End of August
End of August ‘77
Our 4th full moon together, god it feels like years. It‘s the end of summer and the tribe is packing up. There’s talk of a road being built, and we know things will never be the same. After the party we’ll disperse to all points, Japan, Katmandu, New York, Bali, London… Plans are made to meet up on Goa, after the overland trek. On Paranga a hearth is built in the cove, firewood is collected, a large tub is filled with of gallons of wine, fruit, Ouzo (and god knows what else) is mixed for the nights festivities. Huge salads are tossed, a lamb on a spit arrives, the local fishermen donate some of their catch, and joints are rolled.
Around sunset drums and guitars start playing. The acid starts to kick in and I join with my flute, Tanya falls asleep. The vibe picks up and I start piping up a storm. Trembling I start to play the harp as fast and as loud as possible, to the crowds urging of GO!, yeah! Blow…!!!
The full moon rose red and magenta. Casting a silvery light on the dancing hedonists silhouetted against the fire and the sparkling sea.
Half naked women dancing close to me as I wailed, shaking it in my face for further inspiration. One Australian blonde, grabs my hands and drags me into the circle of quivering bodies. A bare-chested Chinese girl screamed into my ear as she grabbed my waist, “Lets go!” As the drums beat louder I turned and kissed her as she turns as she turns to kiss my Aussi partner who’s shaking so hard she’s losing her bikini bottom., up dances a dark long haired frizzy Italian chick, who the 3 of us descend upon like vampires, as she struggles open mouthed, to tongue us all simultaneously. Muscular arms reach up from the fireside dragging the Chinese and Italian girls down, they go willingly. My wet haired Aussie collapses in my arms, sending us tumbling over the sand dune rolling in the sand and landing just a few feet from Tanya’s sleeping form…in a moment we are out of whatever remaining clothes we have…. When I finally open my eyes, I find her gone and my, still nameless, Aussie, friend curled naked sleeping at my side. I find my flute and wail to the moon, I turn to face the guitarist and drummer, still playing wildly, and we all shriek in unison. Ron and a new Swedish chick step up dancing with me as I continue to blow long notes punctuated with high shrills. Suddenly the 3 of us are dancing arm and arm, frantically, and are joined by the Italian girl and 2 other strange and yet unseen crazies. The guy is dancing a little too close for me and has that unmistakable love look in his eye. not my thing I realize I can’t find my silver flute, and eventually locate it stuck upright in the sand like a tent peg., or the javelin of Pan.
My harmonica calls to me, I answer and It wails an incomprehensible staccato of screams, In my acid drenched mind the notes echoed from the tenement walls of the Lower East Side to rice fields of South East Asia, sounding like Dizzy Gillespie getting hit by a 747.. when suddenly the harp is replaced with a bottle of wine; I fall on my back in the sand and bottom up it, digging the image of gesticulating quivering silhouettes in the naked moonlight. Dragging myself up shivering in the now cold sand I realize I’m clad in only a pair of sticky, sandy jeans, The party is mellowing down. Soft voices join in on ballads of India and the road, to the background sounds of soft coos and moans of ecstatic groupings of undulating bodies.
Haya the Israeli woman, who did most of the days cooking, guides me bleary-eyed, to my flute, blanket and shirt which are dispersed around the little cove. I thank her for it., and sit by the fire. Someone hands me something warm, I drink it.
Circling the outer circle of the fire, a dark eyed black haired goddess of the island hugs herself in a chilled gesture. I offer her my blanket and she accepts, and silently, sits down next to me. Her dark eyes reflect the fire is like 2 dark caves with candles burning in some inner depths.
I ask her her name, but I can’t hear anything but a softer music playing miles away from the madness that is seeming to dissolve around us in a swirl of diffused colors. I ask her what language she speaks, she looks quizzically, I say, “Italianio?” She shakes her silvery mop of black curls and speaks but one word,” Greck” I use up the 4 phrases of my Greek in one incomprehensible sentence. She smiles as one who understands much more than the apparent, and motions for me to share the now opened and inviting blanket. I foolhardily sit up cuddle her and try to kiss her in one movement, and am left holding an empty blanket that covers my head!, Like an apparition, vanished.
The Australian now clad only in an open kimono. stands before me sitting in the sand, her sparse blonde manicured bush at eye level, takes my hands and lifts me into a slow dance, again we kiss, this time for a long long time, we softly fall to the sand near the fire, I spinout…..When I awake I feel her hands massaging my neck, but see a foreign hand stroking her lap, I sit up, trying to regain focus, and she stares knowledgably as one more experienced in these things. I ask, “Who’s your friend?” She replies she doesn’t know, do I like him?, I say no, I’m not particularly interested in him, and drunkenly push her a few inches away, drawing a line in the sand , and say, “ baby, its one side or the other.” She laughs sardonically and asks my age. I tell her the truth, 23. She laughs loudly,” a babyyy” Others giggle… The music steps up and a few dancers circle the fire till once again arms reach up pulling them willingly down.
I somehow collect my flute, harmonica, blanket and shirt, and in the pre dawn twilight, stumble over the rocky trail, what now feels like miles to arrive, bloody-toed back to my room. I find the door wide open and Tanya passed out fully clothed on top of the blankets.. I slam the door and plop down beside her; she moans,” what was in that punch? I answer, what punch?
Next afternoon we somehow make the boat back to civilisation, silently, heads bursting and everything a little bit too bright.