life on the other hill

Fog on the river – a common enough occurrence, but one which never fails to delight, with its reminiscences of the Fool’s childhood in the shadow of a lighthouse.

To this day there is little in my dreams of the boating life to beat the romance of a foghorn going in the early morning, over the chug-chug-chug of a small purse seiner coming in out of the mist ...

... and crossing in front of our veranda on its way to the anchorage off Praia do Peixe, around the bend.

Today, the veranda remains (and the house attached to it), but the sea view is long gone, replaced by the concrete expanse of a marina and assorted buildings. I’m sure it’s all in the best interests of the greater population, but I can’t help feeling that it was better before – when boats were fewer and more modest, and a “private” beach was a just few steps down an iron staircase.

No one likes to be robbed of privilege.