9/12/14 - "Sardinia The Final Days - Blue Skies"
Blogger's Note: Well, I think it's well-past time that we wrap up this vacation thing. I wanted to chronicle our journey for my own records as well as possible, and I think I've pretty much done that. I believe it's beginning to drag a little, and I've already hit most of the key points in both Poland and Italy that I wanted to hit. I've just one more day that I want to sketch for you. A magical day that I will never forget for all of my years.
So, I'm going to get right to it. I'm going to condense the day before our "magical" day and the days that follow as they were mostly just lying around on the beach anyway. And wrap up the journal of our vacation...
Listening to: Michael Dulin - "Clair de Lune - Timeless"
On the fourth day, we decided to head south toward Costa Smeralda. Apparently, Costa Smeralda is a portion of Sardinia, hell, maybe all of Italy, where some of the richest people in the world live. We're talking about actors and actresses, presidents, athletes, royalty, performers, and more. We thought we'd find a nice beach somewhere in the area and kick away the day.
After a few wrong turns, we finally found a town where yachts were parked along a majestic boardwalk filled with elegant restaurants and pricey stores. I felt rather out of place in this ritzy place as we meandered through a mall that was actually stores that were honeycombed through what appeared to be the natural landscape. Decorous bridges spanned picturesque brooks as we zigzagged up the slope of aristocratic shoppers. We took advantage of the scenery for a few photo opportunities, but we didn't stay long. We weren't comfortable there.
We did, however, decide to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants there. I have to give credit to the server and the staff there; they treated us just like everyone else. I went back to ordering pasta with shellfish; Roman stuck, of course, with pizza; and, Joanna ordered some traditional spaghetti. The food was fine (I still preferred the ocean-front restaurant next to our resort, but it was a close second).
As we were finishing our meal, paying the tab (and the coperti), and grabbing our gear, Roman informed us that he needed to use the restroom. Joanna offered to take him, and I took advantage of the short span of time to use the precious WIFI there and get my internet fix. After a few minutes, my wife and my son returned to the umbrella-covered tables of the patio where we had been eating. The place was only about half-full as the lunch crowd was just beginning to show up; the peaceful, quiet setting was vibrantly trespassed only by the gentle, hush of quaint conversation and a bubbly lap of the sea brushing against the dock. Roman made an announcement, "Daddy! I poop!!! Daddy! I poop!!!" Everyone looked up from the meals. Any troubles we may have had in the past with finding people that understood English had just been circumvented. We grabbed our son's hands and our things and quickly left, doing our best to conceal our giggles.
I really enjoyed the beach at Costa Smeralda. Let me describe it:
As you approached, you had the option to rent various spots on the beach. There was, of course, the free section, which was just a span of sand like one might expect. A large crowd of people had elected to take this spot (as would we). But, you could if you wanted, rent other spots. A grass lot had been manicured in one section; for about 20€, you could rent one of the spots for the day. It came with an umbrella-covered lounge chair and an electric cooler to keep your drinks or food cool. A server made his or her rounds to make sure you didn't need anything. You also had a locker and a shower area to use if you wanted. And, from there, the areas dwindled in price. For 15€, grass gave way to sand. For 10€, you had just a chair and a locker. Until you came to the free area, where we went. I thought it was nice that you had different options to choose from. And I didn't think 20€ was out of the realm of affordability.
So, we spent our fourth day, laying around on the beach, snapping pictures, and playing with Roman. At one point, I thought it'd be wise for me to burn the image of our setting into my brain. A sailboat was anchored on the horizon, and the clear water that my son and wife were playing in couldn't possibly be real. I took a mental snapshot and tucked it away into my heart's photo album.
And then Thursday arrived. The day we had booked our sailing adventure...
On the fifth day, we rambled through the abominable breakfast routine before we loaded up the Panda and headed back to Palau. The sky was overcast; not a single ray of sunshine could penetrate the dreary, gray canopy. Occasionally, a jagged lightning bolt would rip through the air to strike something on the horizon. They had promised a phone call if the trip would be cancelled due to weather, but we hadn't received a phone call. We had really been looking forward to this day, and a chilly, wet day wasn't what we had in mind.
In Palau, we parked the car and made our way to the dock-side booth where we had booked the excursion. We were rather apprehensive and had begun the discussion on possibly insisting on a refund as the day was really shaping up to be rather lousy. We had learned over the past few days that the weather forecasts in Sardinia weren't reliable. The tropical-like atmosphere could produce rain or sunshine on a whim and was entirely unpredictable. As we approached the booth, a couple was already there (German based on their accents). They were talking to the elderly lady insisting on their money back. Veronica ran out to intercept us. She began asking us how our week had been so far: an obvious ploy to distract us from the engaging dialogue between the Germans and the Italian owner. Joanna didn't skirt the topic.
"Should we get a refund? The weather is bad," she firmly asked Veronica.
"Yes," the Romanian girl grimaced as she looked at the sky. "But you must trust me. We do this everyday. The wind is blowing strongly from the north," she pointed at an Italian flag that was being whipped around by a spry breeze before continuing. "We have made a decision based on the radar and our knowledge."
We looked at her doubtfully. Her response had sounded rehearsed.
She looked over her shoulder at her boss and the Germans before resuming our discussion in a hushed tone. "There is no way to know 100% for certain. But I think you should go. The boat is only going to be half-full, so it will not be crowded. And, by my experience, I will tell you, I do believe that today will be a great day to be sailing." She looked at us, and I could see in her eyes that she was being honest. We handed her the remainder of the money due, and she handed us back 50€ with a smile, apparently she was giving us a discount. Well, we certainly hadn't been overcharged...
After Joanna and I hesitantly nodded, she encouraged us to have a coffee at the restaurant that overlooked the harbor. They had WIFI there, and we could meet with the rest of the crew and passengers at 10:30.
We found a table near the edge and ordered a cappuccino from the waitress. A very fine mist was drizzling on the awning above us when the German couple that had been arguing their case for cancellation sat at the table next to us. We recognized each other immediately.
"So did you cancel?" I asked him politely.
"Yes. They did not make it easy," he answered.
"I hear ya. We were strongly considering cancelling as well. But, I guess we've decided to take our chances," I confessed.
"You know, maybe you will be lucky. Who knows? I really hope you do have a good trip." A rather bright, jagged bolt of lightning prefixed a loud clap of thunder to punctuate his well-wishes. Joanna and I exchanged a grimace. "I just hope we survive," I quipped.
When 10:30 arrived, we met on the dock with a group of people. We were instructed to put our shoes and sandals into a box before crossing the plank onto the boat. Once aboard, the elderly lady spoke to us with acceptable English. "I will explain the rules in Italian first and then in English."
We came to learn that we could sit in the front of the boat on the deck or on the horseshoe bench that was inset at the rear. We were told that the spray of the water could be a bit chilly near the front on a day like today, so we elected to sit in the back. We were also instructed to always have one point of contact with the boat as we moved about. We were welcome to go anywhere that we wanted, but the first time that we used the bathroom one of the crew members would show us how the toilet functioned. For the most part, the rules were to just do what the crew told us to do; and, as I don't recall the names of the two Italian men that served as our crew, I will, for the remainder of this narrative, refer to them as "Mario" and "Luigi".
Sharing the bench in the rear with Joanna, Roman, and myself was a trio of Italians. An energetic man in his twenties reminded me of an Italian version of Tom Cruise; he had a tattoo of Jimi Hendrix on his left shoulder. His girlfriend and her mother also joined us in the rear. I wasn't sure yet whether or not they spoke English. In the front, I'd learn that another German couple had opted to come, and they were joined by a couple from Belgium: a friendly-looking bald fellow and his wife.
