Baudelaire: Le Cygne

Abstract

By ten, it was too hot to go on with our walk. We were out on the scree of Tilos, at that stage of the 1970s still one of the least visited of the Dodecanese. It isn’t that far from the Turkish mainland, but the only means of getting there had been in a small fishing-boat, two hours of rocking and rolling from Symi, the nearest island.

The three of us had breakfasted on yoghurt and honey and set off before eight. We intended to keep going until midday, then find a cove and spend the afternoon swimming. A dangerous misjudgement, what with the sun already on fire directly above us.