Dwelling in a social media platform, I stumbled upon a photo of a woman, a singer, slightly older than I am but who also – as myself, I say – looks quite younger and youthful than what the ID card may surely accuse.
Leaning from the tiny wall above the beach, we exchanged simple comments, but those which reveal that our separate experiences there go beyond the bay itself… and experiences are just that and as much as that, so much more than mere visual captures, so much more than instant photos taken by our eyes and minds.
I immediately wrote down the adjectives we employed and the rest became obvious.
“As I read your ever young girl lips…
The flowery balconies sway,
The coloured houses stay.
To the rhythm of uncompromised steps…
Through sunny alleys and narrow streets,
Our eyes and paths never meet.
Not even the cement peer changes it…
You’re at home here, kept at bay,
You’re just there, (yet) just too far away.
Everyone’s a tourist here, always…
The accordion sound new to the young and old,
While the anchored boats conceal stories untold.
I look back at the Grand Hotel…
I can’t see the village behind,
Nor the one I’m looking to find.
To the right, the fort hides the ocean…
But the merry-go-round song is still there,
Eager to fly anyone anywhere.
Still we like it here…
For each breeze that passes us by,
Fills each one of us, still alone, in our own time.”
– in “Fishermen’s Bay“, by Hyug Badox
Post: Varandas floridas, fachadas coloridas e as ruas apertadinhas que me levam até à Baía dos Pescadores. Gosto da energia deste lugar.
Comm3: É isso mesmo… encapsulada entre o cais de cimento que fecha a praia, o mercado que surge/nasce na calçada, o Hotel Baía que esconde Cascais e o Forte que não deixa ver o oceano, porque é que gostamos da Praia dos Pescadores? Não sei, mas gostamos.
Comm6: Já para não falar no carrossel que nos embala a caminho da Baía, nas pedaladas das gaivotas contornando os barquinhos dos pescadores, nas vozes roucas com cheirinho a Bossa Nova acompanhadas das suas guitarras espalhadas pelas ruas soalheiras, no acordião que acompanha a nossos petiscos e nos traz a Amelie até Cascais.