NUMANA (part III): Dorks on water patrol

OUR STROKES SLOW as we approach the public beach to return our kayaks.

Paddling in our two-seat, bright orange kayak and wearing oversized orange life-jackets, Annie and I become painfully self aware. Our slicked back, ocean-wet hair and grease covered sunglasses only makes things worse.

Out in the choppy waves of the Adriatic the life preservers seemed practical and semi-normal among our fellow boaters. Here in the shallow, waist-deep water near the beach, however, we look like overcautious losers.

As I watch two unsupervised Italian children float by in their inflatable swimmies, I state the obvious, “Annie, I’m so embarrassed.”

“I know,” she says laughing.

We sit uncomfortably in the boat, trying to muster some sort of dignity before Annie comes to a solution.

“Whatever, just pretend we’re important,” she says sitting back professionally, scanning the water in mock imitation of a coast guard.

“Over and out bluebird,” I say into a fake radio in a low, authoritative state trooper voice. “We got a possible water inhalation at 11 o’clock.”

We continue to say nonsense in patrol voices for about 10 minutes before we finally run out of material and decide to paddle in.

It only makes sense that every Italian teenager (and a few Americans) has decided to congregate at the kayak drop off point, to mock the stupid American’s floating in.

“You got it from here?” Annie barks deadpan at the Italian man who drags our kayak up to the beach.

Oblivious to our ingenious humor and unable to understand a word of what she’s saying he remains silent.

“Just keeping the waters safe,” Annie continues as we laugh and trudge through the sand, accepting that it’s impossible to be cool tourists.

- Philly Petronis