A Passage Between Paros and Antiparos - It was on a luminous April morning, with the Cycladic light filtering through the rigging of our rib boat like spun silver, that we slipped quietly from the harbour of AlikI Paros slowly reclining behind us, already becoming myth. The air was thick with excitement and the scent of the first swim of the season from unseen shores. Salt crusted our skin like ancient offerings. Captain Thanasis and Anastasis, moved with a calm grace, passing us glasses of something cold and golden, as they steered us across the wave crests. The sea—ah, the sea! It was not so much water as liquid sapphire, stretched taut beneath a sky too blue to be entirely real. Every cove an invitation. Every gust of wind seemed to carry the voices of forgotten mermaids and sun-baked voyagers. At the blue lagoon, time exhaled. Anchored in a pocket of stillness, the world seemed to pause. We swam as though unmoored from gravity itself, our laughter echoing off the limestone as if even the rocks wished to join the merriment. The hues beneath us shifted with the light—opal, lapis, jade—each more impossible than the last. This was no mere outing; it was a migration into something elemental. A unforgettable experience gliding from Paros to Antiparos, with grace, carrying with us the sun, salt, and the laughter of friends adrift in paradise.