We wander into our hotel room and lay on our beds. I look out the window and notice the sun is still high up. I go over the morning’s events in my mind. The encounter with the flamingo never leaves my thoughts. My escort breaks my concentration.

“How are you feeling now?”

I sigh deeply. “I feel better, thanks.”

“That’s great. It’s nice to have spa day.”

“This was my first time, and I can see why they’re so expensive.”

“Right,” my escort laughs, “We even have more time in the day for other activities.”

“Honestly,” I admit, “I’m not up for sports right now.”

“Me neither. How about we go to the beach and see the ocean?”

“That’s fine. I’m curious to see the ocean.”

There is no hint of sarcasm in my voice.

.                                                                       .                                                           .

Even though I live in Los Angeles, I’ve never gotten around to seeing the beaches. The closest I’ve ever gone to the ocean is an interview with an actor in a seafood restaurant on a pier boardwalk. My workaholic ways keep me busy, so I never get around to exploring the beach.

Living near the beach but never exploring it unless you go to a different country gives you a glimpse of how naïve someone can be.

After arriving at the beach, seeing two men taking off their speedos and walking around like normal makes me wonder if all beaches work this way.

I begin taking my clothes off, but my escort quickly covers me.

“It’s a clothing optional beach. You don’t have to undress.”

“Don’t all beaches operate this way?”

“Not really. It depends on the country and people around you.”

My face exudes a bright shade of red from blushing. “Thanks for the heads up,” I mumble.

We head towards the beach chairs and lay underneath a large blue and white umbrella.

I apply sunscreen all over my face, arms, and legs. I try to stretch my muscles to reach my back.

“I can get your back if you want,” my escort says. “I don’t want you pulling a muscle, especially after your massage.”

“Okay, thank you.” I hand her the bottle and she rubs the lotion in. Her hands feel good on my back, I would ask her to massage me if we did not already go to the spa.

She finishes up and sits back down.

“I’m wondering,” I ask her, “Are there any flamingoes in Greece?”

My escort looks perplexed, and thinks for a minute before saying, “I’m not sure. Flamingoes live in South America, the Caribbean, Mexico, and the Middle East. If any of them live here, they’re probably in zoos. Why do you ask that?”

I look down and say, “I remember having a dream while in the mud bath. It’s a silly question. I guess the massage tends to make you light in the head.”

The escort chuckles, then picks up a magazine from her tote bag and reads.

I look up towards the sky and see the sun beaming over the blue and white umbrella with a pink dot hovering above.