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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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