By Fatjona R. Lubonja
The more the sun sailed toward the coast the more her thoughts echoed inside her head. After all these years her childhood memories woke up from a long time of hibernation. Suddenly her present was traveling through the past into the unknown future. She had left that place too young to remember anything. For twenty years she had collected bits and pieces of her childhood memory only through her colorful imagination. Since her mother’s death, she had abandoned the idea of visiting back the country.
She knew her mother had longed to go back, although, ironically she had played with the idea as if it was a prohibited love, or a hidden sentiment. In her mother’s memory she came from a land far from the eyes of the world. Where the clear waters run freely enchanted by the mountains that patiently fathered them. “Illyria”, she remembered her mother to have mentioned once the name. She herself never recalled such a country. All she knew that the country was called Albania, the land of the eagles.
Her journey began as soon as the sun sets above the hill she made her first trip discovery. A submarine. A real Cold War submarine. Technically it was in the middle of nowhere, no one’s waters. Was there such a thing anymore? No laws, but the sea that surrounded and the mountain that hosted it, respected such a relic of what was once the fear of all. The submarine was an iron giant of the ex-military Russian ship, an ex-pride, and a reminiscence of the Cold War. The rusted metal walls, mirrored its timeline.
Suddenly she could taste the air like metal, but in a vaporized form while the iron, steel colored walls, torn by water drops that gave away the scriptures. A forgotten beast in its old age, even more beautiful. There was a combination of colors. The famous red color was somewhere hidden after the metal. There was a thin unidentified smell traveling disorderly and carefree in the air, until the hollow walls made it disappear. There was something magic there.
The submarine looked powerful but not fearful, unified by a melody of the tourists voices. Ironically, once this power was the main cause for leaving, today it was the main cause of her return. She realized at that moment that the submarine has always been lonely. It was built to accompany her own echo.
Coming out of the submarine she noticed that her presence and the waves were the only witness of that view. Or, so she thought. While the sun pointed directly over her head, she found herself surrounded by the steep mountain and the blue water of the sea. The ultimate magical nature, untouched, virgin as the air she breathed. She left the submarine and took the steep curvy road, aside the mountain.
The walk was tiring but enjoyable since the breeze of the Ionian Sea wind followed her as a good friend. Suddenly she realized that she was not alone in her short trip to the mountain. A beautiful wild white mountain goat was walking next to her.
A white wild goat!!! Absolutely elegant and enchantingly beautiful. They climbed elegantly parallel to each other for a while, until the roads took them apart.
The farewell brought them apart the goat disappeared on the mountain while her deep inside the enchanted sea. She would have sworn that the water turned her into a nymph. In other places she would have laughed with the thought, but after all, the place was called the “Goddess’ Breasts”. The water was magically clear. She could see the pearl stones deep down under her feet. Her feeling elevated in suspense.
Other swimmers joined from far, but one in particular was extreme. He could dive deep down, holding his breath as long as anyone could. At her surprise, he was roaming around the seafloor rolling over the grey stones so beautifully decorating the sea bottom. He swam so elegantly to the surface holding a beautiful pink octopus. With the other hand, he made the welcoming sign inviting her to join the others.
The nature was happy almost on a rite status. Everyone seemed at peace, even though the crowd spoke different languages that seemed to be in the harmony. They believed that destine had gathered them at the goddesses’ place. The beauty was dominant. The beach was mythological decorated with white sand, green lemon and olives ancient trees and wild brown horses that roamed freely.
They slowly touched the coast and introduced themselves as the most interesting crowd. Most of them were independent travelers from around the world. Some were climbers, some others were deep water divers, and another couple were free travelers that enjoyed nature. They all introduced her to the famous diver, who she found out was the country’s sea diver champion. Amazed with all the surrounding she enjoyed the feast offered with grilled octopus, freshly caught by the champion.
That day went slowly, feeling jealous of the night taking place. It guarded them until the moon’s first light touched peacefully, taking the sounds of human play and the dust of the journey. The aroma of the wine with a touch of salt made it erotic. The moon seemed to be satisfied with everything below, even us, humans, elezired with the natures music. Everything was peacefully wandering over a romantic night, like in a gondola “lundra” lundrare” above the water like the wine served, stalked by the sound of jazz. The night was magic. The beautiful woman, hosting the evening, with body curves that reflected the moon, sashed on the old paths jeweled with warm sand. Distracted by her own spell she drank the wine and became even more beautiful.
The moon liked them the most. That’s all she thought while looking at the moon reflection flirting with the elegance of the ancient Ionian Sea.