Juliano and the Sea

We talked ourselves into getting in the water, watching the kids slide gracefully from rock to rock into the Mediterranean below.

"It's lemon-easyssia," my friend Juliet says pursing her lips and kissing the air in her best Italian accent. Fifteen meters of Algae-rock lie between us and the cooling water.

From Corniglia to Vernazza traces a two and a half mile/4k trek around a jungle cove through tunnels of smooth sandstone and waterfalls trundling in between, eventually leading down a maze of steps to the turquoise sea.

Juliet went first, mapping out the rock steps then easing down on her bottom, reaching her legs to the next rock and gliding to another. In the crab position, she lifted on all fours to crawl across a high standing rock dipping into the sea. I watched her stand and bend down as her head followed fingertips and shoulders to disappear feet last into a wave.

"Ok, stop worrying this should be fun," I say a silent prayer.

I proceed to her footwork trail and end standing ankle deep as the tide goes out. Just as I push off to dive in my foot hits algae and I pancake on to my stomach into a massive wave.

"That looked so graceful, " Juliet mocked. We both laugh and I exhale the water in my lungs.

We rest standing on the mossy rock. We make a sea-saw with our arms stretched out for balance, strategizing our exit plan.

A young woman strokes past us moving toward the concrete dock set up to launch small boats. This seems like our safest option. I see her swim to the dock, an older man yelling something in Italian and motioning to a hand-ring on the platform overlooking the dock. Even 30 meters away, I can see his strip of speedo folding in the gaps in his potbelly roll and  a white Sailor hat pulled over his ears.

"Oh good we have a lifeguard," I make a sarcastic call out.

The waves guide our strokes closer to the shore. I follow, swimming into Juliet's kick. I paddle and get up to the ring. Juliet pulls herself out. I grasp the metal with one hand. My bikini strings and my legs are swallowed down the trough of a wave. I keep a firm grip. I use my arms to pull my body upward out of the crest. I feel a hand on my foot and another on my wrist.

In one swift move, my body is out like a starfish from the Mediterranean. I look up into the sun to a stout strip of speedo shining above me.  I quickly check to ensure my bikini was where it should be on my body. My lifeguard laughs and reaches to help me up to my feet. 

"Vostro bikini volare via, bella farfalla. Sì ok? Sono Juliano."