In the afternoon, I took the bus into the city. I was going to be damned if I was going to dittle my day away. In the mini park in front of the plaza, hip-hop acrobats drew a crowd. Break dancing, flips, balancing acts with their bodies, and of course some dancing entertained tourists and quite a few natives. I love to see the control of their bodies. Instead of entertainment, I was watching their strength, flexibility, and the fluidity of their bodies.
5 p.m. took me to St. Thomas. While packs of visitors go to St. Patrick’s to see the architecture, my favorite church is St. Thomas. It is beautiful. Of course they are two different religions so if if there are holier things on your mind then that might make a difference. Today I was neither there for architecture nor religion; I was there for music. Mark Brafield from Surrey, U.K., was the organist. I sat in the center and closed my eyes. Strange how music has a visceral effect on the body, I felt light, sad, happy, calm and even wanted to scream at one point depending on the piece. Screaming was something new. Never felt that before with music.
After the concert, I met three wonderful visiting Europeans, a couple and a single man. They invited me to coffee, which turned in to drinks at a famous hotel (not the plaza). A few drinks and conversation turned to food, isn’t that the way it always is? Well food or sex. I avoid politics or religion as topics after drinks as that is a dangerous mix.
The single man mentioned he knew the sous chef. So off we went to the kitchen. It was a delightful and delicious visit. Yes I ate. There were wonderful appetizers, a taste of a few things. Conversation with the chef in between him barking orders at the staff was amazing. He asked for a recipe for a Portuguese soup—Caldo Verde. I promised to email him my mom’s as I have yet to prefect mine. It wasn’t late by any means but when talk turned into going to a room to have drinks before they flew out I said my goodbyes.
The bus was packed home. I stood all the way. Baby and stroller to my right, a man playing video of a cutest little girl on his smart phone in front of me in the seat and to my left a three some talking Portuguese. Portuguese seems to be a theme tonight. As the bus swayed, I caught a glimpse of my reflection on the window. Damn was that me? I was dressed in a chocolate T-shirt with a sweetheart neck, black yoga pants that kind of look like slacks, and a sweatshirt. How the hell did I even get let in to the ________? My reflection looked a bit like a fun-house mirror: weirdly wavy hair, large breasts unable to be hidden by any shirt, hips too big for the waist, even this thick waist. I looked like a caricature of myself. I looked much better when I left the house, I swear.
When I got off the bus, I walked and walked and walked. In fact, I went for a second walk at 11:00 p.m., then a third at 2:00 a.m. At 5:00 a.m. I said this is enough. Is walking addictive? Part of the walking was clearing emotions that are starting to surface. I feel restless, angry, sad, happy, giddy, and a host of others at odd times.
Did you walk today? Have there been any changes? Physically or emotionally?
Note: Day four was Sunday, October 24.