chamomile
in early may of last year, mike and i awoke to somewhat grey skies above ilha grande, but we'd agreed that unless it was raining when we got up, we'd catch the first boat we could around the horn of the island and try to catch some waves. it was to be the second day in my illustrious lifetime career of surfing, and having had a pretty good first day at it a few days prior, i was excited to get my feet - and absolutely everything else - wet a second time, so we grabbed our towels and a few other things and headed out.
needless to say, the rain started literally a few minutes into the boat trip, but at that point there was clearly no turning back, so we hunkered down and tried to stay warm and at least a bit dry for the journey. no such luck, though, and by the end of the 20-minute ride to adjacent bay, we were both soaked through, and being the skinny kid i am, i was shivering with cold. the boat wasn't returning to abraao for a while, though, so we gambled, paying our 5 reais each for boards, and started the 15 minute hike across the waist of the island to the surf spot. the rain we'd seen thus far was apparently just an appetizer, though, and the sky really opened up on the way over, sending what was quite literally a small river of water flowing down the muddy path leading to the beach, making it all the more sketchy to navigate while carrying an 8-foot surfboard. we slogged our way through, though, still banking on the strong possibility of a tropical rain, which typically arrives, pours buckets for half an hour, and then moves on, leaving the heat of the midday sun to dry everything out and jack the humidity sky high yet again. and leaving the waves empty, except for those of us - namely, me and mike - who were bold enough to head out in the midst of the storm.
contrary to our hopes, though, we were greeted at the beach by sheets of rain, howling winds, and rather large, overly frequent, and dangerously choppy waves. not the best welcome. we'd come this far, though, so we stashed out bags under some palm fronds to keep them from getting blown or washed away (dryness was an impossibility at this point), and dove in to the surf. to our credit, we battled it out for probably a good half hour. in my recollection, i don't recall either of us getting up at all, but there might have been a few split seconds of glory in there somewhere, more likely for mike than for myself. in any case, we soon admitted defeat, and after walking back along the shore the 500 meters we'd drifted thanks to the current, we grabbed our things from beneath the now scattered pile of palm fronds and retraced our mud-path steps, freezing cold, wet, and tired to boot.
not being genetically equipped with much body fat, i was in full-on violent shivers by the time we got back to the other side of the island, where we unceremoniously left our boards at the same spot the family we'd rented them from had been smart enough to abandon, most likely as soon as we'd turned our backs (probably laughing their way home, and counting their reais happily). we didn't waste any time in looking around for a restaurant. and there one was. only 100 meters away.
offshore.
offshore?
offshore.
while the thought if more water made me a tad dizzy, we called the café’s rowboat over and were shuttled out to the tiny cafe on stilts in the bay, our half-dry oasis in a desert of cold water and torrential rain. naturally, the dry spots were already taken by those smart enough to have not ventured across the island in the first place (read: everyone else on that morning's boat over), so we crammed our soaking wet table into a semi-dry corner of the open-walled eatery and hunkered down in every layer of material we had with us.
in the end, i have no recollection whatsoever of what i ate, save that it didn't dry me out at all. after a bit of problems with the language barrier, though, the girl working the counter on that rickety island of a café brought me the only tea that she had in stock, and even she was amazed that she had any at all. i'd never tried it before, but with a bit of sugar added to sweeten its blessed warmth, i was as close to heaven as i could have asked to be at that moment. i may well have gone my whole life without ever tasting it otherwise, but thanks
to a miserably cold day in brasil trying to surf with the hud, and a sketchy, crowded, cold, soaking wet cafe on stilts off the shores of ilha grande, i now have a wistful fondness for
chamomile tea. and every time i drink it, i remember sitting there in the rain, freezing with mike while we waited for the boat back to abraao. And strangely enough, it's one of the best memories of the trip for me, though one of those that i'd be least likely to choose for repetition if i were presented the choice. it seems like things work that way sometimes - that fond memories are born from miserable experiences.
maybe we cherish the relief more than the adversity, just as the bone-chilling rain is a distant second favourite to the hot tea at the end of the journey. i suppose the chamomile wouldn't have been half as sweet, and the heat wouldn't have been half as comforting at the end of a regular day at the beach.
