|Up by the waterfall, moms do the family laundry.|
(You can click on the pictures to see them full sized.)
No tourists, no hotels; a local fellow invited me down to see the village and meet folks that live there.
Kids learn to swim early on. No Red Cross swim classes like where I grew up. They teach each other in the course of growing up.
|The kids stand on a sandy beach, but the rocky|
shoreline is from the island's volcanic origin.
|An almost-road leads down through the tiny village|
to the shore and the waterfall. The cobblestones are
a leftover from the early 20th century.
The kids from a family took me by the hand to go with them to get mangoes. I thought we were going to a kiosk vendor, but they took me to a tree along the pathway and threw sticks up into the tree until they had a dozen or so, then we went home.
|My friend and work partner Freddie had an|
interesting problem. When we traveled
together, folks would insist on talking to
him in Portuguese. Since he's black,
obviously he would speak Portuguese!
Not a word, unfortunately.
As tough and practical as the folks here are (and must be in order to live), they are comfortably hospitable. We were welcomed pretty much everywhere we stopped. Community leaders, school faculties, government officials, police and military, all were approachable and graciously receptive. It's a nicer place than most.