The ferry, I called a 'sailing,' but it isn't really. Yes it's on water but the car carrying ferry, big enough for twenty to so cars, is in fact winched across on chains and by smelly diesel motor. I soon remembered that, as I made the mistake of opening my window to the steamy night as we sat ready to sail. What I got was not cool air, but diesel fumes. Just the thing to give me a taste of island living. However, it's a short trip, only about five minutes, then we're driving off the scary incline on the other side, jostling for position with other cars in a hurry, and foot passengers. The collection of huts, pay booth, bar and small shops look old and cobbled together. Although I know they have all been there for years. Then we're off, along more cobbled streets, having the bejesus shaken out of us as we head up the steep hill to the little town of Arrail d'Adjuda at the top. At this point I am quite excited, because I remember the town as pretty, lively and full of people I know.
That night the drive on the other side of the ferry, along the quiet streets lit only by the odd street lamp, and our headlights, looked the worst kind of abandoned and run down street ever. How does anyone live here, I asked myself. Has no one got out the paint brush, or hammer and nails since last I was here? Certainly, despite being told the place had gone quite upmarket with lots of grand new buildings, I could see none. My mood plummeted, but all will be better in the light of day, once refreshed, I told myself.
My sons house, large and only a few years old, was an oasis of modernity and light. Set behind high walls, strung along the top with extra electric wires. Inside, it was light, roomy and comfortable. I soon availed myself of the nice bedroom, sinking into the harder bed than I was used to, as well as I could. Regardless, I slept through without problems. Except for heading into the next bedroom to find a blanket pointed out to me before I slept. It was cold in the middle if the night. At least the rainy season keeps the nights cooler, better than sweltering I know. Most of the rooms have air conditioning as a fixture, mine had a fan should I need it. As my family know with my asthma, I and air conditioning does not go well. Ahhhh, how thoughtful of them I thought as I drifted off. Tomorrow will be better, I am just tired.
Yet, a week and a half later, I am still in culture shock. Yes, some of it has become a little more familiar. I am slowly finding my way around to cultivate new favourite places. Much of what was here, gas changed hands, or morphed into something else. What used to be my all time favourite, the bar on the corner of the town square, is now only open at night. We, living a bit out of town cannot so easily get there without asking to be ferried about. Which is not on really. Back those few years, owned by the previous owner, it was open all hours. With the gringos like me, on extended stays, tourists and locals all ended up there at some point. We only had the hear the language and within minutes would be making new friends of all ages, from all over the globe. You might be surprised how many people speak quite good English. From many South American countries, as well as Western ones. So far, I have actually seen no old freinds to speak to, although I thought I saw one passing from a distance. I live in hopes though.
The town square, on the rare time I visited it at night. Something of a mud bath.
So far, I and my younger son, who arrived the day after me, and my older son, who lives here, have visited a few coffee places, and between school runs and my daughter in laws family visits in a nearby town, nothing much else. We enjoy the times we can sit outdoors, which are increasing. We do a bit of walking, and mooching about the town, filling time. My younger son is out on the town a bit at night, there is always night life to be found here, if you have the money. Or, if you haven't, there are bars all the place, where you can sit, talk and drink whatever you fancy for as long as you care to. Me, well being older, not yet connected with any old freinds as he has now done, I am tired by the time 8/9 p.m. comes. After all, despite being mostly over any jet lag, that is 12/1am to me. Hopefully, I will improve as time passes. The trouble is, last time, my son was not living here, so we moved out of this house, and into town to live. It was easy to walk out day or night, or to go all around the town easily. There was not this barrier of how do we get there. My younger son, either walks or takes motor cycle taxis, I am not zooming around with those skinny boy drivers in the dark...so I stay in.
Yesterday though, despite the long, steep hill up and down, I went down to what is known as the top beach. The beach at the top, near the town, rather than the beach on the flat, near the Balsa. I had quite forgotten what it's like, ridiculous as that might seem. I let the walk put me off, as it's quite a steep hill. Even yesterday, I only went there because my elder son took me in the car. Loose sand, odd steps and all the heat, yes it got hot yesterday, made me think moany thoughts. Also this week, more than once I have thought 'what ever am I doing here. It's not like I remember, everything seems hard work', I was quite fed up with myself. Why, even the chairs in the cafes are hard wood, not a cushion in evidence anywhere. Nowhere designed for comfort, or relaxing.
The thought occurred to me, perhaps I am too unwell or old for all this travel, strange places, strange houses and routines. Perhaps it's time I found somewhere to settle down. Then I thought of the last eighteen months in England. A nice town near the coast, some favourite cafes, I like the cafe culture. Yet I hated that flat I lived in, too small, too crowded, no outside space and definitely too expensive. I like being outside, not cooped up like we must very often be in England. Not squashed in small spaces, with too much furniture because we need the storage. Even there during that time, I disappeared for six months on a trip to New Zealand, and Australia. So....maybe staying put is not the answer either. Even though moving to France has been investigated quite a bit this last year too. Which is still an option for the future.
Yesterday, as I slipped, and toiled my way to the beach from the road, seeing umbrellas in the distance, people in swim gear, the day brightened. Ohhh. I thought, I had forgotten how lively this was, how busy and colourful. As some of the problems with my time here so far, is the fact that the town really doesn't get going until lunch time, or late afternoon. Places are closed up, chairs and tables stacked away, why it's not easy to find even a coffee somewhere nice. With us all being up and excercising before nine in the morning, the mornings have become a bit of a bore. Yes, really, what to do to fill the time? I guess not having the sun either, just rain, has held us back from anything much in the way of entertainment, or enjoyment.
Now, as I breasted the rise, saw the beach, saw the waves almost in and the plethora of tables, chairs, umbrellas, people wearing not much at all, and waiters running to and fro with trays, my eyes opened. Ahhh yes, this is what I liked before, this is what's been missing. If you have your days with all of this, the sun, the sand, the water, the warmth, food and people all around relaxing and having a good time, what can be wrong? Absolutely nothing is the answer, everything is right with your world. As down here, is where the people are, where the life is, no wonder the town stays shut until later, then all night. They have the right of it. Where has my brain been. How could. I have forgotten? Last time I left Brasil, I took with me a selection of bikinis in every style and colour. A suitcase of colour and life, a suitcase that never made home with me. Lost in the strike we went through in France en route home. Then afterwards, forgotten it seems.
The beach, top beach. Crowded, but happy.
Well, my friends, all rediscovered now, it's all coming back to me. It makes no difference what size you are, yes there are many young and beautiful girls on the beach, but many much older too. As I come somewhere In between, it matters not. What matters is how it makes you feel...forget that you may not be the most beautiful on the beach. It's not a beauty contest, who would want to be in one anyway, life is about much more than that. It's about getting as free of as many clothes as you can, letting the air and the sun caress your body. Or, keeping under a sunshade if you prefer. It's about getting comfortable on either a chair, or a lounger, of which there are many and relaxing. Reading, talking or watching the world at play, I'm sure the South of France could not be more pleasant than this. For a few pounds, or reis, you can lie there while a waiter brings you anything your heart desires...well, almost anything. It's very nice anyway, you relax, they make a living, all of us are happy. Yes, I shall make an effort to get down to the beach on a regular basis now. In addition, the walk up and down the hill, as well as across the town will all be extra excercise for me. It's all good, I am suddenly much more at ease with the differences between the South and the West. Who wouldn't be, perhaps I'm not so old after all........ha ha
Which of us are too old for a slice of Paradise?
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