// Overseas travel blog
We knew that Maro was only accessible by water, so unsurprisingly there was a line for kayak hire with people wanting to do the same.
We took our place in the line behind a dozen or so people and turned our eyes towards the two employees manning the desks up front. They appeared to be using a manual system of pencils and clipboards and the process was seemingly moving in slow motion. This was despite the obvious demand and, as far as we could see, plenty of available kayaks lying in waiting on the sand.
I have no idea how we maintained the patience, but for the next hour we simply stood under the marquee watching the queue move at a snail’s pace and shaking our heads wondering why no one seemed to be getting a kayak. At least we were standing in the shade, which was a godsend for the whitest person on the entire beach (yep, right here). Nonetheless, I was constantly glancing out to sea wishing I was in it, and checking to see where the rented kayaks were headed. All the while I wondered if it might be swimmable.
After what was maybe another quarter of an hour I called it. It was killing me being in the heat at the beach and not being able to swim, so I left the other two in line and went to find a patch of pebbles to set up my towel. Once that was done, I decided to investigate my burning question whether the waterfall could perhaps be reached without a kayak, and set off for a swim.
I jumped in and the water clothed my skin in a perfectly cool, salty veil and I was glad for having ditched the marquee. I dipped my head under and then started to swim towards the rocky outcrop where the kayakers were headed, and made a plan to go as far as the furthest rock to see what lay beyond. I hoped it would be the waterfall. As I swam the tide appeared to be coming in, but it was a gentle ebb and didn't make for much resistance on the outwards swim.
I found that I moved quite quickly despite having had a couple of months off swimming and before long I was lined up with the furthest rock. At that point I made a beeline for the other side, and as soon as I pulled out beyond the outcrop I glanced to the right and immediately saw cascading water falling from the clifftop around 25m above. The kayakers were mostly sitting stationary in the little bay below. There were a couple of snorkelers with fins but no other swimmers.
I considered it would’ve been a 200 metre swim by that point, and would be approximately 100m further to reach the base of the falls. Having answered my burning question I quickly set off back to shore, hoping to pass on the good news to the other two before they'd paid for kayaks.
I was breathless by the time I reached land again, but kept hopping around the pebbles until I made it back to the line. They didn't appear to have moved the entire time I was gone.
I ran up to deliver the news.
‘Hey! I dunno what the deal is but maybe people just can’t swim here.’ I said, still slightly exasperated at having spent so long under the hot marquee.
‘I just swam out and could see it behind the rocks, we can swim there!’
‘Serious?!’ they replied. You went there? Well this line is ridiculous so let’s go. We’re swimming.’
I assured them we could, and at that they jumped out of line and we made for the water again. The swim was enjoyable and refreshing, and we stopped along the way to don the snorkelling goggles and watch schools of varying sized fish dart around the rocks below. After a few detours, we swam back in line with the rocks, finally paddling around into the bay housing our main attraction.
The falls made a pleasing hissing sound as they plunged into the seawater and breathed a mist of freshwater into the air. Surrounding the entry point of the falls lay pools of crystal green water, and a few large rocks situated slightly back from where the fresh and salt water met. We saw people paddling behind the rocks to kayak through the falls, and we happily decided to follow suit sans kayak.
Behind the rocks, the water was so shallow that you could actually stand on the ocean floor and take a freshwater shower. The plummeting water was just gentle enough to be comfortable on the back, and it was a perfectly cooling experience due to the slight breeze that the falls also created.
Lamenting that we’d left the Go-Pro in the car, we resigned ourselves to good old sight-seeing with the age-old sense of sight. Surprisingly, given my generation’s penchant for fleeting social media and the corresponding lack of memory and attention, I seem to have remembered it adequately.
After getting our waterfall fix and spending enough time splashing around in the shallow green pools near the cliff face, we took off once again for the shoreline. We saw some angry people that we’d been standing near in the line, and noted that they were paddling around on kayaks now, but still with angry faces.
After ten minutes or so we were back on beach, which we noted was plagued by the usual summer tourist types: girls in shimmering string bikinis wearing full faces of makeup; happy, squealing children with parents struggling to keep their bather bottoms on as they tore around; and the odd obese, greying Spaniard smoking cigarettes by the shoreline then trying to manoeuvre his gigantic gut onto an inflatable lilo.
We agreed that, indeed, the swim may not have been achievable by many of these beach goers, so we patted ourselves on the backs and decided upon spending the money we’d saved on kayaks on some delicious tapas and sangria.