Corfu

My head is pounding and when my eyes close the world spins round making me swallow nervously to quell the rising bile from last night's overindulgence, but the breeze feels good across my fevered skin and the ocean air calms my beating heart. I have come here to these Grecian shores to recover, to gain some peace and clarity and instead I find myself drowning. I am drowning, not in the exquisite turquoise waters but in Ouzo and wine, in Greek eyes and plundering mouths soaked in olive oil and tasting of the Mediterranean. At night there is always a sun kissed body to warm myself with and I am indiscriminate- man, woman, Greek, Italian, Turk, tourist...the only thing that matters is that they don't remind me of him with his ice blue eyes and pale pale skin. I came here to heal but I have lost myself to a numbing cloud of hedonism from which I may never return. Sometimes, I'm not sure that I want to.

This morning, however, I awoke early with the rosy fingers of the dawn and despite the hammering in my head, a moment of clarity has brought me from next to yet another nameless lover to heaven, here on the bluffs above Limanaki Beach. It is early yet, which may account for the lack of others, but I have come to one of the more remote spots on the Island and I relish the tranquility. The coastline is spectacular here at this cliffside bar. They are not yet open for business but the boy who is preparing for the day allows me to sit on one of the lounge chairs contemplating the morning beauty. He is respectful of my quietude and conducts himself much as I imagine the monks of the monastery high above our heads. His one concession to breaking the stillness is to place a cup of thick coffee next to me as well as a bottle of sparkling water. I am grateful.

Movement along the side of the bluffs catch my attention and if I squint my eyes just so I can see the two figures making their way down the long seemingly unending cliffside steps towards the beach and the rocks below. He is blond and pale and she a brunette with just the hint of a tan. I start. From here they could be he and I just last year making our way down the same path, tracing the footsteps of the Venetians that had ruled here so long ago. It was our work, our studies that had brought us both together on this Island so long ago. We had made it a point over the years to always come back at least once every summer. It was on those very steps that he had paused- to ask for my hand I had thought, to tell me of his infidelity he had planned. I remember thinking that he should have waited until we reached the bottom that he had underestimated my rage and despair at his betrayal. I remember thinking that I should push him as he turned his back to continue his decent leaving me standing alone above him. I thought it, my fingers even twitched by my sides in a phantom act, but I couldn't bring myself to it. Instead, I returned home and tried to forget about Corfu, to forget about him, but the summer came and with it the urge to return to the Island. It seems I am one Pavlov's dogs.

I tell myself as I sit here overlooking the bluff- this particular bluff- that I have returned to reclaim the land that I have loved. To reclaim something that he has stolen along with my easy smile and my laughter. But I have made a grave error. This place is no longer welcome to me as I am no longer welcome to it and no amount of pleasure - be it drink or flesh- will change that. It is time for me to go home. It is time for me to start again. I leave a large tip for the boy who has so peacefully allowed me the time to come to this realization. I am leaving the Island now. I am ready to move on.