, masking as it does the intense heat of the midday sun. My arms don’t feel the breeze in the same way though as I steer the quadbike along a main road approaching the bustling town of Hersonissos on the Greek island of Crete. I glance down to see if they’re aglow with sunburn. ‘They’ll be ok for another few minutes’

I’m looking for a place called St Georges Bay, which according to my rather battered and obscure looking map, shouldn’t be too far from here. I saw it yesterday on the last stage of a boat cruise I took to a number of the island's beaches. I was drawn by the photo of a large cave that you were supposedly able to swim into. The guy selling the cruise (typically) said the snorkelling was amazing and amongst the best on the island. Sadly, the reality was that the captain decided to anchor the boat a couple of hundred meters or so from the cave and announced just 10 minutes swim time before having to climb back on-board for the short trip back to Hersonissos – it wasn't going to happen. I’ve always enjoyed exploring caves and rugged shorelines. My childhood memories are full of trips to Devon and Cornwall where we used to scramble across the rocks. The idea of snorkelling into that cave however was something else. I had to find my way back to it.

The street signs are all written in Greek as I pass through Hersonissos and I haven’t seen anything even remotely indicating the place I’m trying to find. I spot an excursion centre coming up on the right - if anyone can give me directions to where I'm going then it should be someone in there. I park up and pop inside, taking off my crash helmet and frisking my hair as I walk. I ask a lady behind the desk for directions to St Georges Bay. She smiles “The nudist beach?” “Huh? No, I’m trying to get to this cave in St Georges Bay” I say, pulling the crumpled leaflet from my rucksack to show her. “Yes, that’s the place but there’s also a nudist beach there” she says. Either she's giving me a knowing look or I'm just feeling paranoid – possibly both. She gives me the directions I need and I head back to the bike, pondering the information as I climb astride and put the key in the ignition. ’A nudist beach.’

I follow her directions, steering the quad bike down a dusty road, although my thoughts are somewhat preoccupied. ‘I haven’t been to a nudist beach before'. I muse. ‘I’m on my own here too’. The quad bumps and unsettles itself on a couple of potholes as I lift off the seat slightly to balance it. ‘No one here knows me.’ The road runs parallel with a cliff edge and I look out at the immense blueness of the ocean. ‘No one at home would ever find out.’ And then it dawns on me that this wouldn't be the first time that I've been naked on a beach.

I recall a night in Thailand a few years ago. An American girl was eating alone at the table across from mine. She was petite with olive skin and thick dark brown hair that fell into a bob just above her shoulders. With her brown eyes she looked a little like G which might be one of the reasons I started talking to her. ‘What was her name?’ She was fun and vivacious. She joined me at my table and for the next couple of hours we chatted, exchanging travel stories and flirted as we shared a small a bottle of Jack Daniels. We took a walk along the beach road taking in the balmy evening and the warm breeze. I linked my little finger with hers. She closed her hand around mine. We wandered down to the deserted beach and kissed on the sand. "Let's skinny dip she said with the excitement of a brilliant new idea. She kicked off her Birkenstocks and walked to the waters edge, "It's so still" she mused before lifting her top over her head. She turned to look back at me. “Come on” she said, unbuttoning and stepping out of her shorts and knickers. I undressed with my eyes fixed on her as she walked in to the water. She splashed water on herself. "Come on, it's beautiful" she said before disappearing beneath the water. I waded in up to my waist wondering where she’d got to as she splashed up in front of me and spat water in my face, giggling hysterically. Her body glistened as she ran her fingers through her wet hair and we kissed. We waded along the shoreline, pointing out the luminous effect of the fish before diving into the cool water. I hadn't been naked in the sea before. It felt free and liberating and a million miles from home. We lay down on the flat sand near some trees and let the warm night air dry us.

'Happy times' I reflect as I'm suddenly snapped out of my recollection by the sound of a car horn and realise that I’m riding on the wrong side of the road. “Sorry” I say. He says something back in Greek. I haven’t a clue what, but it doesn’t sound particularly friendly. I pull over at what looks like an opening with a few cars parked. To the right is a narrow path that seems to lead down. I look over the edge. Below is a series of flat rocks from where it looks like people can dive into the sea. A young woman walks out from under the cliff overhang. She’s naked as she ties her hair in a ponytail and dips a foot into the water. She looks back to say something to someone. ‘Is she speaking Russian?’ I wonder. ‘At least I’ve found the beach’ assuming a collection of flat rocks qualifies as a beach that is. ‘Go on, yes man, do it’ I walk down the narrow track that leads to the nudist beach, lifting off my t shirt as I go and ponder on whether there’s any social etiquette with nudist beaches.