The in-board engine revved up, and we took to the cloudy seas.
I had learned from previous experience (an outing in Florida and a forgettable day on the Red Sea in Egypt) that I was rather prone to sea-sickness. As the ebb and flow of the tide rocked us this way and that, I became very concerned that the less-than-desirable temperature and the stormy-looking skies might be the least of my worries. We followed the coastline northward. In the distance, we could see La Maddalena on one side; Palau was disappearing behind us. Exotic mansions freckled the bank, and "Mario" began to explain that when the land had first started being sold, people were buying it up for the equivalent of $5 per lot. Now, they were worth millions. Some very famous people lived up there.
Finally, we left the peninsula behind us and were adrift in the sea. Mario cut the engine; and, in the front, Luigi began cranking up the sails. I was taken by the silence the now-dead engine had left in its wake. The lap of salty waves against us and a squawk of distant sea gulls made me aware of ourselves. And, as if Mother Nature had a sense of humor, just as the wind grabbed the sail and set us into motion, the first ray of sunshine that any of us had seen that day broke through the clouds. None of us could help but smile, and someone in the front of the boat openly applauded. Even Roman's lips stretched into a poorly-suppressed grin. I don't believe there was a person aboard that wasn't smiling. And, as the boat splashed a spray of salt water into the air, I suddenly understood sailing like I had never before. With only the sounds of the wind and the water, we had harnessed the good will of our beautiful planet to nurse us into motion. I was watching and listening to a sect of Mother Nature that I had never before seen or heard. And we were all just giddy with the experience.
"We are approaching the three islands. They are three very small islands with the most beautiful beaches. There, on the left, is the famous pink sand beach. It is closed to people now, because they take jars of the sand with them. You can see that it is not very pink now. But we will find other fine beaches, and we will pick two of them to stop at," Mario explained to us. I was growing anxious to reach a destination, because the motions of the water was beginning to make me nauseous. I, apparently, was no seafarer.
Roman informed me that he needed to "shoo-shoo" (which is how he says he needs to take a leak). I asked Luigi (the less-talkative, gray-haired crew member) to show me how to "work" the facilities. He joined us in the stuffy cabin and showed me the closet that was supposed to be the bathroom. It was so small that there was no way I could stand in it with Roman; he would have to fend for himself. Luigi showed me how to pump water into the pooper and then to flip the switch so it would be vacuumed into storage. The process was fairly simple, but I never would have figured it out without instruction.
I waited impatiently for Roman to finish. The stuffy cabin was making me very seasick, and I just wanted to be above, in the fresh air. Once he was finished, I handed him up to Joanna and climbed the ladder out of there. In the short span of time that we had been absent from the deck, the sun had claimed the sky. All around us, a blue-ness. Any evidence that clouds had ever been overhead was swept from existence. A day as perfect as any I have ever known had just unfolded all around us.
The sailboat navigated into a beautiful-aqua hued lagoon; and, just as promised, boats of every shaped and size were circling all around us. Their passengers were watching us in this span of water where they couldn't reach. We anchored, and Mario told us we could jump right in if we wanted. The friendly Belgiums decided that they would do just that. The rest of us opted for the second choice.
Mario said that, if we wanted, he could load us into the Zodiac (the outboard propelled, inflatable raft) and take us to a nice beach just across the way. They would take us in two groups, because we couldn't all fit on the Zodiac at once. While we were away, they would make us lunch so that it would be ready when we returned.
Mario loaded the first group of people. After the Zodiac sped away, Joanna, Roman, and I were left alone with Luigi and the friendly Belgiums who were preparing to jump off the sailboat into the inviting waters. Mr. Friendly Belgium asked if I would take a photograph with his camera of he and his wife. Of course I did; and, afterwards, I asked him to return the favor. And, of course, he did.
When the Zodiac returned, Joanna, Roman, and I climbed aboard and were zipped to a small beach where no one appeared to be. "Walk over that little hill," Mario suggested by pointing at a sandy trail near us. As the Zodiac zipped away, we followed his direction. And just over the rise, we saw heaven...
About fifteen or so people (including our sailing companions) were speckled across an alluring beach where a quiet wash of sea water hugged its sandy bottom all the way to the shore. A plethora of languages were being spoken, and Roman didn't waste any time. He ran into the water; Joanna followed closely behind.
All around us, sailboats and tour boats were idling by as its passengers watched us with hungry and perhaps envious smiles; the tour boats ranged from vessels made up to look like pirate ships to tiny sailboats. Some were loaded with a hundred people; others only carries one or two.
The water was just a tad cold, so I walked in to waist-depth. I was comfortable there. To the north, the Corsica Mountains loomed impossibly large. A lighthouse to the west sat on the island's peninsula. Joanna swam out, unencumbered by the chill, to our son. They splashed and played as I smiled. I scanned, slowly, from horizon to horizon. For some reason, I began to hum "Somewhere Over the Rainbow".
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high. there's a land that I heard of once on a lullaby. Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams, that you dare to dream, really do come true.
I grabbed the camera and started taking some pictures, feeling like a professional photographer. My wife and my son were laughing and swimming, and I forgot anything that had ever made me sad. The hour or so that we played on that beach was timeless. It was too short; but, also, it seemed to last forever.
When Joanna started to swim closer to the beach, Roman found a mass of rocks from which he could leap, laughing and smiling, into the water. He would run back to the beach and around to climb, again, to the top of the boulders. He'd repeat that process over and over, amused and entertained as he was.
After the allotted time, the first batch of our shipmates had climbed onto the Zodiac to be taken back to the sailboat. We knew our time here was coming to an end. Joanna was gathering the towels on the beach, and I let Roman leap one last leap into the sea before I grabbed his hand and began to lead him out of the water. He was skipping in the water, giddy as a...
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
Roman just started shouting. Or screaming. Or crying. Or, something. I had never heard him cry out quite like that. Everyone on the beach stopped what they were doing to watch us. Joanna looked at me as if to ask 'what happened?' I shrugged. I honestly didn't know.
"He must have hit his toe on a rock," Joanna dismissed.
"No. I can see clearly to the bottom. There's absolutely nothing here," I countered. "AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!" Roman's cries intensified. I felt the wildebeest of panic circling me, hungry and preying. I knew that I was about to be eaten by that monster. I had never heard my son cry out so painfully, for so long, with such conviction.
Out of the water, we inspected him thoroughly. The only thing that we could ascertain was that he was tightly squeezing his knees together. I tried to pull them apart, but he wouldn't have it. What had been a scream of pain turned into mad screams of outrage. And that's when I thought: jellyfish.
As if reading my mind, a mother and her daughter approached us. She spoke with a British accent, but her English was broken. I'm not sure what would have been her country of origin.
"I don't know to call what," she began. Struggling to figure out what she was saying was going to be a task, and I wasn't sure I was up to it. "But, it bite. I don't know to call what. The water. The sea water help. The salt. Need salt. Maybe have a boat."
"Is it a jellyfish?" I asked her.
"Yes. Yes. That is it. Salt now will help," she was content that the language barrier had been toppled.
We brought our screaming child to the water's edge and tried to splash water on it. He was in such a frenzy that doing anything was nearly impossible. What little water that I was able to splash on him didn't seem to help much at all. Suddenly, I began to panic.
