To The White Hat or the Freken-Bok of the Adriatic
I took to first walking, then cycling to the beach at the far end of the harbour – that’s where I used to swim with Wim, walking towards each other and meeting halfway every evening, many years ago, that’s where my mom used to swim too when we stayed in a beautiful apartment just above that beach. To get there you need to walk through the tunnel, a hole in the mountain. And when you emerge on the other side, you find yourself in a different space, away from the vibes of the seaside tourism. It feels mellow, tranquil, and faraway. It is also here that I come at night to sit and watch the tall dark sky peppered with the eyes of the elephants.
I come early in the morning, when the sun is still hiding behind the mountains, and sunbathers are just waking up to a new day. So is the sea. It is soft and tender and enticing. I’ve been swimming along the line of buoys – back and forth, for an hour each morning, reminiscing the joyful free days of swimming in the open sea accompanied by Steve in a dinghy, feeling free and safe, at the same time – the most desirable combination.
Today I woke up a bit late – past 7 am, jumped on my bike and paddled on – at this time already meandering between random tourists.
I find the Kamenovo beach still deserted, and sit for a few minutes quietly, before plunging myself into that lullabying wholeness.
As I get back on the shore, I find a late middle-aged couple making themselves comfortable plonking a big umbrella into the pebbles, steps away from me. They speak Russian. The woman approaches the water and walks in, commenting on its warmth. The man shortly follows her – with the goggles and the pads for the hands. They both head towards the bouys, dive under them and soon I can only see the beige hat of the woman, at distance. The man disappears behind the cliff.
While swimming is my passion, I often don’t feel brave enough to explore the uncharted waters. Seeing those two, I pull my snorkel back on my face, and plunge myself into the water again, heading in the same direction. I shortly reach the woman – she’s swimming without haste, her head above the water.
– Hello! I never dared to come this way alone, but seeing you was encouraging, – I say to her.
– Oh, you should. It’s really beautiful here, and safe – boats don’t come this way, they stay away from the shoreline. There are a couple of caves behind the next cliff. You can swim all the way to Przno. The view of Sveti Stefan is also beautiful from here.
I thank her again and pull my snorkel back on. The water under me getting deeper and deeper, the sunbeams like the light of the projector disappearing into the depth. As I turn the corner I see those little bays – the wafer-like vertically layered surfaces of the sand and clay-coloured rocks coming down to the water, that is deep green closer to the rocks and dark blue – all around me. At distance I see the shore with sunbeds – that’s the Przno beach the woman referred to. I can spot her husband now – he’s swimming back towards us, soon passing us by. And I can also spot someone else. A white hat. Soon the White Hat approaches, so does my woman, as I linger by the quaint rocks.
– This is the Dragon Cave, she says, and greets the White Hat. So do I.
The White Hat is a woman of around 70 years old, plump and agile, a split image of Freken Bok from the Astrid Lingren’s story about Karlsson. She swims with her head above the water and her little arms moving as in sidestrokes.
– I could tell you are either Russian, Belorussian or Ukrainian, she says. – Only we wear hats in the water. It’s a Soviet habit, so to speak. But anyhow, my face is all sun-burnt by now.
– Yes, says my woman, adjusting her hat. – It doesn’t help much on the water.
– Where are you swimming from? I ask the White Hat.
– I leave my things on the Queen’s beach, opposite Sveti Stefan. It’s about a kilometer away. Today, I really want to reach that rock with a hole in it. – She points out at a dot at a distance, possibly, over a kilometer away from our little water get-together.
– I aim to swim 300 kilometres a year, I already did 200 this summer. That’s what I decided once I retired, – she says seriously and matter-of-factly.
I laugh out loud, nearly dropping my mask. I laugh – with joy, that still makes me giggle now, as I’m writing those lines.
– You, wonderful women. I am so happy I’ve met you.
– Yes. I’m committed to that. I spend two months swimming in Russia, and September – here.
– So, how did you get here? Do you just go straight – as the crow flies? From the Queen’s beach to here? – I wave at the vast open water space between here and there, stunned by the astonishing contrast between the looks of this marvelous lady, her age and what she is busy doing.
– Oh no, I’m trying to hold to the shoreline. Now, I better potter off – if I want to reach that rock with a hole.
– I’m getting a bit chilly too, I say, refitting my snorkel.
– That’s right, if it weren’t for the chill, you can just swim on forever – says the White Hat.
I watch her paddle away with her little arms flapping over water; and leaving my woman behind, swim off towards the beach. I wait for her on the shore, to thank her once again.
This autumn I will be exploring the waters of Montenegro beyond the limits I’ve set for myself.
Those people who are not aware of how much they do by doing what they do.
My heart is warm with gratitude as deep as the waters near the Dragon Cave, to all of you, wonderful crazy people who go beyond the known and happen to broaden the horizons of those who cross your path.
PS
Today, I swam to the Przno beach on my own, fighting the fear most of the way, especially at the point, when the coast disappears behind the cliff and, so does the sea bed – into the depth, and it’s not clear, whether the pillars of light in the water sparkling under me and going all the way beyond the visible come from above, or from below. Now and then, I look up – there’s no one. Just me and the sea. And I think of all those people who find themselves in the open – I think of Konyukhov, the Russian priest and explorer, who single-handedly crossed the oceans on a little paddle boat. I think of mountaineers who go beyond the point of reaching out for help. I don’t at all admire the aspiration to walk on the edge between life and death, but I do admire the grandeur of courage, the fearlessness, or rather the unwavering heart that accepts that it’s human to fear, and yet, keeps on following the chosen path.
