Daily life as an expat eventually hits its own normal rhythms.
There’s a fat lizard or chameleon or gecko or whatever somewhere in my apartment. Or maybe he’s left already, but I suspect he hasn’t.
Sliding Through Summer
I opened the sliding door to my interior terrace the other day and something dropped near me. I jumped, he jumped, and then I apologized for scaring him. Living in Florida for thirty years prepared me to recognize creepy crawly things that are harmless and cute, and creepy crawly things that… aren’t. He slid in before I could protest. Fine. I hope he will help himself to any bugs and flies that make their way into my place.
It’s summer and all the sliders are wide open. I only have one real “window” in the kitchen, everything else is a sliding door. Nice in some ways, not so nice when you want to leave a window open at night. The weather has been sticky-hot for a week with no real break, until today. We had a line of thunderstorms come through the day before yesterday, but they barely spat out some liquid before moving on, leaving a humidity that rivaled Florida.
But today… oh today! The day started out overcast and cool which made it perfect for my heart-attack inducing walk/jog. And it stayed overcast while I had my coffee and croissant on the balcony. Now, the sun is out and it’s warming up a bit, mid to upper 70s, but there’s a deliciously cool breeze that ruffles the drapes and is just enough to keep things cool without blowing all my papers around.
Sunday, I showered with the gecko. He very politely kept his face averted, though that might have been self-preservation on his part. Later on in the day, he disappeared. Is he in? Is he out? When will he reappear? I check corners and behind the sofa as I pass through various areas. Just because I don’t see him doesn’t mean he’s not here.
Summertime in Santa Luzia is tourist season. My daily life rituals need a bit of adjusting. I made the mistake of not buying my croissant before my jog, thinking, “Hey, it’s Tuesday. It’s overcast. The tourists won’t be out.” Wrong. There was a line out the door. I waited patiently, sweat still pouring off my body even though I had been “cooling down” for ten minutes, wondering how much I smelled. People weren’t visibly waving their hands or holding their noses and moving away, so it couldn’t have been too bad. But until the end of September, it’s buy the croissant first, bring it upstairs, then go for the run. The extra stairs will be good for me.
Watching the Boats Come In
I watched a fishing boat unload its catch while I had my coffee. I thought all the boats going out of the village were after polvo (octopus), but this crew was unloading what looked to be a type of skate. (I don’t eat fish, so I am not up on identifying the buggers.)
One of the crew members dropped a gallon bucket on a line into the water and hauled it back up effortlessly, one arm, one smooth motion. Then he dumped the water, rinsing each container of fish, before sorting it into the orange bins used by the fish clearing house. The skate went into their designated bins; other fish were tossed in separate bins. He dipped that bucket time after time, never tiring. Like many Portuguese, he is not tall, very compact; I can’t imagine how strong he is. Or at least his right arm.
Then I Watch Them Roll Away Again
The catch unloaded, the boat and crew moved off and another boat soon took its place. This was a smaller boat, with a bit of a hot dog as a captain. He brought her in hot, cut a graceful swirl in the narrow area between the two piers, and feathered her in. A crew member jumped out and secured the bow and stern lines. A minute later, I watched a white van I see on the pier often, backing its way down. They unloaded dozens of traps which the crewmember tossed on board to another who stowed them neatly. They offloaded some traps for repair.
It’s an exchange I’ve seen hundreds of times: daily life in a small village. The fishermen. The clearing housemen. The people who repair the traps, and drive the vans that distribute the fish to other areas. The boats coming in, offloading, then going to their berth for the day. I never tire of it.
Daily Life Keeps Me Busy Enough
People ask me what I do all day. I shrug. How do I explain the satisfaction that I get, the contentment, from watching the normal rhythms of people going about their lives? The bakery workers taking their breaks after the morning rush. The restaurant workers going to the channel to get a bucket of salt water to keep the shellfish fresh. The delivery men in their trucks, and the men and women who carry cases of oranges and the streetsweepers, and the lady who opens up the public restrooms every morning.
There is so much going on in front of my little apartment. It’s like going to the theatre every day. It’s a wonder I leave the house at all.