What was I supposed to do? Piss on it? I think I had heard that somewhere. Were they poisonous? Maybe some of them were. Maybe some of the ones in Italy were. I had no clue. I had never encountered a jellyfish bite before. How did such a perfect, impossibly beautiful day get so adulterated?
We wrapped Roman in a towel and carried him to the place where we would be picked up. His screams never let up for one instant. I don't know how badly a jellyfish sting hurts, but I suspect pretty fucking badly. I kept thinking: why couldn't it have been me? There were at least fifteen adults around us. Why could't it have been one of the fucking adults?
When the raft arrived, Mario had a comforting smile. I think he knew what had happened. He had a handheld radio; he spoke something in Italian to his partner, Luigi. I was trying to remain composed, but I wanted answers. Did we need to cut the trip short? Maybe he needed to take us back so that we could take our son to a hospital.
Mario was all calm and composed. "They sometimes go months and not sting anyone; and, then one day, with no warning, they come out like crazy. There is no way to predict."
"What do we do? He's in a lot of pain," I pleaded.
"Don't worry. We have something at the boat. In five minutes, he will have forgot all about the pain." I was comforted, but I wouldn't believe it until I saw it.
Back at the boat, Mario tied us off. Everyone rushed to help us. Italian Tom Cruise leaped to the ladder to give us hand with climbing on board. The friendly Belgiums wore visages of concern; the professional-looking German and his wife were carrying a first-aid kit; the Italian mother wore a concerned expression as she was nursing her hand. Mario's radio call must have forewarned everyone as to what had happened.
Once aboard, Luigi handed me something that looked like chapstick with instructions to rub it on the bite (or bites, as it turned out, Roman had been stung pretty badly on the insides of both knees). I had no choice but to hold down our insanely belligerent child as Joanna applied the "antidote".
The fear that it wouldn't work exceeded my patience for the next few minutes; I think everyone felt our anxiety; but, sure enough, just as advertised, after about five minutes, Roman's screams turned into small whimpers. Within ten minutes, he was just sitting there quietly. I'm sure he was wondering what had happened, maybe he felt like he had done something wrong. I felt a strong desire to comfort him.
Joanna had wrapped him in his shark towel, and he sat on the back of the boat just staring at the water. After a span of time that everyone used to relax, the Italian mother revealed, "I got stung as well." She held out her hand to show me; it was swollen as hell. "Wow. That really sucks," I tried to console.
"Lunch is ready,"
Lunch consisted of some plain pasta with tomato sauce and a simple roll. We all sat around the bench eating silently; the excitement of Roman's jellyfish encounter was still settling. The food was fine, but the experience was delicious. Everyone was passing around the serving platters. Obviously sympathetic to our plight (and Roman's sudden melancholy demeanor), our crew-mates would pass the food to us first. We'd take a portion and pass it around until it would end on the table in the middle. Then, we were handed plastic cups of wine (water for Roman).
Everyone was quiet. The soft lap of the sea against the hull droned us into thoughtfulness. I had a spiritual experience like I had never had before. I suspect everyone did. Something about the sudden camaraderie given the circumstances had sewn together a patchwork of cultural diversity. Although nothing was said, the soft, warm breeze blanketed us together. We were all one unit, and I liked these people. And I think they liked us.
We ate until we were full, and then Mario disappeared below deck. He returned with carafes of what was certainly alcohol. Luigi handed out small espresso shots which we took with small biscotti cookies, and then Mario started pouring swigs of something. They were red and white mirto shots; he didn't ask if you wanted one. He just handed us one of each. And then he passed around the grappa.
Grappa (perhaps the same thing as ouza that we had in Greece with an Italian name) is basically Jagermeister on steroids. It tastes like vodka and gravel as it's made from the leaves and the vines from grapes (yeah, not the grapes themselves, that would be too easy). I don't know the alcohol content of grappa, but I suspect it's a hell of a lot.
After we did a shot of each, Mario just sat the bottles on the table. Italian Tom Cruise anxiously went to work on the grappa. I began to sample everything in more detail. I had no idea when we paid our fare that admission would include all-you-could-drink. I'm not sure that it normally did. I had the strange impression that Mario and Luigi liked this group.
We all started trying to converse once the alcohol loosened the mood. I asked Italian Tom Cruise if he liked Jimi Hendrix. His eyes got wide; he was suddenly anxious to discuss what was obviously his idol. I've always like Jimi Hendrix, but I didn't have a lot of knowledge on the subject. I tried to express as much, but it didn't matter to anyone. We were just having a good time. We all talked about where we were from. The Italians, as it turned out, had a summer home in La Conia (the town where our resort was), but they lived on the Italian mainland. The German was some kind of reporter (he even looked the part), and the Belgium worked at some kind of factory. We talked about how perfect the day had become and laughed about anything we could.
Roman sat wearing his shark towel, staring off the back of the boat. He was neither happy nor sad, just thoughtful. I noticed everyone checking on him occasionally, Joanna most of all. He just sat there...
...when suddenly a seagull landed on the railing right next to our son.
At first, Roman just stared it. And it stared at Roman. The entire boat got quiet as we watched the surreal exchange. Roman turned his head slowly to see what had caused all the quiet. Everyone was staring at him. He turned back to the bird, and they spoke to one another with their eyes. My son was different then. He didn't jump or play or stir. He just gazed dreamily. He didn't know it, but he was showing us, each and every one of us, how to pick yourself up and brush yourself off.
For all I know, seagulls landing on sailboats happens everyday, all the time. But for all of us, we saw something new that day. Something different. After a long silence, Italian Tom Cruise slowly stood; he carried between his thumb and forefinger a pinch of bread. He tried to slowly approach the bird in an obvious attempt to hand-feed it. The bird flew up, gliding on an air current, and then landed again at the same spot next to Roman once Italian Tom Cruise retreated somewhat. \
This dance continued for a time. The seagull seemingly wanted nothing to do with anyone except Roman. However, after several attempts, Italian Tom Cruise finally succeeded. We all watched as the bird's beak pinched at the crumbs in his palm. We had been entertained without a smart phone, without a television, without a computer.
At last, Mario announced that he was going to lift the anchor so we could head to another beach.
We didn't sail for long. After heading south for about twenty minutes, we ended up near the preserved, pink sand beach. Once again, we had to make two trips; but, this time, the Belgiums didn't stay behind. Joanna, Roman, and I were part of the second load this time.
Once at the beach, we claimed a patch of it by laying our towels down. About the same number of people were here as the last beach: not many. Several kids (Italian kids by their dialect) were playing with one of those large surfboards that I've seen pictures of. It's a rather large board that people stand on and use a long paddle to navigate. They were taking turns doing a circuit around the alcove, and I enjoyed watching them play.
Joanna said she wanted to swim out a ways and asked if I would watch Roman. Of course, I said I would; I was rather interested in seeing how he would react to the water after his jellyfish encounter. Sure enough, after Joanna had already swam out away and I had waded into knee-depth, Roman just played on the beach. I encouraged him to come in, but he acted as though he didn't hear me. I saw him sneak a peek a couple of times, but he wouldn't take a step in my direction. Set in the side of a dirt bank at the edge of the beach was a bit of washed out soil that, at least in the eyes of child, could be seen as a cave. In reality, it was hardly accessible. Roots and shrubs guarded the inset. But Roman made a time of looking into it and throwing rocks into it. I wasn't too far away, just barely into the water, trying to figure out a way to coax my son in with me. An anxious thought crept into my brain that, if he ever did join me, another damn jellyfish might sting him and forever ruin his love of water.
