First of all, thank you all for your concern regarding the events in London last Thursday. I didn't know I had so many friends! Anyway, it has rekindled some dusty relationships and reminded me of some individuals I wish were back in my life. For that, I must appreciate what has happened. But that's really all I care to say about 7 July 2005.
As luck would have it, Janice and I were slated to go on holiday the following day. A twinge of guilt overwhelmed by elation at the thought of getting out of London at that particular moment. To Madeira, a Portuguese island off the coast of Morocco. Didn't know exactly where we were going until I looked at the map on the guidebook...
But what can I say? Madeira has pebble beaches. The tourists are few but consist mainly of elderly people and families. And the people are absolutely lovely.
A detailed chronicle of the vacation seems to strip the experience to dry description. We spent a lot of time talking about, thinking about, purchasing, and eating the island's cuisine - scabbard fish sandwiched between lightly fried bananas, the kind of bananas that are really yellow and have texture and flavour, not the ones that dissolve like confectioner's sugar on your tongue; passion fruit, cherimoyas (custard apples), passion banana, sweet tomatoes with black seeds that leave ribbon trails in its water, and filodendra, a green prehistoric-looking banana that tastes like cherimoya. And madre mia, some of the best coffee I have ever had - un garoto (en espanol, un cortado). There was no question, I had to temporarily suspend my no-caffeine kick. But it got the best of me, with a pleasant result.
We bought embroidery in a musty homely fabrica that we stumbled upon by chance but couldn't bring ourselves to bargain with the two elderly Portuguese ladies that did their best to animate their wares in broken english. Near the top of the public gardens in Monte, a small village above Funchal, we rested a moment in front of a chapel, listening to Ave Maria. Very 'Sound of Music'. A fantastic serene, reminding me of the Japanese temple I had visited with the parents in Hawaii a few years earlier. Later, went on a catamaran excursion only to realise it was my first time ever to be out on the open ocean, or rather, the first time I was old enough to 'remember'. There were dolphins, lots of dolphins, playing, jumping, racing, and like any intelligent being, they got bored and left us to our own devices. Swam in a cove next to the highest cliff in Europe, which is ridiculous since the place is off the coast of Africa. It was freezing and the taste, immensely saline but the colour of the water was amazing, a shade of deep royal blue I hadn't seen before. I stared endlessly at the water, watching the waves crest and dissolve. It would be an understatement to say that it was hypnotic. I can still conjure up that feeling at will, even now.
Yes, it was a reflective vacation. Dreading the return to London, we started the last evening with questions about what do do with one's life and the 'big' problems of the world. By 3 am, Janice was instructing me on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and Chomsky's perspective. By breakfast, the conversation had deteriorated to spontaneous giggles and wondering why they always say botanical gardens instead of garden. The caffeiene had inflicted its vengeance.
So now I'm back and wondering, what next? A mild headache ceaselessly looms, threatening to explode into an intense migraine, and everything feels...calm. At moments, eerily so. Perhaps I'm still feeling the effects of sleep-deprivation. Or perhaps, everyone in London is walking with a bit more presence. Or perhaps, in 7 weeks, I'll have no more excuses.
