The aeroplane door opens. A gust of hot desert wind rushes in. The palm trees rustle outside the terminal, which is almost the size of a petrol station. A tap drips quietly for a long time next to the visa issuing desk. The official has all the time in the world. An open pick-up truck drives me squeaking along the bumpy roads to Sal Rei. The wind screams.
Sal Rei is a small village with 2000 inhabitants. My guesthouse is in the centre of the village. It looks like little Hurghada: a bit of an old town centre, and all around it a mass of empty or unfinished apartment blocks. Anything but nice. The only employer on Boa Vista is the construction industry. It is booming. Anyone not working in construction sits in the sun.
I lie down, close my eyes and listen to the village come to life. The sound is beautiful. Children playing football in the streets. Far away, a much too small jackhammer is hammering away at a much too thick concrete slab. The fan on the ceiling rattles quietly and wobbles menacingly above my head. The people speak a strange but very nice-sounding Portuguese. They laugh loudly and often.
In the evening, I look for a ristorante. It’s difficult. There are only a handful, well hidden away. At the end of the village, the wind whistles through a rusting excavator skeleton. The village is alive, very small and in the middle of the street. The shops are hidden behind small front doors. Next to the guesthouse is a kindergarten and the local capoeira club. My iPod is so superfluous, and some travel guide told me to take earplugs because of the noise. What a load of bollocks. I fall asleep to the singing and drumming of the village children.
<< I’m ready for the island <<
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.