Santa Eulalia.
It was 1984 and my wife and I were on holiday in Santa Eulalia.
The weather was sweltering and the sand was far too hot to walk on without some kind of foot covering. That is exactly why we, at least I, had came here. I love the heat.
I was able to coax her into the water, normally a next-to-impossible task, were we swam and fooled around for about an hour or so, before returning to our sun-beds and giant sun parasol.
We had arrived to the beach early and it was still only eleven o’clock as I dosed there.
My wife was reading one of her usual paperbacks, and I was quickly becoming bored.
Her point-blank refusal to come back into the water irked me somewhat, so I donned flippers and grabbing my snorkel and goggles I went back into the water alone.
At first I contented myself by swimming around the rock edges watching the small fish darting here and there in search of food. Suddenly a shoal of smaller fish darted past me pursued by two larger fish which were gorging themselves on them.
Striking out boldly, I followed them. Soon the sand beneath us gave way to darker moss covered rocks, and after a while the rocks disappeared, only to reveal dark deeper water.
I continued to swim on, my flippers making easy work of the calm waters. Eventually I stopped and took my snorkel out of my mouth.
I gaped in amazement, for all around me I could see only water! No skyline… nothing!
Removing my goggles I confirmed to my panicking brain,… no land to be seen!
Reverting to calm mode I decided to tread water in the hope of seeing a low-flying helicopter or a speed-boat come hurtling by. No such luck.
For a further fifteen minutes I trod water until I saw a small fishing cobble chugging in my general direction. It was too far away to acknowledge my frantically waving arms, and sedately chugged past, much to my dismay.
Now I had to decide. Was the cobble returning to harbour, or going out to sea? My life depended upon my decision, because by now I was tiring.
Casting caution to the winds I decided to follow in the cobbles parallel direction.
Donning once more my goggles and snorkel I struck out towards what I fervently hoped would be land.
After about twenty minutes, and many anxious glances forward, I saw the beginning of roof-tops.
It was no mirage, dry land.
I struck out even more resolutely and was overwhelmed when I recognised Sinatra’s bar on the shoreline.
Below me once more was the golden sand of Santa Eulalia, and I strode from the water like James Bond.
My loyal wife was snoring gently on her beach-bed, and I awakened her by dripping cold water on her back.
“Where did you get to?” was her first remark.“I was worried about you”.
“Yes, I could tell that by your snoring”, was my smarmy reply.
We were interrupted by a young man and his girlfriend asking if he could borrow my diving gear. He’d left his in their hotel room.
“Sure,” I replied. “But don’t go too far”.
“Don’t worry, I’m a good swimmer,” he replied.
My wife hurriedly left the beach, probably embarrassed by my hysterical laughter at his response.
Kitos.