There are days when the universe looks at you and says, "Here. Have some green water. It's been quite a year." That was Ponza.
After years of staying beach-sober, I found myself back in the water, surrounded by the kind of blue-green sea that makes you question every indoor life choice you have ever made.
The water was clear, bright, and shamelessly beautiful. The kind of green that does not look real until you are floating inside it, blinking like an overexcited tourist with salt in your eyelashes. I swam. I snorkelled. I floated. I became, with all glory, a Ponza turtle with a permesso di soggiorno. Temporary, yes, but still.
Ponza wanted me more than I wanted it. The guided boat tour was on sale, which already felt like divine intervention with a discount code. And somehow, it delivered. We cruised all around the island, passing cliffs, coves, secret-looking corners, and water so pretty it felt illegal. Snorkelling stops? Four or five. Each better than the previous one.
Every few minutes, I had the same thought: How is this real? Followed quickly by: Should I quit everything and become a mermaid? Reasonable questions. The green beach dream I had was in front of me — green waters, white sand, spritz, wine, and pasta? Sir, sign me up for retirement.
The irony? I'm a terrible swimmer. I entered the water with the confidence of a drunk person at an open mic event on a weekend. I did better than I expected. Which became the problem.
The Boat Was, Technically, Waiting
While everyone else eventually climbed back onto the boat like normal, socially responsible adults, I was still in the water, floating around like the island had personally adopted me. By the time I looked up, I realised the entire boat was waiting.
Yikes.
I scrambled back, apologising with the energy of someone who had accidentally delayed a maritime operation. Thankfully, instead of being annoyed, a lovely couple I had met on the trip started teasing me. "You really love the water, huh?"
Err, yes. 😬
Truthfully, yes. They had also taken pictures of me while I was swimming, which was very sweet and mildly dangerous because candid water photos can go one of two ways: Goddess of the Mediterranean. Or confused potato in goggles. I became a bit of both.
Spritz. Because Balance.
After the swim, we reached the island, and I did what any woman of culture would do. I had a spritz. And snacks. Because balance is important. So is hydration, but mostly spritz.
There was pasta too, because Italia. Then espresso after lunch, senza zucchero, because I take my Italian rituals seriously now. I may not know everything, but I do know this: when in Italy, you respect the tiny coffee.
Ponza felt different from the big, famous Italian dream. It was not trying to impress me with ruins or drama or ancient gods lurking around corners. It was simpler. Sun, sea, salt, boats, cliffs, spritz, green water.
The kind of day where your shoulders drop without you realising. The kind where you remember your body is not just something to carry stress around. It can float. It can laugh. It can swim badly and still have the time of its life.
And maybe that was the best part. Not that the island was beautiful, though it absolutely was. Not that the tour was worth it, though it very much was. It was that I got back into the water. After years. I let myself be a beginner again. I let myself be silly, slow, excited, late to the boat, and happy. Very happy.
Ponza did not ask for a grand transformation. It simply handed me green water and said: "Come in." And I did. Eventually, I got out too. After making the boat wait, obviously.
Until next time, a presto!
