After scooting, I ended up Stopping back at the cactus and having some guacamole. I ended up chatting with Amadeus, a wonderful American lady from Florida who came to Paros for a few months every year, and Freckles, an enchanting bartender from Brighton who was just bumming about. We had beers and talked till sundown. It was Amadeus birthday the next day so we were gonna meet up late night at the Saloon D’or, the local hangout.
I ended up going out on my own to try and meet some new folks. I found a little bar with a cute Ukranian bartender, taught her how to make a manhattan, a rusty nail, and a flaming Dr. Pepper.
Later on at Saloon D’or, I found Freckles, Amadeus, and even the Brits I’d met the night before. In fact there were mostly brits around. I likes the company. Shots flowed, and I think I made a leprechaun joke to a short irish fellow.
I decided shortly afterwards it was time to hit the old dusty trail.
I woke about noon and realized I had to return the scooter immediately.
I dropped it off, escaped as they were inspecting for damages (it wasn’t that bad) and got some eggs and bacon. I had forgotten how pale the yolks of kenyan eggs were. I drank some more water and headed back to laze about in my air conditioned room.
I watched a few more episodes of Entourage for a few hours and packed my beach back and went for a walk. I walked across all the Parikia beaches to the point and found a beautiful little church and some old ruins of a some sort.
I kept walking since Freckles told me there was a locals beach past the point.
It was on her map, not on mine.
I walked across all the beaches towards the point, and found a beautiful little church and some ruins of some sort.
The path I was following slowly disappeared, the terrain became rockier, and I broke my sandal.
But I kept trudging.
As I climed the crest of a little hill, I expected to see a strip of golden sand sliced in a crescent by a turquoise ocean dotted with topless women.
Instead, there was more rocks.
But there was no one around. And I found a beautiful rocky spot, so I got naked.
As I walked further, I found a perfect flat white stone upon which to lay my towel. But I thought, wait a second.
This flat rock overlooks deep water. Deep enough to jump off?
I climbed down and dropped in and swam to the bottom to be sure.
“It’s not that deep,” said the InMo.
I put my swimsuit back on, cause if i broke my leg, I would not want to be naked.
It made sense at the time.
It was not as high as the monster cliff on The Big Island, this one was maybe about 10 or 12 feet, but it still seemed a little dangerous.
It took a moment. I finished the beer I brought along, sang the chorus of “The World I Know,” and took the plunge. I spread my arms out to create some resistance and still hit the sandy bottom.
I decided I made once, no snese in risking ti again, andit was time for some naked climbing.
I climbed out to the end of the rock and turned around. There was a Ferry.
My first thought was, maybe someone had a telephoto lens?
Then I thought, whatever. I probably look like I’m wearing a white bathing suit.
Then as the wake of the boat began to crash on the rocks, submersing the path back to my bag and towl began to get a little worried. Maybe it was the tide?
Last thing I wanted was to get stuck on a rock miles from the town, or washed out to sea.
I forded the crashing waves and made it back, put my shorts back on, cursed my broken sandal and headed back to my hotel.
A few hours later, the sun was setting and the crowd had gathered at the Cactus. I took off my headphones, walked over and said hi. Despite my performance the previous night they, were most welcoming, and took every opportunity to take the piss.
I desperately needed a shower, but I told em I’d be joining them later.