Torres

Some observations from the first trip to Torres.

31 October 2009

Bus to Torres. 10ish in the a.m. Bags are packed securely and a weekend beach adventure awaits. What to come? Presently the joy of motion is in my bones and my heart. On the go. Somewhere new. And a break, at that.

The bus is cushy and well-lined. Just out of the city proper we are witness to the poverty that pervades Brazil. Withered horses graze in patchy fields of deep green grass. Indeed, it is the greenery that saves so much of the scenery. Trash and ramshackle housing supplies additional balance in favor of the gloom. But, alas, this is truth. And who suffers the most?

Jenn says: “I have so much compared to some people.” But is there no serenity among the poor? Is there wisdom and contentment in the patched boxes of fragmented boards?

The Trash

I see disadvantage in terms of education, nutrition, water supply and perspective—among others. But I also see some natural beauty that could be enjoyed were it not for the trash that appears locked to the landscape. Layers of plastic, paper, scrap this and scrap that are affixed to cement, grass and dirt. Bits and big bundles slowly release their elasticity and veritably soak into the earth. One gets the impression that it has been here for a while and here is where it shall remain.

Mental image forever burned into memory: goat munching away atop giant mound of rubbish.

It has been a most unusual Halloween.

1 November 2009

We arrived yesterday without incident and managed several successful adventures that rounded out the day quite nicely.

The first was a walk to see the beaches that make up this community. Along the way we stopped for a bite to eat at a place to which we will likely not return. Aside from the mediocrity of the fare, it was less than clean. And when we were finished, a woman came along (she perhaps a bit slow) and asked if she could have the rest of Jenn’s sandwich. Jenn said, “Sure,” and the stranger promptly plopped down into her chair and began munching happily away.

Occasionally she offered a couple words which came garbled through mouthfuls of unidentified meat and veggies. It was a surreal and slightly harrowing sight.

It’s later in the day—just about noon—and so much has been accomplished. A delicious breakfast was supplied by the Pousada Solar Inn. There were cakes, of course, and the oh-so-delicious coffee that Brazilians usually have on hand.

Now the beach is where we have taken up camp. Here amongst the crowd—just to the rear where there is adequate space—we lounge as the others. Umbrellas create an eye-level canopy under which bodies recline or lie supine taking in sun, cool shade, and a light breeze that heals the heart. The water is cool—but not Lake Michigan cool—and it only takes a couple dips to acclimate.

I welcome the taste of salt and immediately recall days spent on Folly Beach and the Isle of Palms, enjoying the same repose and contentment that currently settles in my bones.

Last night sleep came easy and thick. I fought it only as one who knows the battle is lost but welcomes the defeat as it means sweet rest and what-the-hell-were-we-fighting-for-anyway? Such notions at the end of a long full day bring dreams of calm and quietude. From such dreams I wake with wonder and slip back under the covers for more. Ahhhhh, beach life.