TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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Yesterday at dusk we walked along the boardwalk, through scrub and along constuction sites for more apartment buildings and hotels, to the sea, just to confirm that it was there. Aside from the spectacular ochre cliffs and the sunset, the highlight was spotting a few birds that reminded me of California scrub jays, with their blue wings and tails. They were Iberian azure-winged magpies. Portuguese: charneco and pega-azul.
After dinner we had a couple of drinks at a busy roadside cantinho so that the husband could watch a football match. Due to lack of tables, we had to endure the company of an old Englishman the husband had met earlier in the day, who has lived in the town for 30 years. Had, rather, for he was now living on his small English pension in the Philippines with a woman he had met there and their baby. Now the new father at 72 spends hours each day in Internet fora, advising other Western men on the ins and outs of relationships with Filipina women. The husband had seen a photo of the man with his young family. "He looked like a pervert."
I had to suppress a shudder when his eyes lit up at the sight of me. After he realized I wasn't going to entertain his patter about life with Filipina women, we sat in silence until with some great relief we moved to another table.