Friday, 24 February 2012
Taking the Plunge
I found it in the guise of a staircase leading to the water. I would just ensconce myself in its alcove and my heart would meet contentment fully.
The beach was deserted, I noted as I descended the stairs. Ingesting the salt spray, delighted with the vista, I failed to notice that the tide was low, and that the lowermost stairs were encased in an ocean-film of salt slime from their immersion during high tide.
Without further ado (or warning), I took the plunge.
Sitting waist-deep in the sea without my prior consent, I endeavoured to extricate myself as delicately as possible, and with as much dignity as I could muster.
After I had ascertained that no harm was done (other than giving my leather purse and sandals a good saltwater bath), I resumed my seat. Glancing furtively about, I saw that I was as yet unobserved. Safe, I began to giggle. The giggle had turned into a steady stream of mirth by the time I had determined that if I removed my soaked lower garment, it would dry better. The laughter grew as I waved my capris, an offering to the gods as it were, as a soiled white flag about my head.
When I heard a footfall on the casement above me, all laughter died away. Subdued, I ceased the waving and sat like a docile tourist on my step - in my skivvies, with a crumpled mass of fish-doused cloth as my temporary covering. As soon as the woman left, I quickly redressed and rejoined my sister.
Not far from the scene of my reckless 'swim', my sister pointed out the sign...
My soaked garment didn't take long to dry in the Mediterranean sun. As we strolled along the seaside in Porec, I recounted in giggles the tale of my plunge. We sobered as we realised what potential danger had been averted. We grew thankful as we discussed what could have been, and was not.
And now, this day is a much-talked of memory between my sister and I. A moment shared with a friend. A humorous tale to tell anyone who wants to listen.
A page in the album that is my visit to Croatia...