Return to the Sea
I had been away from Europe for three years, but it has been impossible to get the lifestyle out of my soul. There is a difference between life in the US and life in Europe that cannot be explained by distance. Certainly, European immigrants settled in North America and brought the customs and traditions of their respective homelands with them as they populated the continent but there is more than the customs and traditions that make up European life. Immigrants could not bring the landscape, the sky, the sunlight, the stars, or the aroma of the forests, the sea, the villages, and the cuisine. Once you have lived in Europe, it becomes part of you; you cannot leave it behind no matter where you go.
Four years ago, I took, or more correctly was given, a job working on a private yacht in the Mediterranean for the summer. I had finished college and was trying to decide about the future path I should follow when reality struck me between the eyes. Summers lounging around or working odd jobs when I needed some cash was a thing of the past. I had to focus on the future, not the present. To drive this point home, my father arranged a position for me on a private yacht that would allow me to mingle with the proper class of people, wealthy individuals from the business world who traveled in style and went to the trendiest of locations. Connections meant everything.
Returning to the US sixteen months later, I was older, wiser, and more seasoned in the ways of the world. I began working in an international yacht brokerage firm located in Florida and while I was not a fan of being in sales, I was uniquely qualified and knowledgeable about larger vessels, and my personality made me a natural for the business or so I was told. I made a decent living and was sought after by clients and competitors alike. This business takes its toll so I decided to escape to the mountains for a break, following a trekking route in the Dolomites, starting from the Northeast and heading southwest. There are lodges and huts along the way so it is not a true wilderness experience, but it would afford some exercise, peace, and space for an overworked human.
It was toward the end of September when I started out, a slower period in the yachting business but still warm enough to make the journey pleasurable. I was happy to be back in Italy and looked forward to being away from people but I missed being close to the water. There is something about the smell of the sea that is intoxicating and once it seeps into the fabric of your being, it never leaves although I found that mountain air and the scent of autumn are a close second, particularly in the cool evenings.
As I walked I encountered only a few people as the elevation increased, and even fewer as the weather took a turn for the worse. Toward the end of the third day, the rains came. It wasn't like a major wind-driven storm, but the rain came down steadily for about three hours, soaking me to the skin. When I arrived at the small hut that was my destination for the day, I was thrilled to be finished and wanted nothing more than to get out of my clothes and warm up. I smelled the fire as I got closer to the hut so I knew that I would not be alone and that a kind soul had started a fire, saving me the trouble.
Out of politeness, I knocked on the door before entering and then quickly removed my boots once inside. I glanced around and saw another young man getting up from a chair by the fire, stark naked, his clothes draped along the upper part of a bunk bed that he apparently dragged close to the fireplace, his boots on the hearth. "Excuse me," he said, "I was really soaked and wasn't expecting company this late in the day. I'll look for something dry and get myself decent."
"Don't worry about it," I replied, "I understand how wet, soggy clothes tend to remove inhibitions and decorum."
"Thank you for understanding," he said while sitting down again. "I'm Rafael, most people just call me Raffy."
"Nice to meet you, I'm Jeremy. Have you been here long?"
"A couple of hours," he said, "I arrived a little after noon and after a light lunch I was planning to head on to the next hut to the north. I made it about 45 minutes and then the skies opened up, drenching me, so I turned around and double-timed it back here. No way I'm leaving here tonight."
After placing my boots near the fire, I peeled off my clothes and arranged them on another chair. I rummaged through my backpack for some dry shorts, but Raffy was quick to point out that we should not stand on formality since in all likelihood we would be the only inhabitants tonight. He said to make myself comfortable and not worry about offending him unless I felt uncomfortable. I thanked him for his candor and openness and gave up my search, opting to sit near the fire au natural to warm up.
After a few minutes, Raffy went to his pack and came back with a bottle of Marillen Schnapps, an apricot brandy common to Austria and the Czech Republic, and a sturdy plastic cup. "Here this will help warm your cold insides," he said, pouring a half cup from the bottle and handing it to me.
"Thank you," I replied while taking a long sip of the fiery liquid from the cup before handing it back. "You're right," I said, "I feel warmer already."
"It is a gift from the mountain gods," he responded. "While it may not warm you or dry your clothes like a fire or the sun, it certainly makes you care less about being wet," he continued with a laugh. He then refilled the cup and passed it back to me.
We talked and became more acquainted over a couple of cups of Schnapps and I sliced some sausage and cheese from my bag to make an impromptu dinner. We had become very comfortable with each other and had a nice evening, never once thinking about the lack of clothing. As I cleaned up, Raffy put some fresh wood on the fire so the hut would stay warm throughout the night. I found myself looking at him, admiring his lean but solid physique, and once or twice I found him looking back at me. Maybe it was the Schnapps but I felt that there was something happening between us.
As Raffy was taking some of his clothes from the bed, I walked up behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. When he did not move away, I leaned over and kissed his neck while taking in his scent, a mixture of warm flesh and smoke. "It took you long enough," he said to the air before slowly turning to face me.
"I didn't want to be presumptuous," I said, "but I couldn't fight it any longer."
"We spent the better part of the evening sitting around naked drinking brandy, and you didn't want to be presumptuous? Do you do this type of thing often?" he replied with a laugh.
"When you put it like that it does sound a little silly," I said. "You could have kissed me too, you know."
"Wouldn't that be presumptuous?" he replied. "How do I know if you would welcome my advances?"
