We arrived in Kalymnos on the small gray caique Angeliko, rounding the cape of Chalis with a strong west wind blowing fiercely, a black patched triangular sail flapping above our heads and the boat full of turkeys and mandarins, jugs and baskets, and the inevitable black-clad old women who are an integral part of the scene on every Aegean caique. It was a truly brave and spectacular entrance. "My Virgin Mary!" a granny said hoarsely between her vomits. "Look at the little ones! Look at them! They don’t understand anything!" "Nah, grandma." The curly-haired sailor threw the contents of a bucket at a huge green watery wall that rose threateningly above the boat. "The children are born sailors. Sailors! Clear as day!" The wave hit the vessel hard. The benches on the deck cracked loudly from one side to the other.
"Grrrp!" the old woman made a choking sound and grabbed the air with her fists. The curly-haired boy leaned casually against the worn door frame to balance himself and carefully pulled up the bucket, gathering the rope it was tied to. The "little ones" – that is, my children – emerged soaking wet from a chaotic pile of turkeys, benches, cardboard suitcases, broken jugs, baskets, and old women fallen on the deck, their little fists full of mandarins and their faces ecstatically flushed. Obviously, all this was much more fun than the amusement park in Battersea Park in London.