They say, the seventh wave is the highest. We sit at the beach and start counting. The highest wave had just crashed at the beach. Foam and splashes. Millions of water drops. The wave is powerful. It wets our feet up to the calves. It soaks the beach towel. Even though we sit with our back leaning on the whitewashed wall of a beach house. We start counting, assuming that that was the famous “seventh wave*”.
Legendary Seventh Wave?
One, two, three,….. seven! Nothing happens. The “seventh wave” is modest, one of the many that keep coming in regular intervals.
We keep counting: ten, eleven, tweleve…. sixteen, seventheen. A big splash! It was the seventeenth and not the seventh. And it was much bigger that the former big one.
We -and together with us a dozen other beachgoers and sunbather -need less than a second to jump up shouting with surprise, pulling up towels, rescueing flip flops and bags and just before the wave hit us on the wall. Quick and healthy reflexes. Saving your mobile phones and your flip flops.
The sea begins to get really roughand angry. In less than half an hour, it has swallowed most of the beach. The waters reached the yard walls of the beach houses.
The beach of Cantouni, that would once host two rows of sunbathers, is gone. It simply disappeared under the waves. Only two tongues of sand were left on its both ends.
“Ten years ago, the beach and the shallow waters were sandy,” say the locals. But now the shallow waters are full of small and bigger slippery stones. Washed at the shore by the waves. “They [the authorities] must do something, because our beach is disappearing,” they say, but what exactly it should be done, they cannot really say. “Take away the stones,” proposes one, “bring more sand,” suggests another.
I propose, a wave breaker. “Hm, not bad idea,” says a man, “but who would do it? They [the authorities] have no money to do anything, anyway.”
Problem located and “solved”. We keep swimming…
Locals still remember with awe how the last winter storm swept away the facilities of a small tavern at the other side of the gulf, in Linaria. A gulf exposed to the north-west winds blowing over the Aegean Sea. A gulf on the western side of the island of Kalymnos, the cute and sleepy island on the Dodecanese.
Every day it’s a small adventure to find one or two sandy corridors among the stones and enter the sea. And yet. Stones are lurking at your ankles – depending on the wind and waves direction they hit you from left or right. PENG! PENG! One stone for each ankle.
Hidden stones lurking at innocent swimmers
Crystal clear waters, maybe one or two degrees cooler than whished. And chilly underater currents.
Perfect for the heat-wave- and beton-ridden body of a city inhabitant, an Athenian.
Mars beach walking…
PS I ‘d rather write about the waves than about pensioners protesting about pharmacists not giving them prescription medicine on credit.
*According to legend the seventh wave in the ocean is the highest. As the Aegean Sea is not an ocean, no wonder it’s not the seventh wave but the seventeenth or something