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Subterranean Homepage News
by Sheila
Lennon
'Bottom-up' journalism from the pros
June 25, 2002 • Today's weblog
Letter from Larry#2: Onetime New Bedford Standard Times reporter Larry Novick and his wife Victoria left Providence last month, retiring to Victoria's native Cape Verde. Here's his second report on adjusting to life as an expatriate:
Our temporary residence is the home of Cesaria Evora, a lifelong friend of Victoria and someone I have known for more than 30 years. She is currently on tour, bringing her unique interpretation of the music of Cape Verde to audiences throughout the world.
We are alone (except for three house employees, cook, housekeeper and security guard) in a three-story house in the heart of Mindelo (photos), the port city of Sao Vicente, one of ten islands which make up the archipelago of Cape Verde, 300 miles west of Senegal in the Atlantic Ocean.
Breakfast is an omelet. The three small brown eggs come from three chickens flapping around in the adjacent courtyard. It is amazing they have time to produce because the lone rooster crows 24/7. The goat cheese comes from a small shack at the stone marking kilometer 6 on the airport road. It is so fresh, it literally squeaks as you bite into it.The papaya jam comes from an adjacent island.
Then, off to the beach to visit Pedro Santos, a retired cook on Norwegian freighters. After 27 years at sea, he has built TWO houses adjacent to the deceptively calm-looking waters of the Bay of Calhao. The tides, sand bars and hidden reefs have claimed many small fishing boats and almost claimed me. A wave knocked me down and a riptide started to roll me out to sea but I was grabbed by my shorts by my new found friend and savior who told me to swear to stay out of the water until I knew what I was doing.
Santos moves from house to house at will, raises miniature vegetables in the sandy soil and looks at the sea which provided him with the opportunity to retire comfortably in the country he loves so much.
Fast forward to dinner, back in town in a neighborhood where the wind blows constantly and the restaurant is simply called "HERE." Tanya is the single-parent owner, operator, cook and bartender who opens at 10 a.m. and closes when the last person leaves, which can be two the next morning. There are six tables and a small bar.
Tanya calls us in the morning and asks what we want for dinner. Our choice becomes the "plate of the day." Tonight our selection is grouper, baked in the oven with small potatoes, onions and peppers, with a salad of lettuce and the smallest, reddest, sweetest tomatoes imaginable. The wine is a Portuguese vintage red from the Alentejo, a perfect accompaniment. Two guitar players show up, then a cavaquinho (photo) specialist and a singer.
A radio newsman
comes in, is introduced and buys another bottle of wine. Two neighbor friends
of Tanya's come in to help with tending bar and clearing tables. Suddenly it's
2 a.m. and the singer is off to join the crew of a Spanish longline fishing
boat heading to the Brazilian coast and Tanya and friends are inviting us to
go disco'ing.
We graciously decline and head for home and this was only Saturday.
(S. I'm still at
the Internet cafe, transmitting at 10mbps so I'm not going to do anything too
fancy at this point.) Read
Larry's first report
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