Some posts back, I said that if I had an ocean and a beer in front of me, I was just about the happiest girl in the world. It took me a whole week to set myself straight on the matter.

I arrived in Recreio yesterday somewhat narrowly missing most of the big Carnival celebrations and the havoc it reeks* on Rio.

Arriving in Recreio felt like a return to order. I was able to take out a bit of money and buy some groceries. I did some laundry.

Almost immediately a series of frantic texts from a client whose timezone set her at 2am started flooding in. I tried to respond to her as a guy from Latvia entered the room and tried to strike up a conversation. The duelling conversations were rooted in urgency. One suggested that a meeting would go awry should these last minute questions not be answered immediately. The other was suddenly prematurely solidifying travel plans back to Rio in three days.

I was mid-sunscreen before it all began. Two people simultaneously saying: now.

When both seemed satiated, I took myself to the beach. I watched the ocean and my weary mind was baptized with the view of one sweeping wave after another.

Do you feel this way? It’s as though people emit some kind of frequency. For some, it comes through in a siren pitch. Others emit almost nothing at all. My job and the volume of people I work with is a cacophony of these frequencies. Sirens and all.

I’ve been lucky on this trip to meet some kind, funny and interesting people. Meeting people at the beginning of my trip was certainly a highlight for me. Though as I sit on the beach, witnessing the ocean, I can feel myself start to consciously untether myself from others.

Sometimes it takes a whole ocean and a cold beer.

I chose a beachside vendor that is run by two women. One is pregnant and the other is beating the shit out of some sugar cane. When I order my beer, the sugar-cane-tenderizer looks up with a sly grin and fiery eyes that suggest she is a force to be reckoned with. The pregnant woman looks out at the beach, stoic and calm. I don’t understand a word they said, but I imagine that as they hand me the beer and my change, they were saying ‘Go ahead. We’ve got you.’

Samba is being played on some kind of lo-fi sound system. Children are dancing and laughing. Their joy is infectious. Still, as I watch the ocean, the sounds fade out into the distance. It’s the sound of the waves the have slowed my mind. My arms are draped over the arm rests of my seat and my shoulders are pushed back. I look out at the mountains and at the ocean. I am seated like a Queen and it’s all mine.

No. Not the mountains. Not the ocean. I might have just compared myself to a Queen but I’m not entirely delusional.

This moment, this time, this ‘now‘. It’s all mine.

Today and for the remainder of this trip, I’m going to greedy for that now.

It’s going to come in the form of a simple ocean viewing, or a silent cab ride. It’s going to be on the balcony of my Airbnb with live jazz leaking out into the streets. It’s going to be all mine.

Sounds pretty damn good to me.

*not a spelling mistake.

Travel Playlist for Recreio:

https://open.spotify.com/user/12177791707/playlist/0C7mChj7dN52eo9NlggGaH?si=HVFCiqtdQ1O86-Lh_U1QIQ

 

Pictures of Recreio: