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...