Canoa Quebrada

Thursday, 14 June 2007

6:45am

A few days ago I wrote that sometimes, while on the road, I take a minute or two to close my eyes and just... listen. I started doing it after the first time I read Paulo Coelho's "The diary of a magician" (so many years passed since he wrote this book, so many books he wrote after this one, but every time a new book of his comes out and I read it, I realize that "The diary..." remains my favourite Coelho book). After keeping my eyes closed for a minute, I write down the sounds I have heard, and what always amazes me is that there are always "hidden" ones...

7am

First time I went to Madrid's "El Prado", I went to the hall where someone could find "El Greco's" paintings. For a few pesetas (back then the euro currency was still a thing of the future), you could buy a little booklet which kind of... took you by the hand, and disclosed to you little details, little bewitching details of "El Greco's" paintings, that my ignorant eyes wouldn't have spotted if I didn't have this little booklet to "direct" my attention... An ignorant (when it comes to art) like me, looks at a painting and feels a little... lost. But "El Greco's" paintings have so many little, full of symbolism details, that make them more than just "beautiful", more like... genius.

7:15

I use "El Greco's" example because listening, the very simple act of closing your eyes and listening, works a little like that booklet I had in my hands, in "El Prado". It discloses things, sounds, that initially are not obvious. Walking barefoot next to the sea, the... king of all sounds (I say "king" because the word sound in Greek is male), is the one that comes from the small waves reaching the shore. But if you close your eyes and you focus on everything you can hear, then a much more... colourful painting is presented before your eyes, or, well... ears...

7:20
Sure, excluding some birds that are flying, making their own sounds, it's the sea that dominates your hearing, but as the little waves approach the shore they make one sound, the moment they hit the shore they make another sound, as the water smoothly slides on the sand going as far as it can reach it makes another sound, and finally, when it slides back into the sea it makes another sound. So, what initially seemed like one sound, turns out to be at least four different... Biiiiiig deal, I know, who cares?... But you see, if it is 7 in the morning in Canoa Quebrada, if you are aaaaaaaall alone in an endless stretch of perfect sand, if you are worlds away from everything that is your "normal" every day life, then...

7:30

Then you let yourself go, you familiarize yourself with the sound your feet make as you step on wet sand, or any other sound, smell, you have a silly smile drawn on your face non-stop, you even take pictures of beautiful cats that stare at you, who knows thinking what... At eight I can have breakfast, so I am slowly, keeping a really lazy pace, going back to my "pousada". I'm glad I chose to stay an extra day here, but deep down I am curious to see how I will feel in the night, whether I will have gotten bored or not. Other than walking on the sand and sitting atop some sand dune, there isn't much you can do here, this time of the year, so I wonder...

8am

Only yesterday I was writing about the pros of low season (not of course that it doesn't come with a bunch of cons as well...). Also, as I wrote yesterday, I am one of the two, only, people who are staying at this pousada, and the other guy, some Brazilian, must still be sleeping. Even though the atmosphere is seriously informal, Alexandra is remarkably punctuate. She asked me yesterday what time I would like to have breakfast, I said eight, and at eight sharp my breakfast is served. You can't see everything here, because I "sacrificed" some of the things I was offered, so as to have the pool at the upper end of the photo (look closer and you'll see it). This wasn't all, though. I was asked how exactly I wanted my omelet, my coffee, my everything... Talking about personal attention...

9:30

How would you react if you had a very close friend, a fanatic vegetarian, if one day you met and he took you to a steak house, urging you to try the juiciest steak of the house, admitting that the other day he himself got that tempted that he couldn't resist, betraying his hard-line vegetarian way of life? Well, if you were my friend and you saw this picture, you would be equally shocked. If there is one thing I hate while traveling, that's having co-travelers taking pictures of me. Regretfully, I am one of those tight-asses that can't stand the idea of being photographed, which means that I have been to some amazing places, only I have no picture of me to show to my grandchildren when I turn 70 (which of course is only a matter of speech, since I don't see myself becoming a grandfather, ever, for the simple reason that I don't see myself becoming a father first...). Here, not only I want to take a picture with me in, but given that I am all alone, I get in the trouble to use the damn self-shoot function of my Olympus, stabilizing it on some tiny tripod I am carrying with me. I'm telling you, this picture is nothing less than "archive material"...

