I follow the old city wall, heading northeast this time. There isn't much of it. I keep walking, though, discerning traces here and there, until I find myself on the Rua do Cemitério, again. All roads lead to the necropolis, I guess.

Apparently the city was nearly razed by an earthquake and subsequent tsunami in 1755. In a museum I come across an animated map, which illustrates how the catastrophe transformed the city, as buildings disappear, in swathes, or appear, on either side of the city walls, depending on the year. Examining the map, I note that the cemetery itself was established after the earthquake, on the grounds of a destroyed church. Imagine the lives lost or displaced, despair and resilience, the long struggle to rebuild.

//

After lunch, the husband goes off to the cantinho to make work-related calls over beer. He hasn't explored the city, or gone to the pool, or dipped himself into the sea yet. I don't understand why he bothers going on holiday.

Ditto, probably, for me. From the balcony I survey the vast pool and the sunbathing masses speaking a dozen languages below, contemplating whether or not to scurry down the stairs for my five-minute, acutely self-conscious dip in the shallow end. Heading into the cool dim depths of the apartment, I run a bath. The warm water on my skin: a perfect duvet, or a pelt. I feel contrarian and asocial, totally myself.

//

"I feel like a river when the tide changes and for a while the waters flow in crosscurrent, with no direction, only a pulling from all sides."--May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

How my mood changes, from one moment to the next. The desire for solitude gives way to a yearning for familiar faces. Ebb and flow, never one feeling only. It is my curiosity that provides anchor.

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