Last day of writing vacation in Patmos
June 28th, 2012
On the last day of vacation, there’s no food in the house. You strategically try to get down to your last bite, and you kind of do. Eventually, it is your last bite and then it’s time to go. So the last couple days, we have not much food around.
We go swimming at Lambi. When we get there, I see what the phrase, “Dangerous surf advisory,” means. The waves are huge and I go out to join them. A good swim and I am nearly seasick at the end of it. And still more day left.
We have to return the motorbike. We have to decide what to do the last day and we tally up everything we haven’t gotten to sight seeing wise, everything we have done that we want to do one more time, every bit of shopping we want to do, gifts for the kids and Zack and Hannah, the fact that we need to pack and clean up, the fact that we want to spend all the time we have left in the house writing, plus all the time driving around the island saying goodbye to the chickens by the side of the road, the little goat house, the big goat herd, the beach with all the shades where they charge you a couple euros for the bed, the many beaches that are free and there’s just sand to lie under a tree, the four kittens on the roof, the three kittens on the patio, the guy at the bakery, the guy at the pharmacy, the woman at the fish market where we didn’t buy any fish but maybe next time, the small dog that followed us around the Chora, the monastery, the many churches, (there’s a church every few steps in Patmos so worshipping is not a problem,) the taverna where they gave you cake, the tavernas where they gave you fruit, and you want to spend the whole day reading, and you want to spend the day sleeping and enjoying being rested one last time, and you want to spend the day writing, but especially you want to spend the day swimming and at midnight you have to be on the long ferry to Athens otherwise you miss it, and you don’t want to waste any of your last day eating because who cares about food, but you definitely want to have the squash blossoms and salad one last time because who knows if you’ll ever get them again, and you want to have marithes because you haven’t had the little fishes yet and tomorrow, you’ll be back in Athens eating dinner on a rooftop with many poets and that will be your life again. Your very own life. And this is only a piece of sunshine and if you stand in this sunlight for a very long time maybe it will absorb you, or you will absorb it, and you won’t be raked along the narrow freeways immediately when you return, you’ll be floating still on Greek sunshine and you’ll taste it like you taste champagne, bubbling and swirling and fantastically full of light, like something made in a cave and emerging with its own life force, its own wild.