10:15

I take this picture and the very same moment I know that this will be my new laptop wallpaper once I make it back home (it was, indeed, for a month, before replacing it with another picture I took, in Natal). There is something about this photo that wins it a special corner in my heart at once. It's the combination of the colours, the sand, the red in the boat's bottom, the little construction on the right, the sky, the... flock of tiny clouds far in the distance, the green on the left, at the top of that sand dune, but most of all, it's these two... have no idea how they are called in English, it's these two "things" on the boat, that give the picture, if you ask me, a rather... elegant touch. They remind me of someone who is holding a sword in one hand, pointing at his opponent, while keeping the other hand high up, the way sword fighters (not sure about this word either... "sword fighters") do, especially in movies, where sword fighting is presented like a whole... ritual. Simply put, I love this photo...

11:20

Back to my pousada for another dip in the pool. It's only 11 something, but excluding some short break for breakfast, I have been walking for almost five hours now, covering my sensitive skin with sun block every now and then. It's hot, as in... H O T, which of course I have nooooo problem with. I'm about to jump in the pool, Italian music from the 60s/70s is coming from the living room of my pousada (I grew up listening to this kind of music, because of my parents, so I am more than pleased that the guy who runs this place along with Alexandra is Italian, playing this music the whole day), I feel fantastic, and I catch myself thinking something that all solo travelers, I reckon, think about, at some point or another, while on the road: would I prefer being here with someone, a... say... special someone, or am I better off alone?...

2pm

In a previous post of mine I wrote that watermelon is my top favourite fruit. "My top favourite fruit", as in, "I can have watermelon for breakfast, lunch and dinner". Looking at all these watermelons at this grocery shop I think I must look the same way a young teen looks when he goes to buy milk at his mother's request, but he's only too willing to do that because in his neighbourhood's super market he can find a dozen porn magazines and take quick peaks. He wants them (the magazines, and not only...) all, I want them (the watermelons) all, I am drrrrrooling, but I can only carry one back to my pousada. That I do. In a while I will be having "lunch", watermelon, sitting at this little balcony outside my room, enjoying the view to the sea, surrounded by palm trees... If you go a few photos back, you'll see one of the establishments along Canoa Quebrada's coast is called "Lazy Days". Oh my... Lazy day indeed...

4:30pm

The sun won't be up for too long, and I am not leaving Canoa without going back to the top of that sand dune I walked to yesterday. I don't really know what else to write about how much I fell for this place... I feel so relaxed, as if a pair of very tender female hands have been massaging me for well over an hour now, and I have reached the point of mumbling "this is what being in paradise must be like... You want what? All the money I (don't) have in my bank account? Bring me a paper to sign, it's all yours, just keep massaging me..." Honestly, "relaxed" is too poor a word to describe how I feel, generally these last days, especially today, right now...

5:10pm

The locals call this pedestrian street, the only one in the village, the heart of the village, "Broadway" (Ooooook, if you say so...). As I wrote yesterday, this is not just low season, but a low season's working day (not weekend), which means that not even people from nearby Fortaleza are here. This place is as quite as it gets, and the only people you see in... Broadway are locals, families, old chaps, a donkey, some kids playing. Being the only tourist, I think, around, is hard to go unnoticed, with my small day-pack and the photo camera in hand. I'm going to spend the next half an hour sitting at some bench, just... watching the people go by, meaning the same 10-15 figures who go back and forth. I don't mind... Half a dozen old chaps are sitting close to me, and listening to them talk in Brazilian Portuguese is more than enough to make me happy. I love how it sounds, and I try to catch a word or two... Do I need to repeat what a seriously lazy day this has been?...

6pm

One last stroll on the beach. In the morning I was wondering if I would get bored after a second day here. I have my answer now. Nope... I could easily spend a third day here, I do, after all, have a flexible itinerary, that's what allowed me to spend an extra day here already, but staying for a third night would mean sacrificing one of the places I want to visit before finally finding my way back to Salvador da Bahia. After two days in Canoa Quebrada, I only have the fondest memories to remember, and this maybe is a good enough reason to leave tomorrow. It's like athletes who decide to end their career while they are still at the top. Play another year and maybe people will remember you like an old guy who should have quit a year ago, when he was still number one. If I stay another day here, I may end up spoiling my fond memories. I need fond memories, I don't want to risk the chances... Tomorrow morning I am taking the bus to Natal (where I was meant to discover a side of mine I honestly didn't know I had...).