Roman found a stick that he drug in the sand behind him as he meandered thoughtfully around the beach. I noticed that our crew mates, unlike the last beach where we each went our different ways, were also paying attention. A camaraderie had been forged earlier; and, although we had each gone our different ways, we seemed to be aware of one another. Roman had tempered his expression with a veil of ambiguity, but we all knew that an internal war was being fought in the mind of our conflicted four-year-old.
Without any forewarning or hint of his intention, Roman threw down his stick and ran, full-throttle, in the ocean. He splashed past me, sparing me a glance, but his destination was his mother. A shout of encouragement that originated from the vicinity of Italian Tom Cruise caught the attention of everyone at the beach. Most had no idea what was going on. But the German man applauded and the Belgium, swimming in the deeper water wearing a wet suit and flippers, pumped his fist into the air. I wanted to shout, "That's my boy! That's my boy!" as Roman swam to his awaiting mother. I nearly cried with pride.
I knew then why Roman had come with us to Italy. He was meant to. I had learned something from him that day; and, he, too, learned a valuable life lesson that he may not be able to remember learning but will have etched onto his code of conduct for the rest of his life. Had Roman not come, I would not have made sand castles with a plastic pail and a plastic shovel. I would not have splashed in the water. I would have missed the planes in the sky. And I wouldn't have learned the lesson that he had just taught me.
Sometimes you can't think. You can't consider or contemplate or weigh the odds or even blink. Because if you do, you'll never leap. And, if you do leap, it'll be too late. Because the moment is gone. The opportunity missed. You throw away whatever is weighing you down, grab the hand of courage, and leap heart-first. And then dive into your fear with nothing but faith that someone you love will be waiting for you with open arms.
And so my family swam and splashed and played into the sunset. The Zodiac made its trips to reclaim its passengers, and we set sail back to Palau. As the western sea, tinted orange by the fading sun, gave way to a Sardinian peninsula, I could feel the early discomfort that precedes sea-sickness. Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to take any more, we arrived at the dock. The boat was tied off, the plank extended. We all went our separate ways on land, waving goodbye with heartfelt handshakes and smiles. I will never see any of these people again, but I have a funny suspicion that we will never forget one another.
We drove home; Roman's eyes had grown heavy. Back at our room, he had no trouble falling asleep. Joanna and I sat on the balcony, drinking wine, and eating a watermelon that I was trying to cut with a butter knife. We didn't speak much; we just sat outside, thoughtfully watching the sea. Not much needed to be said.
The next day would be the last day with the Panda. We decided we had better wrap up our souvenir/gift-buying, so we headed to Palau to do just that. After a frustrating morning of finding nothing but overpriced nonsense, we opted to take the ferry one more time to La Maddalena. Only this time, we rode it as pedestrians.
We left the car at its parking spot in Palau and boarded the ship on foot. The fifteen minute journey was a different experience as we got to roam more freely. We found a window-side booth and silently watched the breaking waves outside.
In La Maddalena, we navigated the busy main street and even strayed through a couple of enticing alleys. The shops were interesting, and finding the things that we were looking for was much easier. In fact, we had to moderate ourselves a little. My backpack and Joanna's purse were getting pretty full.
We headed back across the sea and headed back home where we let Roman play on the beach as we just relaxed in the sun.
On the last full day that we were there, we returned the Panda first thing that morning. We caught the "train" back to the resort and changed into our swimming gear. An hour later, we, again, jumped on board the "train" and headed to its other stop: the beach, as the resort's front desk called it.
The shuttle dropped us off next to the road where a dirt path crossed a field. Dozens of people joined us in our trek across the trodden earth. This "wild" beach was packed. Instead of sand, it had soft, round pebbles that covered the bank. Kites were flying overhead; and, once again, African merchants were marching the length of the beach politely selling their wares. We set up our "station" and played in the water until that afternoon. Everyone migrated back to the road to be carried to the resort at the prescribed time.
We decided that we would have one nice meal before we left Italy: spare no expense. The three of us walked to the seaside restaurant that was a block away from our resort. I had already decided what I would order. My travel guide had suggested that, while in Sardinia, to make sure and try salt-encrusted fish and/or the fetal pig. The pig is apparently slaughtered within the first day of its birth; it's stuffed with various herbs and slow-roasted on a spit over a fire for nearly a day. Sounds cruel doesn't it? Well, we didn't try the pig. Apparently, you have to give them a day's notice for some "fetal pig" barbecue.
So, we ordered Roman's usual pizza and a large plate of mussels for an appetizer. I don't think I'll ever eat mussels again unless I am in Italy. The bar has just been set too high. For the main course, we ordered the salt-encrusted fish. We sipped away on white wine and nibbled on the bread as we awaited the fish to arrive.
When it came, it was nothing like I had imagined. It wasn't salt-encrusted fish; it was salt-encased fish. The fish was inside a rock of salt that had been lit on fire. Our server went to work on the fish as soon as it arrived table-side. He chiseled away at the salt with a fork and spoon like a sculptor might work on a slab of marble. When at last the fish was free of its encasement, he skillfully carved the fish into two portions that he served to Joanna and myself. His routine would have been worth the price of admission even if the fish had tasted horrible; but, fortunately, it didn't. In fact, it was the best fish I had ever had...
My taste buds had already decided, before the fish was ever on my plate, that it would be too salty. When I actually tried a bite though, I was very pleasantly surprised. It wasn't too salty at all. In fact, it just had a hint of saltiness. I'm sorry to say that I have no idea what kind of fish that it was. All I know is that it was perfectly moist and flavorful: certainly worth its price.
When the tab came, I had already decided that I was going to tip well. But, when we started to count our money, we realized we hadn't brought any cash. Joanna paid with the credit card; apparently, it is not possible to put a tip on a charge card in Italy. We asked the server, and he verified this. I asked him what time he got off, and he told me at seven tonight. I promised him that I would run to the nearest ATM (Joanna and I would need some cash anyway), and I would return before he got off. I'm sure he was doubtful, but he would find out, soon enough, that I was committed. I am, after all, a server myself. Tips are my living.
I told Joanna to take Roman to the beach. They could play together while I took the "train" to Cannigione to get some cash. I could have some needed alone time, and Joanna and Roman could have fun at the beach.
On the "train", I sat in the caboose by myself. I enjoyed the seaside road as we snaked our way to the small town. Topless girls were laying on the beach catching sun in places that it normally didn't shine. Elderly couples walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. Diners sat on patios, sipping on wine and looking out at the sea where a spectacle of one-man sailboats were navigating around some buoys. They appeared to be boys undergoing some nautical exercises. I was in such a different and beautiful world.
In Cannigione, I quickly got the cash and had an hour to kill before the "train" returned. I walked by the seafront and saw merchants setting up tables and stands for all kinds of interesting merchandise. Apparently, after the sun went down, tourists came here to shop. I would tell Joanna about this, we could do some shopping and strolling on our last night here. I went up to the place where the "train" would be picking me up. I ordered a beer and took a moment for me. I think I may have drink three beers as I awaited the "train" to return, and I really enjoyed the quiet time that I used to watch the different people coming and going.
Back at the resort, I walked back to the restaurant. Seven o'clock was almost nigh as I strolled into the diner where everyone was busy cleaning up for the night. Our server saw me approaching and intercepted me with a smile and a firm handshake. "Well, I hope you have enjoy Sardinia," he said.
