it's a pleasure to meet You

* this entry from 5/28 *
it's a pleasure to meet You, Isla Isabela, Galapagos

It was as though Mr. Hermit Crab transformed overnight. This human form walks up the low stairs into the shaded patio of the local restaurant. A flash of white t-shirt and gold; golden hair and golden skin. I’ve not seen this image on the island.

White t-shirt and gold hair reappears and sits alongside our small group; his rice and bananas joining our rice and bananas.

The cadence of his voice is calm. He smiles after sentences.

It's learnt that he’s an English professor on another island (San Cristobal), that he's a photographer, that he likes chocolate and lime ice cream.

He lends me a book and in the evening, I see him again.

Two bottles of beer, our conversation travels and soon we are away from the group, from the wood stools, from the conch shells of the beach bar. Salsa music fades as we walk barefooted towards the ocean. Water laps over feet, wets the edge of jeans. He talks about Lost Words and asking questions, helps me over rocky ledges and sinking sand. Clouds blot the sky. Stars twinkle. We label a set of shiny dots the big dipper and throw accuracy to the wind.

A thin slice of moon faintly illuminates the night. The sea enveloped in darkness appears mysterious; a vast expanse of unknown. Standing on that cusp of land and water, it is asked.

“What would happen if we just continued walking into the ocean?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Our hands hug and with a firm grip, we walk forward to find the answer. The evening’s darkness blurs the edges of the horizon, a mass of rolling water washes over legs, splashes onto chests. The deeper we go, the tighter the grip; soon our clothes are wet, our hands release, he swims into the black water, another wave crashes, I topple over and surrender to the sea.

The slopping sound of wet jeans against the ground as we walk back to town. He takes me to the door of my hostel and bids a goodnight.

Thank You, Robin.


(photo courtesy of S.G.)