I’m half way down the path when I look across to see the beach properly in all its saggy overweight male dominated glory. The young woman it seems was the exception to the rule as groups of large naked middle aged Russian (from the sound of it) men seem to dominate the area eating, smoking and drinking beer and scratching their balls. People have seen me walking down the path though and so I can’t just turn around and head back. And so I do what any normal person would do. I pull a map out of my rucksack and act like a tourist who has lost their way before turning the map around and discovering the route back up the path.

I climb back onto the quadbike and place the key in the ignition. I fasten my crash helmet and ponder what to do next. Bugger the cave, I’m hot and tired of riding around in the midday sun. I want to find a nice beach with soft yellow sand and I want to swim and cool off. As luck might have it, I think I passed the perfect place just a few minutes down the road. I turn the bike around and bid the nudist beach goodbye.

I ride off, feeling contented for at least having made the effort. My contentment however is to be reasonably short lived. I don’t know it yet but in 30 minutes from now the nudist beach will be the farthest thing from my mind...

Thursday 12 June 2014

Nostalgia

The party was last night – a house warming for friends in North London where I crashed with a tooth brush and a spare pair of pants (forward planning). I walk over to the front lounge window and look at the house across the street – an address where my brother used to live. ‘When was it?’ I count back as I do the maths and am momentarily shocked to discover it was twenty five years ago. My hostess appears from the kitchen and hands me a cup of coffee. I point out the house and tell her the history of when I used to visit the area. “You should spend some time around here if you have time and see how much has changed”. I check the time. I’ve no need to be back in London until later. “Yeah might do” I muse. She and her boyfriend make breakfast for myself and the few waifs and strays who have stayed over and half an hour later I say my goodbyes. We agree to meet up for drinks later in the week.

I climb into the car and start off in the direction of Enfield Town. The sun is shining and it’s heat magnifies through the windscreen as I wind down the driver’s window before taking a turning into the main road. Memory escapes me of the last time I drove this way as I notice some of the shops I used to walk past or pop into on the way home from school. The hairdressers flies past the window on the left – the colour and wording of the shop sign unchanged from when I was a boy. Coming up on the right is the building that houses the pet shop that’s been there since as long as I can remember. We used to pop in there after school to look at the latest hamsters and guinea pigs and wonder about the parrot at the back – would we ever hear it talk? I gasp with a sudden sadness though as I pass it with the realisation that it’s now an Indian restaurant. There’s no one behind me and so I brake and take a look out of the driver’s window at the front of the building. The smell of pet food and the sound of squawking birds is still so clear in my mind. ‘Wow’ I muse. My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a car horn behind me and an irate little old man in a red Honda. I push on and drive in the town centre with a mix of familiarity and curiosity. Some places are the same and others have changed, including the road layout. I decide to park up and take a wander.

I am a sucker for nostalgia and I pull up in a car park that I remember my mum using before dragging us around the shops. I walk the route from the car park into town – a route that seemed to take forever to walk when I was little but which in reality takes only several minutes. I smile inwardly at this realisation as I walk past the Barclays Bank where I opened my first bank account. It still has the same sign on the wall which proudly tells people using the ATM that this was where the world’s very first ATM was installed. I walk from one end of town to the other scanning the filing cabinet of my mind for childhood adventures and recollections. And then I see him.

He’s tall, slim and dark haired and is walking towards me from about 50 meters away. ‘Is that Frank?’ The gap between us closes rapidly as I try and work out if it’s actually him. We used to go to the same school and we were even in the same class at one point. We didn’t really hang out though as we had different friends. We’d acknowledge one another with a nod and a raise of eyebrows if we passed in the school yard or corridor. ‘Is it him though?’, I wonder as we get closer. ‘It could be him’ (40 meters) , I look closer ‘I’m sure it’s him’ (30 meters)) ‘Bloody hell it’s him!’ (25 meters). ‘Right, now what? Do I say something?' (20 meters) 'Do I pretend I haven’t seen him?’ (15 meters). ‘I could just look at my shoes’ (5 metres). He is a couple of meters away as I lift my head and I look at him and he looks at me and we raise our eyebrows and we nod and we keep on walking.

I’m buoyed and reflective as I walk back to my car. It’s been a brief but fun and nostalgic visit. Sad though the loss of old haunts like the pet shop is however, time can’t stand still and change is something that ought to be embraced like a new friend. In twenty years’ time there’ll doubtless be someone for whom the Indian restaurant was a part of their childhood, who’ll mull over how sad it is that’s it’s turned into a bookies or estate agents. Happily though whilst buildings and places change, it seems that people don’t and hopefully they’ll have the silent acknowledgment of someone they used to know to remind them of that.