“August is a month when the meltemi, a raucous wind
filled with bits of sand dislodged from distant deserts, blows. It roars so
roughly that occasionally we had to take shelter in protected caves. But for
the better part the days were calm and passed in an azure haze of crystal water
and spaghetti and fresh-caught fish and cold wine and delicious dreamless
afternoon siestas. Often we stopped to swim in the far out-to-sea depths;
sometimes, when we spotted isolated beaches clean as the inside of seashells,
we travelled to them by speed boat and picnicked there.”—American fiction
writer, essayist, librettist and screenwriter Truman Capote (1924-1984), “Yachts
and Things,”
Vanity Fair, December 2012, reprinted in The Complete Stories (2013)
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