not that there’s anything wrong with a regular day at the beach. i’m sure you’ll agree.
here’s to your day at the beach, and to a good memory coming of your day regardless.
needless to say, the rain started literally a few minutes into the boat trip, but at that point there was clearly no turning back, so we hunkered down and tried to stay warm and at least a bit dry for the journey. no such luck, though, and by the end of the 20-minute ride to adjacent bay, we were both soaked through, and being the skinny kid i am, i was shivering with cold. the boat wasn't returning to abraao for a while, though, so we gambled, paying our 5 reais each for boards, and started the 15 minute hike across the waist of the island to the surf spot. the rain we'd seen thus far was apparently just an appetizer, though, and the sky really opened up on the way over, sending what was quite literally a small river of water flowing down the muddy path leading to the beach, making it all the more sketchy to navigate while carrying an 8-foot surfboard. we slogged our way through, though, still banking on the strong possibility of a tropical rain, which typically arrives, pours buckets for half an hour, and then moves on, leaving the heat of the midday sun to dry everything out and jack the humidity sky high yet again. and leaving the waves empty, except for those of us - namely, me and mike - who were bold enough to head out in the midst of the storm.
contrary to our hopes, though, we were greeted at the beach by sheets of rain, howling winds, and rather large, overly frequent, and dangerously choppy waves. not the best welcome. we'd come this far, though, so we stashed out bags under some palm fronds to keep them from getting blown or washed away (dryness was an impossibility at this point), and dove in to the surf. to our credit, we battled it out for probably a good half hour. in my recollection, i don't recall either of us getting up at all, but there might have been a few split seconds of glory in there somewhere, more likely for mike than for myself. in any case, we soon admitted defeat, and after walking back along the shore the 500 meters we'd drifted thanks to the current, we grabbed our things from beneath the now scattered pile of palm fronds and retraced our mud-path steps, freezing cold, wet, and tired to boot.
not being genetically equipped with much body fat, i was in full-on violent shivers by the time we got back to the other side of the island, where we unceremoniously left our boards at the same spot the family we'd rented them from had been smart enough to abandon, most likely as soon as we'd turned our backs (probably laughing their way home, and counting their reais happily). we didn't waste any time in looking around for a restaurant. and there one was. only 100 meters away.
offshore.
offshore?
offshore.
while the thought if more water made me a tad dizzy, we called the café’s rowboat over and were shuttled out to the tiny cafe on stilts in the bay, our half-dry oasis in a desert of cold water and torrential rain. naturally, the dry spots were already taken by those smart enough to have not ventured across the island in the first place (read: everyone else on that morning's boat over), so we crammed our soaking wet table into a semi-dry corner of the open-walled eatery and hunkered down in every layer of material we had with us.
in the end, i have no recollection whatsoever of what i ate, save that it didn't dry me out at all. after a bit of problems with the language barrier, though, the girl working the counter on that rickety island of a café brought me the only tea that she had in stock, and even she was amazed that she had any at all. i'd never tried it before, but with a bit of sugar added to sweeten its blessed warmth, i was as close to heaven as i could have asked to be at that moment. i may well have gone my whole life without ever tasting it otherwise, but thanks
to a miserably cold day in brasil trying to surf with the hud, and a sketchy, crowded, cold, soaking wet cafe on stilts off the shores of ilha grande, i now have a wistful fondness for
chamomile tea. and every time i drink it, i remember sitting there in the rain, freezing with mike while we waited for the boat back to abraao. And strangely enough, it's one of the best memories of the trip for me, though one of those that i'd be least likely to choose for repetition if i were presented the choice. it seems like things work that way sometimes - that fond memories are born from miserable experiences.
maybe we cherish the relief more than the adversity, just as the bone-chilling rain is a distant second favourite to the hot tea at the end of the journey. i suppose the chamomile wouldn't have been half as sweet, and the heat wouldn't have been half as comforting at the end of a regular day at the beach.
not that there’s anything wrong with a regular day at the beach. i’m sure you’ll agree.
here’s to your day at the beach, and to a good memory coming of your day regardless.
posted by jh.. at 07:19
1 comments
