Solo, Sardinia, and the Sea

I step into the kayak, cozy into the seat, and heft the Greenland paddle. From the shore of the Mediterranean Island of Sardinia, my Italian excursion begins. At the age of fifty-eight, after separating from my husband, I’m traveling solo.

“Tally Ho!” shouts our trusted leader Luigi who speaks no English and wears a cowboy hat. Perhaps the Stetson should have been a warning, but the need for caution was obliterated by the vista—azure blue and powder white.

In retrospect, our first day on the water could have been all twenty of us weaving in and out of the coves, practicing our skills, instead of heading into a channel where the swells made keeping track of each other impossible. An experienced paddler, I angle into the waves wishing I had my trusty carbon paddle instead of this wooden behemoth.

As waves crash over my bow, the rest of the party is nowhere in sight. I continue to traverse across the waves but each time I glimpse shore I see the same signpost. I’m making no progress and my wrists ache from the stress of the foreign paddle.

The skirting over the hull holds back the sea as I start to slow down, my energy flagging. Then I see the shore and my pace quickens. What looks like bodies are strewn across the sand. The Stetson is waving and laughing like the fool he is.

Getting closer I see the women prostrate in the sand weeping. My legs can’t hold me as I drop to the beach, put my hands over my face and shudder. Tears don’t come easily and not until I ask, “But where are the others?”

“They had to be rescued,” says our American guide.

Everything around me crashes, my fists tighten, I pound the sand. “No!” I howl, “this is all wrong.”

“Cheer up,” the guide says, “we have a wonderful farm to table meal in a few hours.”

What no one knows then is only five of us will continue the expedition, the rest will spend the week on dry land at the campground. We will never again paddle into the channel. Our days will be spent exploring coves, picnicking by the sea. The Italian Cowboy will have led his last kayaking expedition and I will have learned I can survive and thrive on my own.

I’ll have the courage to end a thirty-four-year marriage and the confidence to say yes to love.

Let me know in the COMMENTS if you’ve gone on a trip alone, how it went, and how you made it work.

Link to my novel, Paper Bags: http://woodhallpress.com/paper-bags