He must have seen it coming across the water at him to have reacted that quickly, and I realize that we’re watching the real thing here. Life or death on the sea.
      Onshore, a man leading a donkey, walks past, greeting us with the traditional,’Ya’, (health), to which we reply, ‘Ya, hara’ (health and happiness).
The big sloop is approaching the shore of our island, and the man with the donkey stops and admires the sight. ‘Poli Orea,’ he says, ‘very beautiful’, and then walks on, occasionally glancing over his shoulder at the boat. When the wind suddenly howls up, the man turns back to me, puts his hand to his cheek, and mimes ‘Po, po, po,’ which is the Greek equivalent of ‘my, my my’.
      The wind suddenly swings right around and the boat is running before it with the sails hauled in much too tight and everything clattering and slamming, and before anything can be re-set, the wind shifts again until it is pushing so hard on the bow you’d think it would drive the sloop backwards.
We hear the wind on the island, just as we feel the thick, sweet air against our limbs when we walk. There are times when it screams through the cedar trees so loudly, it sounds as if they are arguing. But this afternoon, nearly all the wind is on the sea and whistling down through the valleys, while the rest of the island is nearly still, and where we stand, the sun is as powerful as a laser.
      This captain doesn’t step aside to the wind. Time and again, like a matador, he releases the main and jib to let the sudden charges of the wind shoot past. It is an amazing spectacle.

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