"Oh, I have," I told him. "I have." I handed him a rather generous tip, and then went off to find my wife and son.
Joanna agreed with me about shopping one last night in Cannigione. We went there and strolled casually around. I bought a beaded necklace for myself (it was the only thing that I had gotten for myself). I liked the uniqueness of the different necklaces that I had gotten in the places that we had been. I still had a cool-blue one from Crete; and, now, I had a neat black-and-white one from Sardinia. Joanna got a shell ring which broke the next day. I promised that I would get her a new one (I still need to do that). Roman got a whistle that sounded like a bird. None of the gifts were very pricey, but they were special to us.
The next day, we boarded the bus to Olbia where we boarded a plane and headed back to Poland. Mason Jennings wrote that "there's a tourist in every heart that just wants to stay, and there's a tourist in every heart that just wants to go home." Isn't that so true when you're on vacation? I love being away for a while, but a time comes when I start missing home. And that time had come.
The plane ride back to Warsaw went without incident. However, once in Warsaw, we had a couple of hiccups. Our luggage took forever to come. We waited, along with all the other impatient passengers and an impatient Roman, at least an hour, for it to come out of that conveyor system. We started to wonder if it was ever going to.
When at long last it did, Joanna had to pee badly. We looked around as we were heading out for a restroom. I don't know what's up with that Warsaw airport, but restrooms just aren't that plentiful. We found one, but it was "closed for cleaning". We walked for what felt like a mile, when, at last, we found one. Joanna started to go in when a cleaning lady blocked her with a custodial cart and a sign that said something in Polish (surely, closed for cleaning). I was mad. We had the same situation when we had left for Sardinia. I said (in English, so I'm not sure if she understood me), "Joanna, screw that. Just go in anyway. This is ridiculous."
"Oh, I am," my wife said. She pushed her way past the cart as the lady was telling her something in Polish. Joanna spoke to her in her native tongue in a way that I knew very well. Even though I didn't know, word-for-word, what was being said, I still knew. "Every restroom is closed for cleaning. I have to go. Move, or I will go right here." Passersby watched us with interested expressions; I held Roman's hand and smiled and nodded. Fuck 'em.
Joanna went in as the lady threw up her hands in exasperation. When my wife came out, she was smiling. So was I.
After the shuttle service took us to the parking lot where the van was parked, we started the long drive back to Kalwaria. I remembered seeing a McDonald's on the outskirts of Warsaw; I asked Joanna to hit the drive-through there. I don't really even like McDonald's normally, certainly not at home. I bet I don't eat there twice a year. But, for some reason, every time that we've come back from one of our "expeditions", I always crave a large, nasty Big Mac and some fries. Joanna agreed; and, before long, we all had bellies filled with fast-food goodness.
The long drive went without incident. At home, we were anxious to hug and kiss our daughter; but, Amelia acted like she could care less whether or not we were there. She appeared perfectly content with Ba Ba and Dza Dza.
We only had a couple of days left in Poland. We spent them getting some last minute gifts and saying goodbye to the Madej family. Those goodbyes are so fucking hard. And they get harder every time. Now that I have a family of my own, I can better empathize with the thought of saying goodbye to a child that I might not see for another year (or even more). It makes me sad, too. I always feel like the villain taking away their family. But they don't treat me like a villain. They hug me just as hard as they hug everyone else.
And Joanna, out of consideration for her parents' concerns, always waits until we're out of sight before she starts crying...
-- Don't forget to like Parenting with Lightsabers here.
-- And if you liked this story, try reading something from our Polish vacation like "Flying to Poland"
Blogger's Note: Well, I think it's well-past time that we wrap up this vacation thing. I wanted to chronicle our journey for my own records as well as possible, and I think I've pretty much done that. I believe it's beginning to drag a little, and I've already hit most of the key points in both Poland and Italy that I wanted to hit. I've just one more day that I want to sketch for you. A magical day that I will never forget for all of my years.
So, I'm going to get right to it. I'm going to condense the day before our "magical" day and the days that follow as they were mostly just lying around on the beach anyway. And wrap up the journal of our vacation...
Listening to: Michael Dulin - "Clair de Lune - Timeless"
On the fourth day, we decided to head south toward Costa Smeralda. Apparently, Costa Smeralda is a portion of Sardinia, hell, maybe all of Italy, where some of the richest people in the world live. We're talking about actors and actresses, presidents, athletes, royalty, performers, and more. We thought we'd find a nice beach somewhere in the area and kick away the day.
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| Costa Smeralda |
We did, however, decide to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants there. I have to give credit to the server and the staff there; they treated us just like everyone else. I went back to ordering pasta with shellfish; Roman stuck, of course, with pizza; and, Joanna ordered some traditional spaghetti. The food was fine (I still preferred the ocean-front restaurant next to our resort, but it was a close second).
As we were finishing our meal, paying the tab (and the coperti), and grabbing our gear, Roman informed us that he needed to use the restroom. Joanna offered to take him, and I took advantage of the short span of time to use the precious WIFI there and get my internet fix. After a few minutes, my wife and my son returned to the umbrella-covered tables of the patio where we had been eating. The place was only about half-full as the lunch crowd was just beginning to show up; the peaceful, quiet setting was vibrantly trespassed only by the gentle, hush of quaint conversation and a bubbly lap of the sea brushing against the dock. Roman made an announcement, "Daddy! I poop!!! Daddy! I poop!!!" Everyone looked up from the meals. Any troubles we may have had in the past with finding people that understood English had just been circumvented. We grabbed our son's hands and our things and quickly left, doing our best to conceal our giggles.
I really enjoyed the beach at Costa Smeralda. Let me describe it:
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| At the beach |
So, we spent our fourth day, laying around on the beach, snapping pictures, and playing with Roman. At one point, I thought it'd be wise for me to burn the image of our setting into my brain. A sailboat was anchored on the horizon, and the clear water that my son and wife were playing in couldn't possibly be real. I took a mental snapshot and tucked it away into my heart's photo album.
And then Thursday arrived. The day we had booked our sailing adventure...
On the fifth day, we rambled through the abominable breakfast routine before we loaded up the Panda and headed back to Palau. The sky was overcast; not a single ray of sunshine could penetrate the dreary, gray canopy. Occasionally, a jagged lightning bolt would rip through the air to strike something on the horizon. They had promised a phone call if the trip would be cancelled due to weather, but we hadn't received a phone call. We had really been looking forward to this day, and a chilly, wet day wasn't what we had in mind.
In Palau, we parked the car and made our way to the dock-side booth where we had booked the excursion. We were rather apprehensive and had begun the discussion on possibly insisting on a refund as the day was really shaping up to be rather lousy. We had learned over the past few days that the weather forecasts in Sardinia weren't reliable. The tropical-like atmosphere could produce rain or sunshine on a whim and was entirely unpredictable. As we approached the booth, a couple was already there (German based on their accents). They were talking to the elderly lady insisting on their money back. Veronica ran out to intercept us. She began asking us how our week had been so far: an obvious ploy to distract us from the engaging dialogue between the Germans and the Italian owner. Joanna didn't skirt the topic.
"Should we get a refund? The weather is bad," she firmly asked Veronica.
"Yes," the Romanian girl grimaced as she looked at the sky. "But you must trust me. We do this everyday. The wind is blowing strongly from the north," she pointed at an Italian flag that was being whipped around by a spry breeze before continuing. "We have made a decision based on the radar and our knowledge."
We looked at her doubtfully. Her response had sounded rehearsed.
