"Tourist go home," I read the slogan scribbled on the caution sign out loud and scoffed, "how nice."
It was scrawled on the upper right corner of a big sign warning visitors of strong marine currents down at the beach we were heading to.
"Relax, Sam," Greta said, giving me her famous 'you're-overreacting'-look.
I got those often from her. Not that I often overreacted, she just thought some of my opinions were crass, while I thought she was like a flag blowing in the wind - regarding her opinions.
We were very different but that made us even better friends. A friendship that lasted ten years and counting.
"What? It's not nice!" I countered raising my hands in defence "and it's not even grammatically correct. Also, this island thrives because of tourists. So why can't we go to this beautiful beach in peace, make no noise, leave no trash, behave, and everyone's happy?"
The other girls only laughed at me. They thought I was overreacting, too.
"Really, Sam, it's just scribbling. No one will stop us from going down to this beach and enjoy a few hours by the sea," Ally said, hooking me and pulling me towards the path that led down the cliffs to the beach.
"I agree with them," Marina chimed in, the one who usually shared my opinions, "also, I'm sweating like a pig. I'd like to take a dip in these deliciously looking waves, alright?"
"Fine," I huffed and followed my friends down the small descent.
Maybe I did overreact. Maybe we weren't as unwelcome as I felt when I read that slogan.
I sighed and let my gaze wander over the red and black cliffs and the deep-blue sea. I was ready for a nap on the soft sand at the beach. I was on vacation after all, I needed to relax.
It had been quite a while since I last got away from all the stress at home. You don't really get a break when you study full-time, work part-time and still try to have a social life. So when my three closest girlfriends suggested to get away to a Spanish island for a holiday, I jumped at the opportunity.
The light salty sea breeze ruffling my hair reminded me that I made the right decision.
When we got closer to the beach, I saw some surfers sitting on their surfboards behind the line where the waves rolled on shore, waiting for their next best wave.
The path winded along the rock face as we climbed down steps carved in sandstone. We took a left around the last corner and to our right, a breathtakingly beautiful beach stretched along the volcanic steep coast. The azure water sparkled in the sunlight and the waves kissed the black sand with white fizz gushing and dissolving in a steady rhythm.
I went down the last few steps carefully, as my knees were already wobbly from the descent and passed a shack and an array of different fixtures that seemed to belong to the lair of surfers that frequented this beach.
Surfers, alright. The scribbling made more sense now. Probably some surfers that saw their beach invaded by outsiders felt the need to express their frustration on public property.
Maybe. Maybe I only had a biased opinion about surfers.
"Alright, I'm going for a swim," Marina informed us after having taken off her clothes and changed into a bikini with light speed.
"Be careful!" Greta managed to utter before she was off to throw herself into the waves. I had to chuckle at Marina's childlike joy and rush.
We continued setting up our towels and putting on our swimwear.
