As we drove through the desert mountains we could see the many bunkers overlooking the rows and rows of villas and beaches. We found ours; a nice little house with a small garden entrance. Each day the drooping sun would shine on the changing greenish-purple see-through water, and we would go to the beach.

We would stay at the sand bar for a few hours before swimming. We would swim through the crashing waves that grasped and clung to the rocky shore until they washed back out. We would swim out for a few minutes trying to make it to the many speedboats a few hundred metres from the shore while avoiding the stingrays waving their tails. We came back once after seeing a jellyfish. Later, we would head to the restaurant for some food.

Then, there was the other side of the beach with the more rustic beach beds and small vertical slopes to the water. It had lots of boats lined up, tied to a rope near the towering rocks. The waves glistened and glowed as they viciously attacked anyone who went past the drop off.

The last day there, my cousin and I spotted a small wooden hut built into the bottom of the mountain side. We swam through the calm, clear purplish blue water as the sun started to sink under the waves. We stopped at the rocky edge of the mountain and stepped slowly off the rocks then onto the grassy hill. We walked up the gentle slope and soon made it to the buried hut.

We opened the old door then peered inside. It looked like the inside of a bunker. I could tell through the old dusty walls and crooked ceiling that it must have been an exit to a bunker on the other side of the mountain. As there were many bunkers from the communist era. There was a large mound of dirt where a hall must have been from the bunker.

As we flew back home I looked out the window and saw the beautiful glistening water that filled the view. I thought about all the good times I had had.