Bye Ios

Or last day in Ios was extremely fun. We finally got a chance to head down to the other (younger) end of the beach with the boys who worked at the watersport company around the sunbeds I tended to. Two of them got the day off because one showed up extremely intoxicated from the previous night, and the other had no voice from the night before. At the far side of the beach, there is a hostel called Far Out with a pool, basketball court, a bar and alot of sunbeds. We hung there for the day, had some day-quiris, played some basketball* and then had dinner and buckets** at a Mexican eatery up the road. It was muy bueno.

* I am good at basketball. Some might call me the next Lebron James, or Lisa Leslie.
**A bucket is an alcoholic beveraged mixed to the brim in a child's beach sand pale. The drink consists of gin, Red Bull and Coca-Cola. The serving size is one bucket per person.

Things we learned about New Zealand/Australian culture over dinner:
1. Heaps (part of speach unknown) - favorite vocab word of theirs. (Ex. This bucket is heaps good., I am heaps keen to nom this enchilada.) Comparable to wicked. Pronounced heaps.
2. The kiwi bird is, in fact, not the size of a kiwi fruit. It is at least five times larger.
3. In Australia, our friend Mel's actual occupation was ''prodder'' for the Sydney Harbor Bridge. A prodder is always paired up with a ''catcher.'' The catcher is the Robin to the prodder's Batman. They are paid to propel along the bridge removing koala bears that hang on to it. Mel prods them and his partner catches them before they plummet to a watery death. This is astonishing and if you don't think so, you are sad and boring.

On our way down to Far Out, we walked on the street in a line that stretched five people across. The whole walk down, lasting about five to ten minutes, there is a young boy walking literally at my heels. If you know me at all, you know that I have a huge issue with being chased, and being followed is just like being chased but in slow motion. It turns out that the boy is the son of a customer at the watersports hut, and the guys had been charged with entertaining him for the day. I was unaware of this however, so I started getting really freaked out. I ask myself all the logical questions: Does this child want to hurt me? Where am I most vulnerable? What do I have that could double as a weapon? I start sweating profusely (well, more profusely) and moving over every once in a while, giving him plenty of room to overtake us, but no dice. When we finally arrive at Far Out and I deduce that he's actually with us, I am angry and embarassed.

A little later on, Sophie and I go to the bar to get the Far Out special. The Far Out special is some daquiri that has blue in it. When we get back to our sunbeds, Tom and Mack are smoking a cig. This does not phase me, until I spot the eleven year old with a half smoked cigarrette in his hand.
Me: Guys! You can't give cigarettes to an twelve year old! (At this point I actually have no idea how old he is)
Them: He's the one that gave us them!
I'm sorry, but if you're young enough to be wearing Paul Frank swim shorts, you should not be holding a Marlboro Gold. This kid and I are not going to be friends. I plan on never seeing him again...which is probable.