February 18, 2017

Our ship had docked in the harbor of the most beautiful island of our journey through the Aegean Sea.  Symi is tiny and hilly, with white and yellow houses rising up the steep hillside from the blue harbor. I wanted so much to swim in that blue sea, but doing so was unlikely. There seemed to be no beaches. So when our trip leader Alexander asked if anyone wanted to swim, I said yes eagerly. You, of course, did not want to swim, not sharing my passion, but you waited while I rushed back to our cabin to put on a swimsuit and sundress, and to grab a towel. I hurried back to the deck, and we joined another couple to descend the gangplank and thread our way along the narrow sidewalk around the harbor. Small shops formed a wall to our left, with the sea to our right.

Alexander turned a corner, leaving the curve of the harbor, and soon stopped by some benches.  He pointed to the sea. “There you go!” he exclaimed. I was dubious. The harbor was very close by, and I worried about the pollution from the ships. But the other couple had laid down their towels on one of the benches and were descending the steps cut into the stone wall and splashing into the sea. You sat down on another bench. My desire to swim conquered my worries and leaving my towel and sundress next to you, I held onto the cold chain next to the stone steps and carefully reached for each slimy step with my bare feet, taking care not to strike my misshapen second toe against the rocks.

At last I threw myself backwards into the cold sea with a whoop of joy. You smiled and waved at me. Behind you the white houses climbed the hills, and the sun shone in the blue sky.

I think of that moment now, as I descend the steps in this hotel in San Miguel de Allende, where the sun shines in the blue sky and the white and blue and yellow houses climb the hillsides. I remember that afternoon swimming in the Aegean Sea off the island of Symi, and I remember your smile.