She looked over her shoulder at her boss and the Germans before resuming our discussion in a hushed tone. "There is no way to know 100% for certain. But I think you should go. The boat is only going to be half-full, so it will not be crowded. And, by my experience, I will tell you, I do believe that today will be a great day to be sailing." She looked at us, and I could see in her eyes that she was being honest. We handed her the remainder of the money due, and she handed us back 50€ with a smile, apparently she was giving us a discount. Well, we certainly hadn't been overcharged...
After Joanna and I hesitantly nodded, she encouraged us to have a coffee at the restaurant that overlooked the harbor. They had WIFI there, and we could meet with the rest of the crew and passengers at 10:30.
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| Our sailboat |
"Yes. They did not make it easy," he answered.
"I hear ya. We were strongly considering cancelling as well. But, I guess we've decided to take our chances," I confessed.
"You know, maybe you will be lucky. Who knows? I really hope you do have a good trip." A rather bright, jagged bolt of lightning prefixed a loud clap of thunder to punctuate his well-wishes. Joanna and I exchanged a grimace. "I just hope we survive," I quipped.
When 10:30 arrived, we met on the dock with a group of people. We were instructed to put our shoes and sandals into a box before crossing the plank onto the boat. Once aboard, the elderly lady spoke to us with acceptable English. "I will explain the rules in Italian first and then in English."
We came to learn that we could sit in the front of the boat on the deck or on the horseshoe bench that was inset at the rear. We were told that the spray of the water could be a bit chilly near the front on a day like today, so we elected to sit in the back. We were also instructed to always have one point of contact with the boat as we moved about. We were welcome to go anywhere that we wanted, but the first time that we used the bathroom one of the crew members would show us how the toilet functioned. For the most part, the rules were to just do what the crew told us to do; and, as I don't recall the names of the two Italian men that served as our crew, I will, for the remainder of this narrative, refer to them as "Mario" and "Luigi".
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| One of the mansions on the bank |
The in-board engine revved up, and we took to the cloudy seas.
I had learned from previous experience (an outing in Florida and a forgettable day on the Red Sea in Egypt) that I was rather prone to sea-sickness. As the ebb and flow of the tide rocked us this way and that, I became very concerned that the less-than-desirable temperature and the stormy-looking skies might be the least of my worries. We followed the coastline northward. In the distance, we could see La Maddalena on one side; Palau was disappearing behind us. Exotic mansions freckled the bank, and "Mario" began to explain that when the land had first started being sold, people were buying it up for the equivalent of $5 per lot. Now, they were worth millions. Some very famous people lived up there.
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| Leaving the storm clouds; Zodiac in-tow |
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| The famous no-longer pink beach |
Roman informed me that he needed to "shoo-shoo" (which is how he says he needs to take a leak). I asked Luigi (the less-talkative, gray-haired crew member) to show me how to "work" the facilities. He joined us in the stuffy cabin and showed me the closet that was supposed to be the bathroom. It was so small that there was no way I could stand in it with Roman; he would have to fend for himself. Luigi showed me how to pump water into the pooper and then to flip the switch so it would be vacuumed into storage. The process was fairly simple, but I never would have figured it out without instruction.
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| The cabin |
The sailboat navigated into a beautiful-aqua hued lagoon; and, just as promised, boats of every shaped and size were circling all around us. Their passengers were watching us in this span of water where they couldn't reach. We anchored, and Mario told us we could jump right in if we wanted. The friendly Belgiums decided that they would do just that. The rest of us opted for the second choice.
Mario said that, if we wanted, he could load us into the Zodiac (the outboard propelled, inflatable raft) and take us to a nice beach just across the way. They would take us in two groups, because we couldn't all fit on the Zodiac at once. While we were away, they would make us lunch so that it would be ready when we returned.
Mario loaded the first group of people. After the Zodiac sped away, Joanna, Roman, and I were left alone with Luigi and the friendly Belgiums who were preparing to jump off the sailboat into the inviting waters. Mr. Friendly Belgium asked if I would take a photograph with his camera of he and his wife. Of course I did; and, afterwards, I asked him to return the favor. And, of course, he did.
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| The Belgium's picture |
About fifteen or so people (including our sailing companions) were speckled across an alluring beach where a quiet wash of sea water hugged its sandy bottom all the way to the shore. A plethora of languages were being spoken, and Roman didn't waste any time. He ran into the water; Joanna followed closely behind.
All around us, sailboats and tour boats were idling by as its passengers watched us with hungry and perhaps envious smiles; the tour boats ranged from vessels made up to look like pirate ships to tiny sailboats. Some were loaded with a hundred people; others only carries one or two.
The water was just a tad cold, so I walked in to waist-depth. I was comfortable there. To the north, the Corsica Mountains loomed impossibly large. A lighthouse to the west sat on the island's peninsula. Joanna swam out, unencumbered by the chill, to our son. They splashed and played as I smiled. I scanned, slowly, from horizon to horizon. For some reason, I began to hum "Somewhere Over the Rainbow".
Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high. there's a land that I heard of once on a lullaby. Somewhere, over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams, that you dare to dream, really do come true.
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| Our hidden beach |
When Joanna started to swim closer to the beach, Roman found a mass of rocks from which he could leap, laughing and smiling, into the water. He would run back to the beach and around to climb, again, to the top of the boulders. He'd repeat that process over and over, amused and entertained as he was.
After the allotted time, the first batch of our shipmates had climbed onto the Zodiac to be taken back to the sailboat. We knew our time here was coming to an end. Joanna was gathering the towels on the beach, and I let Roman leap one last leap into the sea before I grabbed his hand and began to lead him out of the water. He was skipping in the water, giddy as a...
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
Roman just started shouting. Or screaming. Or crying. Or, something. I had never heard him cry out quite like that. Everyone on the beach stopped what they were doing to watch us. Joanna looked at me as if to ask 'what happened?' I shrugged. I honestly didn't know.
"He must have hit his toe on a rock," Joanna dismissed.
"No. I can see clearly to the bottom. There's absolutely nothing here," I countered. "AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!" Roman's cries intensified. I felt the wildebeest of panic circling me, hungry and preying. I knew that I was about to be eaten by that monster. I had never heard my son cry out so painfully, for so long, with such conviction.
Out of the water, we inspected him thoroughly. The only thing that we could ascertain was that he was tightly squeezing his knees together. I tried to pull them apart, but he wouldn't have it. What had been a scream of pain turned into mad screams of outrage. And that's when I thought: jellyfish.
As if reading my mind, a mother and her daughter approached us. She spoke with a British accent, but her English was broken. I'm not sure what would have been her country of origin.
"I don't know to call what," she began. Struggling to figure out what she was saying was going to be a task, and I wasn't sure I was up to it. "But, it bite. I don't know to call what. The water. The sea water help. The salt. Need salt. Maybe have a boat."
"Is it a jellyfish?" I asked her.
"Yes. Yes. That is it. Salt now will help," she was content that the language barrier had been toppled.
We brought our screaming child to the water's edge and tried to splash water on it. He was in such a frenzy that doing anything was nearly impossible. What little water that I was able to splash on him didn't seem to help much at all. Suddenly, I began to panic.
What was I supposed to do? Piss on it? I think I had heard that somewhere. Were they poisonous? Maybe some of them were. Maybe some of the ones in Italy were. I had no clue. I had never encountered a jellyfish bite before. How did such a perfect, impossibly beautiful day get so adulterated?
