Early in the morning he took photos of me on the shore in a white dress with a flower in my hair.
We sea kayaked on an orange, open, plastic vessel, to a private beach inhabited only by hermit crabs. He named the beach after me, Queen Beach, and we played with the crabs on the beach rocks in the shade, watching the ones close to shore occasionally roll around in the tiny waves when the tide would crash in. They were mini waves, but to the Hermit’s, they were double their size and probably terrifying, and that’s why they rolled into themselves so tightly. We tried to protect them, the creatures of our kingdom, and laughed at the Spanish couple at sea struggling to steer their kayak toward the shore against the current.
Someone was beating the mealtime drum. We were served a spectacularly satisfying hamburger lunch on the deck upon our return to the main beach. We stared into each other’s eyes and returned to the room to shower and change.
“Botaira” means the sun’s afterglow
We enjoyed a “private” dinner on the beach that evening and watched the supreme pink sun set behind the island ridge. We were served wine from the ice bucket.