Paraty

Walking through the empty streets of a small colonial town, there was seemingly nothing more to do or see. We could only fall asleep next to the sea in a room that looked like it had been converted from a stable to a convent.

We were wrong. Suddenly we found ourselves walking towards the sound of two guitars playing a familiar song. We sat opposite them. That’s how connection is created sometimes. Without a license or the usual walls. You just watch the ones who don’t mind being watched. And then you smile. And say your names, though you don’t speak each other’s language. At least, you sing the same songs.

One gives the other takes. Both give, both take. You join voices to sing “…and you give yourself away…”. You run through the quiet streets to bring beer for everyone and cigarettes for those who smoke. You listen about her adventures, you hear her talk in your language and there’s never been a more surreal moment. At the same moment you want her to go and you know that they want her to go. The only one who can connect us with words, we prefer the music.

You accept a compliment and you give it back with a smile. You walk back to the room, hug and say goodbye. Small town people or Big Island people, music.

Nothing short of a miracle.

~ by chaoticmine on November 19, 2006.