We wrapped Roman in a towel and carried him to the place where we would be picked up. His screams never let up for one instant. I don't know how badly a jellyfish sting hurts, but I suspect pretty fucking badly. I kept thinking: why couldn't it have been me? There were at least fifteen adults around us. Why could't it have been one of the fucking adults?
When the raft arrived, Mario had a comforting smile. I think he knew what had happened. He had a handheld radio; he spoke something in Italian to his partner, Luigi. I was trying to remain composed, but I wanted answers. Did we need to cut the trip short? Maybe he needed to take us back so that we could take our son to a hospital.
Mario was all calm and composed. "They sometimes go months and not sting anyone; and, then one day, with no warning, they come out like crazy. There is no way to predict."
"What do we do? He's in a lot of pain," I pleaded.
"Don't worry. We have something at the boat. In five minutes, he will have forgot all about the pain." I was comforted, but I wouldn't believe it until I saw it.
Back at the boat, Mario tied us off. Everyone rushed to help us. Italian Tom Cruise leaped to the ladder to give us hand with climbing on board. The friendly Belgiums wore visages of concern; the professional-looking German and his wife were carrying a first-aid kit; the Italian mother wore a concerned expression as she was nursing her hand. Mario's radio call must have forewarned everyone as to what had happened.
Once aboard, Luigi handed me something that looked like chapstick with instructions to rub it on the bite (or bites, as it turned out, Roman had been stung pretty badly on the insides of both knees). I had no choice but to hold down our insanely belligerent child as Joanna applied the "antidote".
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| Roman and his seagull |
Joanna had wrapped him in his shark towel, and he sat on the back of the boat just staring at the water. After a span of time that everyone used to relax, the Italian mother revealed, "I got stung as well." She held out her hand to show me; it was swollen as hell. "Wow. That really sucks," I tried to console.
"Lunch is ready,"
Lunch consisted of some plain pasta with tomato sauce and a simple roll. We all sat around the bench eating silently; the excitement of Roman's jellyfish encounter was still settling. The food was fine, but the experience was delicious. Everyone was passing around the serving platters. Obviously sympathetic to our plight (and Roman's sudden melancholy demeanor), our crew-mates would pass the food to us first. We'd take a portion and pass it around until it would end on the table in the middle. Then, we were handed plastic cups of wine (water for Roman).
Everyone was quiet. The soft lap of the sea against the hull droned us into thoughtfulness. I had a spiritual experience like I had never had before. I suspect everyone did. Something about the sudden camaraderie given the circumstances had sewn together a patchwork of cultural diversity. Although nothing was said, the soft, warm breeze blanketed us together. We were all one unit, and I liked these people. And I think they liked us.
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| clockwise starting at 6 o'clock: Italian girlfriend, her mother, Italian Tom Cruise, Belgiums, Germans, me |
Grappa (perhaps the same thing as ouza that we had in Greece with an Italian name) is basically Jagermeister on steroids. It tastes like vodka and gravel as it's made from the leaves and the vines from grapes (yeah, not the grapes themselves, that would be too easy). I don't know the alcohol content of grappa, but I suspect it's a hell of a lot.
After we did a shot of each, Mario just sat the bottles on the table. Italian Tom Cruise anxiously went to work on the grappa. I began to sample everything in more detail. I had no idea when we paid our fare that admission would include all-you-could-drink. I'm not sure that it normally did. I had the strange impression that Mario and Luigi liked this group.
We all started trying to converse once the alcohol loosened the mood. I asked Italian Tom Cruise if he liked Jimi Hendrix. His eyes got wide; he was suddenly anxious to discuss what was obviously his idol. I've always like Jimi Hendrix, but I didn't have a lot of knowledge on the subject. I tried to express as much, but it didn't matter to anyone. We were just having a good time. We all talked about where we were from. The Italians, as it turned out, had a summer home in La Conia (the town where our resort was), but they lived on the Italian mainland. The German was some kind of reporter (he even looked the part), and the Belgium worked at some kind of factory. We talked about how perfect the day had become and laughed about anything we could.
Roman sat wearing his shark towel, staring off the back of the boat. He was neither happy nor sad, just thoughtful. I noticed everyone checking on him occasionally, Joanna most of all. He just sat there...
...when suddenly a seagull landed on the railing right next to our son.
At first, Roman just stared it. And it stared at Roman. The entire boat got quiet as we watched the surreal exchange. Roman turned his head slowly to see what had caused all the quiet. Everyone was staring at him. He turned back to the bird, and they spoke to one another with their eyes. My son was different then. He didn't jump or play or stir. He just gazed dreamily. He didn't know it, but he was showing us, each and every one of us, how to pick yourself up and brush yourself off.
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| Our sailboat towing the Zodiac |
This dance continued for a time. The seagull seemingly wanted nothing to do with anyone except Roman. However, after several attempts, Italian Tom Cruise finally succeeded. We all watched as the bird's beak pinched at the crumbs in his palm. We had been entertained without a smart phone, without a television, without a computer.
At last, Mario announced that he was going to lift the anchor so we could head to another beach.
We didn't sail for long. After heading south for about twenty minutes, we ended up near the preserved, pink sand beach. Once again, we had to make two trips; but, this time, the Belgiums didn't stay behind. Joanna, Roman, and I were part of the second load this time.
Once at the beach, we claimed a patch of it by laying our towels down. About the same number of people were here as the last beach: not many. Several kids (Italian kids by their dialect) were playing with one of those large surfboards that I've seen pictures of. It's a rather large board that people stand on and use a long paddle to navigate. They were taking turns doing a circuit around the alcove, and I enjoyed watching them play.
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| Roman's "cave" |
Roman found a stick that he drug in the sand behind him as he meandered thoughtfully around the beach. I noticed that our crew mates, unlike the last beach where we each went our different ways, were also paying attention. A camaraderie had been forged earlier; and, although we had each gone our different ways, we seemed to be aware of one another. Roman had tempered his expression with a veil of ambiguity, but we all knew that an internal war was being fought in the mind of our conflicted four-year-old.
Without any forewarning or hint of his intention, Roman threw down his stick and ran, full-throttle, in the ocean. He splashed past me, sparing me a glance, but his destination was his mother. A shout of encouragement that originated from the vicinity of Italian Tom Cruise caught the attention of everyone at the beach. Most had no idea what was going on. But the German man applauded and the Belgium, swimming in the deeper water wearing a wet suit and flippers, pumped his fist into the air. I wanted to shout, "That's my boy! That's my boy!" as Roman swam to his awaiting mother. I nearly cried with pride.
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| That's my boy! |
Sometimes you can't think. You can't consider or contemplate or weigh the odds or even blink. Because if you do, you'll never leap. And, if you do leap, it'll be too late. Because the moment is gone. The opportunity missed. You throw away whatever is weighing you down, grab the hand of courage, and leap heart-first. And then dive into your fear with nothing but faith that someone you love will be waiting for you with open arms.
And so my family swam and splashed and played into the sunset. The Zodiac made its trips to reclaim its passengers, and we set sail back to Palau. As the western sea, tinted orange by the fading sun, gave way to a Sardinian peninsula, I could feel the early discomfort that precedes sea-sickness. Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to take any more, we arrived at the dock. The boat was tied off, the plank extended. We all went our separate ways on land, waving goodbye with heartfelt handshakes and smiles. I will never see any of these people again, but I have a funny suspicion that we will never forget one another.
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| ferry to La Maddalena |
The next day would be the last day with the Panda. We decided we had better wrap up our souvenir/gift-buying, so we headed to Palau to do just that. After a frustrating morning of finding nothing but overpriced nonsense, we opted to take the ferry one more time to La Maddalena. Only this time, we rode it as pedestrians.
