To the lighthouse

The old lighthouse door. Photo by Katie Botkin.

A Letter from Katie Botkin in Rome:

We’re heading to the only uninhabited island in the archipelago, to Alex’s favorite spot for a private interlude. Fatma does not understand what he means when he says he likes to go there for some open-air fun with special people, since, after all, we are special people too.

We back the boat up against a stone pier and I jump out with the rope. I find a hole in the rock and tie the boat to it, yanking it as I do with any gear placement on a rock climbing route to make sure it’s not going to slip out. Then we clamber up to Alex’s secret hideaway, which turns out to be an abandoned lighthouse, crumbling at the seams.

Getting up the spiral staircase involves navigating large mounds of plaster dust. I’m not sure how safe this is, but I decide to trust Alex. At the top, the view is spectacular, though the wind whips us violently. We see nothing but the water and some ships in the distance. “This is what I mean,” says Alex “It’s completely private, and you can see anybody who’s coming close.”

I squint into the sunlight. Fatma is saying she’d like to spend a month here. I’m not sure I agree; after all, this was once a spot of exile. The Emperor Augustus kept his granddaughter, Julia, here for something like 20 years. But Fatma is charmed. If you get bored, she says, you just move your chair over a little, and you’ve got a different view. Of course, I’d bring my dog. It would be great.

We traipse back down to the boat. I’m afraid that my knot may not have held and the boat will have drifted away, but it’s still there. We find a sheltered inlet and lean over the edge of the boat looking at the sea creatures through the perfectly clear turquoise water.