Up to pack for another travel day. When all is set, I walk out to the last couple of beaches, the ones I missed due to the rainy day, right on the other side of town. Both are beautiful, and I shake off my flip-flops and walk the length of each. What is it that’s so captivating about the sound of the pounding surf? This island has some beautiful, in fact, visually spectacular beaches. But the waves and currents are so strong at most, that I, along with most people other than the surfers, do not feel comfortable venturing out even as far as the break line, to enjoy the clear water.
My favorite is definitely the second, about 500 feet long, curved, incredibly wide, and ending with a jumble of huge boulders that are scattered along the sand until they pile up enough to create a point. On top of one of the endmost boulders sits a blue Madonna, about 4 feet tall, with wildflowers growing all around the base. Nice. As I walk back to my starting point, I really enjoy how the waves, still a good distance out at low tide, spread so thin as they roll out across the flat, sandy beach. Sometimes there will be movement in several directions at once, as older waves dissipate and new ones roll in from another direction. Hard to describe, but cool to watch. Mind you, I am walking along in my bare feet, sundress, and holding my umbrella – really an underused but critically valuable travel tool in such hot environs. I climb back up the rocks and sit myself down at the beach bar overlooking this particular beach and have a little lunch before heading back to the pousada.
I share a taxi with Martin and Diane, who live in southwest England, near Cornwall and Devon, and have graciously invited me to vist them at their estate some time. We sat together on the flight over, ran into each other often on the island, and are seated across from the aisle on the way back, and finally Martin asks me if I’m with the CIA, keeping a watch on them. I ask back if he’s been hired by my honey to keep an eye on me!
We wing away from Fernando de Noronha, enjoying the sight of those beaches for a last time as we head toward the mainland. Say our goodbyes, and then I’m off on my one hour ride to Olinda. We have to crawl through the pre-Carnaval festivities, which means groups of people parading, playing brass and perscussion, walking through the main streets, dancing and drinking. My hotel overlooks the main route
and I have not yet decided whether I prefer being here so I do not have to fight the crowds to watch, or whether I will end up preferring to sleep, since the thumping and music are part of the ambience of my room!