Salt of the Earth

On this trip I have been fortunate to travel with people who are way more vocal about their need for a shower than myself. After our third night of camping on Agistri, Conner insisted that we finally get a room with a comfortable bed and a cold shower. I think the final straw for him was sleeping on plastic floaties with our sunburned backs; every time you have to turn over, you have to rip your skin off the plastic-it's akin to fleshy Velcro and highly painful.

While biking it was nice to shower off all the dirt rings. In Greece it's nice to wash off a fraction of the salt encrusted onto every part of our bodies. My hair has been raked back into a bun for the greater part of 4 days and now feels exactly like the coif of an original 1950's Barbie doll-total straw.
The salt dries on my skin and renders me the ashiest white girl ever. Conner fares a bit better as the salt just adheres to his leg hair and makes him look like he's been dusted with sugar.

And making out on these idyllic beaches in the moonlight sounds so romantic-and it is-just as long as you can get over the fact that every time you each other's necks, it's exactly like liking a Pringles chip. But you do it anyway because you think, "Wow! My boyfriend finally got rid of his carpenter's tan and how he's all freckly and bronzed. Come 'ere!"

On the upside of life by the highly salty Mediterranean Sea is that no one smells bad here. We all sweat a lot, but everyone just dips in and out of the water so much and washes it all away. No need of Patchouli oil here, mild natural musk will do quite nicely.