Lindos Beach

The beach stretches round in a small semi-circle, then there is a small headline and the main Lindos town beach.

From on high, each beach is marked by rows of sun umbrellas beneath which perch sun lounges. The tourists cluster round their lounges; some are stretched out sun-baking; others have towels draped over their heads, exposing the rest of their bodies.

Just to the left of me is the official control desk: a sun-shade, a water container, a book of tickets. There are two controllers. From time to time, one collects his tickets and goes out on patrol in case someone is occupying a sun lounge without paying. The first controller leaves, then a mobile rings. The second controller springs to his feet. Perhaps there is a breach, a tourist has not paid.

We are picnicking in the shade, attracting strange glances. In the cafe behind us, the sound system seems stuck on a Caribean version of the Sound of Music. Repitition six of Get Me to the Church on Time has just started. Initially attractive, the beat version has now become unbearable.

It must be the end of the official day. The remaining beach controller has just picked up his water, his tickets and strolled away. We leave too.