#56 Boat life
The Blue Lagoon is a myth, they said…
I grew up watching TV programs where some famous people showed their bikinis on the beach, and others—the ones who could afford it or had friends who could do so—tried to escape the paparazzi chilling on the decks of luxurious boats. Because I don’t love the feeling of sand and salt on my feet, my skin is too sensitive to sun exposure, and I have no friends with a boat, I always felt content with my visits to the local sandless swimming pool and the shade of a tree until my teenage years. But then, of course, things changed.
Despite the sand being a tiny nightmare to endure, I moved to a city close to the sea, where people went to the beach in the summer and to the cafes close to the sand in the winter, so I had to learn to cope with the itchy feeling and the need to reapply sunscreen every thirty minutes. I wish I had lived in a less windy area, though, but my skin benefited from the sun protection and the sand-based exfoliation routines while I applied the creams. Years later, when I had children, I promised myself I would not pass them my fears or dislikes, so I took them to the beach, exposed them to the sand, the water, and the summery vacations I rarely had as a child, but I never took them on a boat… until last month.
There I was, on holiday with my husband and children, walking along a seaside promenade, when we saw the little stands advertising day trips to dreamy locations. People armed with huge sun hats and mobile fans offered blue crystalline waters, empty pebble beaches, and cool boats to enjoy the warm weather, reminding us we were the lucky ones and we had to enjoy our days. We stopped in front of a lady dressed in white and, for the first time, I considered the boat as an option for a day, but not as a trip with another twenty people or so. It was time to embrace the boat life.
We scheduled the trip for the next day in a modern speedboat that would take us to three different islands. It was no luxurious yacht, like one of those “parked” in front of our hotel, but it would do the trick and, if we didn’t like it, it would quickly return us to our starting point. I still remember a whale-watching trip in Iceland, when my daughter spent the whole time with her back against a wall, pale as a ghost, whining to return to steady land… I hadn’t considered boats a fun family option since then, but I convinced myself things could change, so there we went, with the swimming suits on, towels, water, and snacks in our backpack, and my fingers crossed, wishing I wasn’t back at the hotel an hour later.
The boat arrived, with our tanned skipper, and we jumped onto it —the boat, not the young man— as instructed. “Walk forward, naturally,” he said, and I imagined myself tripping and falling into the water. The problem with having a vivid imagination is that it removes any chance to look cool or chill, so there I went, legs trembling, until I took a seat in the back and adjusted my straw hat, one of those I usually buy at the beginning of the holidays and crush on my way back home inside a way-too-full suitcase. Once we were all set in our positions, we headed to the first island, which would have been perfect with its low population and pebbled beaches if it hadn’t been for the cute sea urchins all over… No one had told me I would mix paradise holidays with an obstacle run, but that’s how we spent the first hour. After a couple of accidents despite the rubber shoes we were wearing, we walked in the village and then returned to the boat. Things hadn’t started as expected, but we still had two more islands to redeem ourselves… and we did.
A few minutes later, the skipper stopped the boat before reaching the shore and told us, “You can jump here.”
We were surrounded by small boats, but there was no noise. We could barely hear anything else but my kids jumping around, splashing water at each other, and telling us that there were fish below us. We could see them without even putting our heads below the water… we could almost see the sea floor, even though it was several meters down. The water had a beautiful shade of blue, one you only see in paradise movies and on Instagram… way too good, and still, true.
We swam for an hour before heading to the next island, smiling and ready for lunch at a cute seaside restaurant, where the furniture was ready for swimmers, and the food was humble but delicious. After that, we returned to the boat and with it, to our hotel.
As the wind hit my face and the water splashed my summer shirt, I couldn’t stop thinking if that would be the thing I’d missed and now discovered, if that would be the new us: the water, the sun, the boats… and then I remembered, as soon as I stepped back onto firm land, what real life is when I asked the kids if they had enjoyed the experience and, with smiles in their faces they shrugged and asked what we’d have for dinner.
Nothing seems to last, not even the enthusiasm for a boat life.
