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Published: April 28th 2007
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Thursday 19th April to Saturday 27th April, 2007.
Five days to go, almost time to return to the UK and I´m afraid I cannot say, other than for the most obvious of reasons of seeing family and friends, that I am particularily looking forward to my return.
As I write this I am sat alone in the warmth of Stella´s Renault Megane looking out at an angry Atlantic venting it´s fury on nothing but a handful of bored looking seagull´s, a couple of wrapped up and optimistic anglers casting off the rocks and a huge expanse of deserted white sand. Three days of cloudy skies has heralded the onset of Winter for Florianopolis and today is more reminiscent of a chilly and blustery late Autumn day at Cromer than the sun baked beach life to which I´ve become accustomed here in Floripa. And it´s beautiful.
My final week on the island has pretty much followed the course of it´s predecessors; days spent alone, at least in the aspect of the english speaking world and evenings at home but on Friday evening a rare night out was called for, the Naz were in town. Or Centro at least.
Florianopolis (4); Homeward Bound.
I was alone apart from him, his mate and a couple of fishermen. My last view of Joachina. It has to say something about the enforced withdrawal from my beloved rock music, my iPod has thankfully saved me from complete and utter cold turkey, but the fact that I was actually looking forward to seeing a band, Nazareth, who I last saw in 1979, who I probably wouldn´t even go and see if they played Ellesmere Port Civic Hall and who have been together longer than I have been alive was something I couldn´t deny.
I was intrigued to see how a bunch of pension claiming musicians from Dunfermline who would struggle to fill the smallest of venues in their homeland would fare in Southern Brazil, where traditional national music is omnipresent. ´What on earth were they doing out here´? was a question that repeatedly went through my head on the drive across the island and as we approached the newly renovated Floripa Music Hall I questioned whether it was actually the same Nazareth that I remembered and whether we had actually come to the right place. The punters, over 2,000 of them milling around the venue were dressed more for a night at the opera than an evening of sweaty rock´n´roll but unfortunately my anticipation was
Florianopolis (4); Homeward Bound.
Squeezing the last out of the Summer at the Lagoa. crushed when we were told that the cost of admission was an extortionate 100 Reals (25 Quid). I wouldn´t pay that at home and certainly wouldn´t consider it here so we returned me slightly disappointed, Stella probably elated. Apparently they went down a storm.
Another reminder of home and what awaits me in the coming weeks came with the Champions League Semi Finals. Brazil is universally regarded as a hot bed of football but here on Floripa it appears to take a back seat to the world of the sea. Surfing is to all intents and purposes the number one passion here. The recent installation of Sky to Stella´s home had brought the two eagerly awaited games, each a reminder of England direct to my living room, albeit at the less than atmospheric hour of 3.45pm and having ensured Gabriella was aware of my need for control of the controls and minimal interference I settled down for the two excellent matches, Manchester´s win over Milan prompting me to call my old friend Tim back in the UK to chant ´Rooney, Rooney´ down the telephone in much the same way as I would have done six months ago.
On
Florianopolis (4); Homeward Bound.
With Donna, next door´s mutt who finally became my friend. my final afternoon I donned my trainers to run the road that goes up and over the dunes for one final look at Joachina. Simba and Donna, next door´s young blue eyed, tan coloured pitt bull labrador cross accompanied me along the track for a short while before the old man, Simba not me, came to a halt sensing enough was enough. The road to Joachina can at times be fairly busy with buses and cars heading for the beach and for the most of the way there is no footpath and Donna continued apparently determined to accompany me all the way. I was concerned but thought that if her owner's were prepared to allow her the opportunity to roam free at will then they would have to face any consequences, I certainly wasn´t encouraging her to join me. When I first met her she would not come near to me, standing back and barking nervously at any attempt I made to greet her but as time had passed familiarity that had come from spending more time at Stella´s house than her own had eased her concerns to the extent that she seemed determined to keep me company on my
jaunt and she thankfully trotted alongside me all the way heeding any instruction to get to the side that I gave en route, and even laying patiently alongside me licking my sweaty feet and legs whilst I excercised. Later that evening as Stella and I sat out on the verandah in near darkness the sound of canine crying filtered up from the track below, it was Donna as if sensing that I was leaving nipping around to bid me bon voyage and say farewell.
It is over six weeks since I first set foot in Florianopolis. One week was my original maximum intended stay en route to Uruguay but a chance meeting with Stella, who has welcomed me into her home and treated me like a king changed all that and here I am finally preparing for departure over a month and a half later. For me that is the most bizarre and unexpected thing that has happened to me throughout the duration of my travels. Who would have thought it ? Certainly not me.
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I feel really sad.It will be great to see you again but part of me wishes that you could stay.Particularly if you could send over the bus fare so as I can visit. It's been enjoyable sharing your adventures.Thank you for writing it all down. And this is how it ends.Like you said,who would have thought?