Countless travelers have walked in Napoleon's footsteps on this small, secluded beach on the island of Elba. As I walk along this stony shore, I wonder what has changed in the last two centuries. I pass an ancient, abandoned tuna fishery fifteen feet from the water's edge, relic and reminder of the lost abundance of large fish who used to populate these waters. Above me, perched on an outcropping is the house my family and I have rented for the week. Looking north the Mediterranean stretches out towards mainland Italy. Napoleon was said to have gazed longingly out to his native land of Corsica, which is visible on clear days along the western horizon. As I soak in this peaceful setting, relaxing into vacation mode, it is easy to forget how global changes are affecting even these far out-of-the-way places.

When we first arrived, after a long, hot journey my first order of business was to take a swim. After a quick peek at our gorgeous apartment, I ventured down to the beach and plunged into the salty water. Completely oblivious to the hundreds of jellyfish surrounding me, I went for a long swim and then lay down on the stony beach to dry off in the hot sun. Shortly after I managed to shift the rocks around and make a comfy little nest for myself, an elderly woman sat down a short distance away. Soon we began talking and she informed me of the recent jellyfish infestation. As we spoke two beautiful twin girls with wild golden curls, about four years old, appeared on the beach. After an overly-tanned mother applied a healthy slathering of sunscreen, and the appropriate flotation devices were attached to wiggly arms and legs, the two were off splashing and laughing just a few feet from shore. As we watched the girls, the old woman told me a story. Once upon a time, she said, I was that young too. I would dash into the water just as they do, without concern. She then went on to tell me of the day when she was stung by a jellyfish. She had been swimming along, when something bumped up against her. Instinctively she had swung her arm around and pressed the creature against herself. Instantly sharp needles of pain shot into her skin. She was left with an enormous scar across her chest that resembled a second-degree burn, which took many months to heal. Her parents forced her to spend the rest of the summer in the shade and her bathing suit sat folded in her dresser, unused for the remainder of the season. I pictured a young version of her, bored, sitting alone under a tree enviously watching her friends play. Were there invasions of jellyfish in Napoleon's day?, I wondered? Armies of medusas, a flotilla of bell shaped invaders threatening Elba's shores as surely as his armies had threatened Europe?

Just moments after she finished her story, a bone-chilling scream came from one of the twins. As we all watched horrified, the mother dove in and plucked her child out of the water. A crowd gathered around to get a good view of a large red burn on the small tan leg. The mother quickly applied an anti-inflammatory cream and rocked the child as her sobs slowly subsided. Soon we all returned to our respective beach nooks. About half an hour later, to my great surprise, the twins were brave enough to re-enter the dangerous waters and everything returned to the serene setting I had wandered into just a few hours earlier.

This episode left me somewhat alarmed and raised some questions. Why did so many jellyfish come so close to shore? Was this a cyclical phenomenon? Or, had something unnatural happened to increase their numbers and direct them to the shore? And, most importantly, should I stop going into the water? All the commotion had set the beach abuzz. Everyone seemed to have his or her own horror story. Tales of urchin spines impossibly imbedded in throbbing feet, moray eels darting out of shadows to sink sharp teeth into human flesh, and of course the octopus wrapping its many tentacles around unsuspecting limbs. My beach companions seemed perversely thrilled by this new topic of conversation. We all gazed out to sea with a shadow of fear in our eyes. However the general consensus seemed to indicate that the reward of a cool swim was worth the risk of anything that might be lurking beneath the surface.

The following morning as I emerged from a sleepy fog and swayed into the kitchen my eyes landed on the newspaper headline: "La Grande invasione delle meduse - Allarme nel Mediterraneo. La causa: il mare sempre piu caldo" "Huge jellyfish invasion - Alarm in the Mediterranean. Cause: the sea keeps getting hotter." Having been witness to this phenomenon, I put off my much-needed caffeine, snatched the paper and settled out on the balcony to read. According to the article, three major factors seem to have relevant impact on the delicate equilibrium of the Mediterranean Sea. First, nutrification of the water, due mostly to the impact of agriculture and polluted discharge from cities. Second, many predators that feed on jellyfish eggs are becoming endangered or extinct due to over fishing. And third, jellyfish like hot water and the Mediterranean has become steadily warmer each year. In 2003, the Ionian and Adriatic seas, which surround part of Italy, reached the hottest ever-recorded temperature of 33 degrees Celsius (87 degree Fahrenheit.) This temperature increase is linked to climate change caused by fossil fuel emissions and deforestation. Of course, all of these factors are irrefutably linked to human activity.

Though the setting of this somewhat secluded island is picturesque, man's footprint is evident everywhere you turn. When I was a child vacationing on various Mediterranean shores, I used to comb the beaches for thin pieces of colored glass with rounded edges softened by many years of tumbling in rocks and sand. After many hours, I would return home triumphant with a handful of sparkling blue, green and white slivers which I would wash off and line up like a mosaic on the windowsill for all to admire. Today, these little treasures are so common they have a name: "beach glass.", they are no longer an unusual sight. In my recent travels I've seen beaches where the glass is so dense that it would only take a few seconds to gather a handful. Where is this glass coming from? And why has the quantity increased so much? A few summers ago, on the island of Sardinia I discovered a beach so covered with glass that from a distance the sand actually looked green.

The second day on Elba, when I arrived on our beach, it was very windy and the waves had deposited a pile of garbage in the exact location where I had been sunning myself the day before. Plastic bags and bottles along with rope and other miscellaneous man-made objects lined the shore. Upon closer inspection, I discovered large piles of trash on the outer margins of the beach under some brush. Presumably the wind or the people who frequent the beach had placed it there, conveniently out of sight. As I walked back up to the house I realized that our little slice of heaven had fooled me that first day, and was not as pristine and unspoiled as I had assumed. I wondered how these lovely people I had been fraternizing with could blindly enjoy this beach every day despite it's now obvious problems. Why hadn't they organized themselves to provide a trashcan? At the very least, why not take turns cleaning it up? As I rounded the corner I caught sight of the twins' mother discarding ice cream wrappers just a few feet away from where they played. I guess she doesn't understand the direct link between her disregard for the environment and the burn on her daughter's delicate knee.

When we returned to the states, my husband and I went to see Al Gore's film An Inconvenient Truth. We are both reasonably informed about the environmental disasters that our planet is faced with and have tried to adapt to the needs of our time. In recent years we have made some modifications to our home such as insulating our attic, replacing windows and buying more efficient appliances. We try not to waste water, turn off unnecessary lights and add a layer in winter rather than turning up the thermostat. We shop at the local food coop and whenever possible buy local goods and services. Last year we designed reusable cloth shopping bags and made them available on our website, NotAWaste.com. Al Gore's film was extremely informative and thought provoking and made us feel as though what we are already doing isn't nearly enough.

Despite the warnings, humans still walk heavily on all our planet's shores. In Napoleon's day the world population was just over one billion, today we are well over six billion. As our numbers increase so does our impact on the planet. Will we as a species, become more careful custodians of our delicate ecosystems? Are we willing to accommodate the inconvenient demands for conservation and restraint? Or, will someone two hundred years from now walk on the remains of this beach and write an even darker tale? I am hopeful their story will tell of a global effort undertaken to reverse our dangerous trends. This new narrative would tell of travelers who came to explore these shores and were greeted by a site as pristine as it must have been in Napoleon's day, almost two hundred years ago.