We left the car at its parking spot in Palau and boarded the ship on foot. The fifteen minute journey was a different experience as we got to roam more freely. We found a window-side booth and silently watched the breaking waves outside.
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| gift-buying in La Maddalena |
We headed back across the sea and headed back home where we let Roman play on the beach as we just relaxed in the sun.
On the last full day that we were there, we returned the Panda first thing that morning. We caught the "train" back to the resort and changed into our swimming gear. An hour later, we, again, jumped on board the "train" and headed to its other stop: the beach, as the resort's front desk called it.
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| Roman shows us something |
We decided that we would have one nice meal before we left Italy: spare no expense. The three of us walked to the seaside restaurant that was a block away from our resort. I had already decided what I would order. My travel guide had suggested that, while in Sardinia, to make sure and try salt-encrusted fish and/or the fetal pig. The pig is apparently slaughtered within the first day of its birth; it's stuffed with various herbs and slow-roasted on a spit over a fire for nearly a day. Sounds cruel doesn't it? Well, we didn't try the pig. Apparently, you have to give them a day's notice for some "fetal pig" barbecue.
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| Our fish |
When it came, it was nothing like I had imagined. It wasn't salt-encrusted fish; it was salt-encased fish. The fish was inside a rock of salt that had been lit on fire. Our server went to work on the fish as soon as it arrived table-side. He chiseled away at the salt with a fork and spoon like a sculptor might work on a slab of marble. When at last the fish was free of its encasement, he skillfully carved the fish into two portions that he served to Joanna and myself. His routine would have been worth the price of admission even if the fish had tasted horrible; but, fortunately, it didn't. In fact, it was the best fish I had ever had...
My taste buds had already decided, before the fish was ever on my plate, that it would be too salty. When I actually tried a bite though, I was very pleasantly surprised. It wasn't too salty at all. In fact, it just had a hint of saltiness. I'm sorry to say that I have no idea what kind of fish that it was. All I know is that it was perfectly moist and flavorful: certainly worth its price.
When the tab came, I had already decided that I was going to tip well. But, when we started to count our money, we realized we hadn't brought any cash. Joanna paid with the credit card; apparently, it is not possible to put a tip on a charge card in Italy. We asked the server, and he verified this. I asked him what time he got off, and he told me at seven tonight. I promised him that I would run to the nearest ATM (Joanna and I would need some cash anyway), and I would return before he got off. I'm sure he was doubtful, but he would find out, soon enough, that I was committed. I am, after all, a server myself. Tips are my living.
I told Joanna to take Roman to the beach. They could play together while I took the "train" to Cannigione to get some cash. I could have some needed alone time, and Joanna and Roman could have fun at the beach.
On the "train", I sat in the caboose by myself. I enjoyed the seaside road as we snaked our way to the small town. Topless girls were laying on the beach catching sun in places that it normally didn't shine. Elderly couples walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk. Diners sat on patios, sipping on wine and looking out at the sea where a spectacle of one-man sailboats were navigating around some buoys. They appeared to be boys undergoing some nautical exercises. I was in such a different and beautiful world.
In Cannigione, I quickly got the cash and had an hour to kill before the "train" returned. I walked by the seafront and saw merchants setting up tables and stands for all kinds of interesting merchandise. Apparently, after the sun went down, tourists came here to shop. I would tell Joanna about this, we could do some shopping and strolling on our last night here. I went up to the place where the "train" would be picking me up. I ordered a beer and took a moment for me. I think I may have drink three beers as I awaited the "train" to return, and I really enjoyed the quiet time that I used to watch the different people coming and going.
Back at the resort, I walked back to the restaurant. Seven o'clock was almost nigh as I strolled into the diner where everyone was busy cleaning up for the night. Our server saw me approaching and intercepted me with a smile and a firm handshake. "Well, I hope you have enjoy Sardinia," he said.
"Oh, I have," I told him. "I have." I handed him a rather generous tip, and then went off to find my wife and son.
Joanna agreed with me about shopping one last night in Cannigione. We went there and strolled casually around. I bought a beaded necklace for myself (it was the only thing that I had gotten for myself). I liked the uniqueness of the different necklaces that I had gotten in the places that we had been. I still had a cool-blue one from Crete; and, now, I had a neat black-and-white one from Sardinia. Joanna got a shell ring which broke the next day. I promised that I would get her a new one (I still need to do that). Roman got a whistle that sounded like a bird. None of the gifts were very pricey, but they were special to us.
The next day, we boarded the bus to Olbia where we boarded a plane and headed back to Poland. Mason Jennings wrote that "there's a tourist in every heart that just wants to stay, and there's a tourist in every heart that just wants to go home." Isn't that so true when you're on vacation? I love being away for a while, but a time comes when I start missing home. And that time had come.
The plane ride back to Warsaw went without incident. However, once in Warsaw, we had a couple of hiccups. Our luggage took forever to come. We waited, along with all the other impatient passengers and an impatient Roman, at least an hour, for it to come out of that conveyor system. We started to wonder if it was ever going to.
When at long last it did, Joanna had to pee badly. We looked around as we were heading out for a restroom. I don't know what's up with that Warsaw airport, but restrooms just aren't that plentiful. We found one, but it was "closed for cleaning". We walked for what felt like a mile, when, at last, we found one. Joanna started to go in when a cleaning lady blocked her with a custodial cart and a sign that said something in Polish (surely, closed for cleaning). I was mad. We had the same situation when we had left for Sardinia. I said (in English, so I'm not sure if she understood me), "Joanna, screw that. Just go in anyway. This is ridiculous."
"Oh, I am," my wife said. She pushed her way past the cart as the lady was telling her something in Polish. Joanna spoke to her in her native tongue in a way that I knew very well. Even though I didn't know, word-for-word, what was being said, I still knew. "Every restroom is closed for cleaning. I have to go. Move, or I will go right here." Passersby watched us with interested expressions; I held Roman's hand and smiled and nodded. Fuck 'em.
Joanna went in as the lady threw up her hands in exasperation. When my wife came out, she was smiling. So was I.
After the shuttle service took us to the parking lot where the van was parked, we started the long drive back to Kalwaria. I remembered seeing a McDonald's on the outskirts of Warsaw; I asked Joanna to hit the drive-through there. I don't really even like McDonald's normally, certainly not at home. I bet I don't eat there twice a year. But, for some reason, every time that we've come back from one of our "expeditions", I always crave a large, nasty Big Mac and some fries. Joanna agreed; and, before long, we all had bellies filled with fast-food goodness.
The long drive went without incident. At home, we were anxious to hug and kiss our daughter; but, Amelia acted like she could care less whether or not we were there. She appeared perfectly content with Ba Ba and Dza Dza.
We only had a couple of days left in Poland. We spent them getting some last minute gifts and saying goodbye to the Madej family. Those goodbyes are so fucking hard. And they get harder every time. Now that I have a family of my own, I can better empathize with the thought of saying goodbye to a child that I might not see for another year (or even more). It makes me sad, too. I always feel like the villain taking away their family. But they don't treat me like a villain. They hug me just as hard as they hug everyone else.
And Joanna, out of consideration for her parents' concerns, always waits until we're out of sight before she starts crying...
-- Don't forget to like Parenting with Lightsabers here.
-- And if you liked this story, try reading something from our Polish vacation like "Flying to Poland"
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