1
Two tots of rum, a
dash of lemon and a sprinkle of cola. My drink was ready, but I was not. My
first day on the island lead me away from my usual fare of coffee and red wine.
It led me from a fried breakfast to lukewarm fruit and the smell of sunblock.
It was a day that had arrived after waiting for nearly two whole years for the collective
fear we felt and the confusing regulations to subside into something resembling
a heightened awareness. For the fear of an unknown killer to shrink to the
annoyance of a cloth covered face and a different kind of not being able to
breathe freely. Two years until we were allowed out of our own environment into
another.
Saxophone
renditions of modern pop songs to accompany the children in the swimming pool
where this morning we chose to forego the aquarobics in favour of dodging the many
jellyfish that had headed to shore during the night. My drink was strong but
not unpleasant, and I had nothing to do but stare at the ocean.
Walking along, the sand underfoot feels at once strange and comforting as it
massages my soles and connects me at once to the earth and to the ocean. People
lay spread out on their loungers, wearing as little as is decent, soaking up
sunshine and mixed drinks. As comfortable in their leathery skins as they are
in their surroundings.
A solitary recliner
in the shade of a rock; I sat and snatched the mask from my face, sucking in
lungfuls of sea air, aware that I had unconsciously chosen a spot as far from
all the unmasked beachgoers as I could. I tried to read. I did. But the
stillness of the ocean and the distant horizon kept up their competition for my
attention and won.
2
I awoke the next
morning to marvel at the silence. The ocean, a very short walk from my room,
was as still as it was the evening before. The tide had gone out, taking the
jellyfish with it. I stepped onto the veranda and immediately retreated,
shutting the door as I did so. It felt as if I had stepped into a sauna, and
someone was trying to give me a rubdown with a wet towel. I had to go out, I
needed to see the sun rise, and if I moved quickly I would only need to keep
the my mask over my nose and mouth for a minute or two. I tried again, feeling
the condensation form on my cool skin and immediately evaporate.
Sunrise came at
about 5-45, it didn’t peep over the horizon, I was facing the wrong way. It
came from the ocean, lighter and lighter, then it was on me, and I felt my eyes
close, and my arms raise as I embraced the new day.
“Bon jour!” the
chirpy voice of the security guard snatched me out of my reverie. “Bon jour!” I
chirped back.
“Something,
Something, aujord’hui!”
“Pardon?” I said in
English.
“No jellyfish
today.” He pointed, I nodded. “Enjoy the sun.” He turned his palms up the way I
had and walked away in his uniform, cap, and mask.
My day had begun,
and I needed a cup of coffee. The dining room with the good stuff only opens at
seven, I might as well have a shower and brush my teeth. There is coffee in the
room, and a kettle, but it is instant, and I don’t do that. Not even in a
crisis.
The thing about the
beach is that once you’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. Fine for those who want to
sort out a year’s worth of vitamin D issues in a week. But that’s not for me. I
can’t sit still.
After breakfast I
grabbed my mom by the hand, covered her in sunblock, shades and the ubiquitous
surgical mask, did the same to myself and headed out of the main gate and down
the road.
3
The sheltered
quarters of the resort are really a place of privilege. True, it creates
employment opportunity, but as you leave the confines of cocktails on demand
and curated volleyball, you enter a world where everything is hard work, even being
indolent.
The street offers
little shelter in the form of shade, the walls on the ocean side are too high and
the trees are planted strategically, while on the land side there are homes,
too many of which are incomplete, and the open land is overgrown with weeds, or
it is an allotment where various types of squash flourish and mangoes are
coming into season. There are dogs everywhere; too many to belong to the houses
we can see, but none look malnourished. Its like the canine depiction of the residents
and the visitors, uncomfortable but nobody is hungry. My inner cynic smirks at
this comparison as a young bitch, who has clearly recently given birth, saunters
by.
I am not given to
overthinking the situation I find myself in. I allow the thoughts of disparity
to flight across my mind as a matter of course, but as much as one is given
something to start with, choice is always present.
The walk along the
dead straight road is pleasant as the sun bakes down on people going about
their business, mostly fishing, or heading to the shop for provisions. We stop
once more in the shade of a massive tree near a little docking place for
fishing boats. A lone boy in his mid-teens sits astride a paddle board with a
rather long fishing rod and paddles a way out before he casts his line. A short
distance from him a man with an even longer fishing rod packs up his kit and
heads for shore in his little rowing boat. Two ladies in overalls stop sweeping
the sidewalk to watch the man, he appears to have caught their dinner. They nod
at us as we leave to continue our walk. One says “Bon-jour”, the other belches.
There isn’t much
else to see as we walk, ocean, beach, dogs. We are too close to the beach front
resorts to really get a feel for living locally and it’s too hot to risk
getting lost. Those who have sidewalk stalls and beach huts selling food are
beginning to open up shop. It’s not that we are early its just that what they
have to offer is only in demand later in the day.
The amount of
traffic is more than expected, and it is evident that nobody is in a hurry. Buses
are quite regular, at least every ten minutes and all seeming to head for the
city. They are inexpensive to ride but take considerably longer to get anywhere,
and do not have any kind of air-conditioning.
We make it back to
the resort in time for a cocktail. Yes, before lunch.
4
With a high of 36
degrees Celsius and a low of 32, and humidity close to 90percent, there is no
waiting for it to cool down a bit before you go anywhere. By now we have dipped
ourselves in the ocean and in the swimming pool, gone looking for a shop to buy
an ice cream and imbibed too many cocktails to count.
We have arranged a
taxi to take us into the city after breakfast. Its expensive, but cool air
blasting our faces is the big motivator here and being from Johannesburg we
decide to use what the hotel offers so that we can have recourse should
something go awry.
The taxi driver is
a congenial chap, who when required also offers tours to various parts of the
island and even though we just ordered a straight trip he is a font of
information. His English is certainly better than our French.
The heat and
humidity follow us wherever we go, and it is no different when we reach our
destination. Its like any city with some type of waterfront and quite modern. I
don’t enjoy the markets, and even though they have separated the sections into
fruit and vegetables, spices and gifts, meat it all seems frantic and desperate.
I don’t know if my sense of adventure has diminished or if I am just not in the
mood to be cajoled without let-up. We leave without buying anything and exit via
an alley between two meat processing buildings. Mercifully not through them.
5
The heat has driven
us to find air-conditioned shelter. The suburban light rail train with its huge
glass windows and cheap fare is just the ticket. A rest, some cool air and we
get to see the suburbs. The train was built using tourist money but is intended
for resident use, so it does not go anywhere near the resort areas. It crosses
the island diagonally at present, but building continues.
6
A few hours and I
am done. As are my companions. We head back to the hotel. Our driver has parked
at a prescribed spot and waits for us. He is not allowed to do any work other
than ferry resort guests back and forth.
Millions around the
world visit places like this every day. I am so thrilled to see this first hand,
and for my first time. Mother and I wandered around taking millions of pictures.
The art, the colours, the devotion are incredibly difficult to convey without
actually seeing it all. God and goddesses, tales and prayers. Some I
recognised, most were a mystery. A
moment I have been blessed to share with my mother. Something I will cherish
for life.
I think tomorrow is
a stay at the resort and keep out of the sun kind of day. Everyone agrees.
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