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Kiting in the Cyclades
by Rhea Rose
Excerpts:
The Cyclades are a loose ring of Greek islands scattered like pieces of broken pottery on the blue Aegean sea. From April to October, they are hot with the restless young of Europe. My partner and I stayed there on Paros, an island famous in ancient times for its marble. We spent several days sauntering through the tidy white-walled lanes of the town and were unaccustomed to the friendly mealtime hustle of waiters outside their restaurants beseeching customers to sit at their tables.
To escape the exhaustion of 24-hour pleasuring, we climbed to the top of the rocks on the beach in Naousa, on the northern end of the island. There, we dared unravel our vibrant dragon tail. It was barely out before it spun, snapped and was yanked away. . .
. . . Struggling with the wind that often enough sent the dragon crashing into the rocks, we talked of gods, myths and ancient sails. We waved at the over-loaded little caiques that puttered past carrying packs of beach worshippers toward a day of play. These small boats were drawn momentarily off course to get a closer look at our banner of brightness . . .
