A languid afternoon

I was lying on the white cushiony mats on the top deck, chatting to my friend who was drinking Samuel Adams straight out of the bottle. The junk swayed violently at times when it rolled over the wake of a larger boat, but we laughed about it, rolling with the junk while clutching on to our sunglasses. I tried to read the novel I had brought with me, but half-way through the first sentence I realised I was focusing more on the clear blue horizon ahead of us instead of the words in the book.

No skyscrapers, no tall apartment blocks. Only green islands dotted with low buildings in sight. The up and down of the boat made me shut my eyes against the brilliant turquoise sea and the bright, hot blue sky and luxuriate in the soothing movement. Eventually I dozed off.

We stepped off the junk to take the speed boat closer to the shore. The heat of the sunbaked sand pricked the soles of our bare feet, making us jump on our toes all the way into the open air restaurant. Under the striped canopy we had a feast of seedloaf and tahini, grilled trout, lamb chops and garlic prawns washed down with a jug of purply red sangria. Little children with tightly curled hair ran around us, screaming in their colourful bathing suits. Their parents were already red-faced, jolly with white wine. A couple of sandy dogs slept under our feet. We sat back to take in the long stretch of cornflower-blue water, with only occasional banter passing among us.

On the way back, all four of us lay asleep on the top deck of the boat - the strong sea breeze running through our hair, the blazing yellow sun hugging our shoulders.