The Island Flamingo: Part 11
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 1
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 2
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 3
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 4
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 5
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 6
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 7
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 8
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 9
- The Island Flamingo: Chapter 10
- The Island Flamingo: Part 11
The next morning at 9, I stuff my drawstring backpack with essential supplies (phone, sunscreen, sunglasses, etc.) and dress for my secret journey to the island.
My clothes consist of beige capri shorts, a blue and white floral tank top, and white strappy sandals with a floppy sun hat. One of the fashion tips in the newspaper recommends this outfit. Perfect for cruises, it says. Hopefully, it’s good for an island trip too.
I have breakfast in the hotel lobby with my escort, whom I’m now calling Susie in an effort to use less officious names. She seems nervous, but still accepts the plan for today. Feeling bad for lying but not wanting to give up, I let her know the meal is on me.
Near 9:45, we prepare to go our separate ways for the day. My escort explains the plan:
“We’ll meet back here around 3 PM for a late lunch. Let me know if anything goes wrong or if you return early. I’ll be texting you occasionally to keep in touch. Please be careful and have a great time!”
My escort winks at me, and I smile.
“I understand. Have a great time today too!”
We say goodbye to each other, and I head to the marina where my private ride waits for me. I start walking past the smaller fishermen’s boats first. Most of them have fishy aromas, some disgustingly rancid, others akin to a classy seafood restaurant.
When I near bigger boats and yachts, there is a sense of luxury pompousness I’m familiar with whenever interviewing someone living in Beverly Hills. All the same, my thoughts mainly concentrate on my upcoming journey to the island.
Finally, near the right side of the marina, a small yacht catches my eye with the figure of a pink flamingo on its port. A tall and tan man exits the cabin and notices me.
“Kali Mera! *” He calls out to me.
“Kali Mera!” I say back.
“Are you heading toward Pink Island?” he asks in a quieter tone.
“Yes, my name is Tamara.”
“Nice to meet you, Tamara, my name’s Louis. Hop on the yacht.”
“Thank you, Mr. Louis,” I say to him.
With that, I climb onto the yacht and make myself comfortable near a window seat.
Louis heads to the front and asks me, “The journey’s about an hour; how long do you plan being there?”
“I’m meeting someone at 3, so not that long.”
“Fine by me, let me know if you need anything.”
Louis starts the yacht’s engine, and I look back towards the marina and Greek city, remembering my dream.
Kali Mera [Ka-lee-ME-ra] means Good Morning in Greek.