Paula Brukmüller - Flowers from Greece - The Autobiography of the Journalist Who Turned a Personal Tragedy into an Inspiring World Tour

We walked down the street of the hostel hand in hand and headed to one of the typical bars. Luis, Jean, Laurent, and I were practically an inseparable quartet. No one insisted on Luis’s presence, but we were the only group that put up with him. Over time, I think I got used to his way.

Laurent was 10 years younger than me, and that was no problem for us. He said he didn’t care, but I confess I had a somewhat more critical judgment. I always wonder what people would think of a 37-year-old woman venturing into the backpacking world and dating much younger boys. “Being happy,” I answered myself to quiet my ego.

- Age is just a number, Paula. Besides, you don’t look over 30 – he told me the only time we talked about it.

That night, while the four of us were playing pool, Laurent and I exchanged glances and kisses, while being observed by Luis. The bar was empty as usual and the colored lights made a disproportionate movement to the excitement of the people at the tables.

After following the clash of the billiard balls on the table, Laurent ignored the result of his own movement and walked towards me with the same sweet look as always, surrounded by that long black eyelashes bush.

- You’re too beautiful, girl – he sang along with the song before giving me a kiss on the forehead.

I realized once again that Luis was watching, but I couldn’t help but enjoy those moments. There were a few days left before I left, and since I couldn’t stretch the hours with Laurent, I made the most of them by giving and receiving as much affection as possible. Staying around us and witnessing that was Luis’s choice.

Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for us, it was like that all the time and anywhere. At the hostel, at dinner, on the balcony amid all volunteers and guests, or between four walls. Our hands were always on each other’s bodies. Laurent never sat next to me without putting his arm around my shoulders or sliding his fingers over my hands and thighs. I felt all that affection and reciprocated.

We loved each other every day before sleeping and when we woke up, he would always caress my back and stare into my eyes for long, lovely minutes.

- Stop looking at me like that – I asked in vain.

Sometimes he would wake me at dawn and not even tiredness would keep him from caressing my hair until I fell asleep again, after we woke up the next-door rooms with the noise of our annoying spring mattress.

I never dared to do so, but I wanted to ask what kind of relationship he had with the beautiful Argentina who was always with him in the early days. I never even saw them holding hands, but with me, he was so generous in showing affection.

I avoided thinking about leaving. Jean and him, companions on various trips, would return to France the day after my departure, and they didn’t talk about it either. I knew I would miss all that, but fate was fixed. My ticket to Istanbul had already been purchased as well as the ticket from Turkey to Thailand.

Two nights before our goodbye, I was leaning on the large front porch talking to my sister via text message when Laurent surprised me. He came quietly, hugged me tightly by my back, wrapped one arm over my shoulders, and whispered in my ear before kissing my head:

- I’m gonna miss you so much.

At that moment, the pain of another separation crushed my chest and I wanted to cry, but I closed my eyes focusing on the joy of feeling the warmth of his body. I gripped his arms even tighter and, barely breathing in my lungs, just muttered:

- Me too.

The sun was burning bright, but the Mediterranean wind soothed the heat of that morning. We had been rowing for a few minutes, but I, mesmerized by the clear blue of the sea, cannot say how long it took to reach the small cove where our tour made the first stop.

As I lost myself looking at the submerged rocks many meters below our boat. I heard Luis telling his boring jokes with his annoying accent. In front of me, Laurent paddled and I tried to keep up with the rhythm of his arms.

As we tied the yellow plastic kayaks to a rock, Fred, the guide, warned that this was the stop for jumping and pointed to the top of a rock.

- It’s eight meters tall and I challenge you to jump naked – he had fun while everyone laughed.

I felt my stomach turn as I looked at the top. I immediately said that I would not jump, but I followed the group and started climbing the rock.

I wanted to see if the cliff was less scary from above, but the easiest wall to climb was full of sharp cracks that hurt my feet badly. It was difficult to find a place of support without having the sensation of something piercing your skin.

- If you don’t want to jump, you should know that you can’t go down the same path. Whoever climbs higher will have to continue until we reach the top and the only way down is by jumping – Fred commented when we were about two meters high.

I can’t say what kept me going. I knew I would have no choice when I reached the top, but I kept climbing.

As we reached the top, everyone approached the edge carefully to be aware of the height. My heart was pounding because of the struggle and the anxiety and I felt a kind of shivering in my stomach. Meditation made me so attentive to my body that I could feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins until my fingertips burned as I looked down.

For a few seconds I regretted climbing, but then I began to encourage myself. There was no other way out than by jumping. I wanted to tell that story one day and say that I jumped with the group. It wouldn’t be the same if I took the tour and didn’t live the most challenging experience of all.

Fred made no recommendation for the jump. He simply stopped in front of the group, took off his shorts and jumped naked before everyone, with his legs spread. You could hear the cries of those watching from below.

Then Laurent, Luis, and third person jumped. Me and Jean looked at each other and he asked if I wanted to go ahead.

- You can jump, I’ll go later – I said, watching him walk away to gain momentum. However, I was invaded by a huge wave of courage and knew I had to jump right away.

- Wait! I’ll go! I shouted very loudly and threw myself off the rock without thinking. As I fell, I felt my legs and arms swing and beat the force of the wind. I didn’t think it would be best to jump with my body straight. I just abandoned myself in the air and waited for the dive. When I finally found the water, it was a tremendous shock. I fell on a sitting position and the impact of my butt against the surface made the sound of a slap. As I sank, I felt my thighs burn with pain and started swimming for the surface. I don’t know what took longer, the time of the fall or the way back into the water to breathe.

As I submerged, I heard incredulous shouts.

- Fuck, she fucked herself.

- It must have hurt like hell.

- No doggy style tonight, Laurent! – Someone teased.

I just smiled and swam to try to get out of the water. My heart was pounding so hard, I could feel the water vibrate near my chest. Laurent looked at me with concern and came swimming to meet me.

- Are you all alright? Hold here – he took my left hand and placed it over his right shoulder – I’ll help you out.

I can’t explain what this care has done inside me. I wanted to cry. It was as if he could feel my embarrassment at jumping so clumsily. And while everyone laughed at me, he gave me affection.

- Does it hurt? – Laurent asked me as I pulled myself to the rock where the kayaks were.

- Yes. It’s burning. But I’m fine – I said as I wiped my face. – Was it very ridiculous? – I asked seeking some comfort.