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Strange Days
Indeed
We arrived in Brazil with little Lara, who had been born in Australia,
now 2 years old. She was a cherubic little thing, beautifully tanned by
the sun, and very cute.
While anchored in the river, a boat came in with some guys who were
involved in the cocaine smuggling business. They were actually a
happy-go lucky team of fellows, easy to talk to and befriend. Anyway,
they had joined us for drinks at the yacht club. There were probably 12
of us, all sitting around a large table, overlooking the boats tied up
between pilings in the river. Conversation between them eventually
drifted to their business, with a lot of unsaid innuendoes being tossed
about. For a moment, there was a lull in the conversation, and little
Lara, looking down at her plate from her booster chair, says quietly,
but clearly, “hmmm! Strange Days indeed”. The whole table spontaneously
broke down. I have no idea where she picked up the saying, but her
timing could hardly have been better.
Thana had just been born there, and the task of washing the diapers
landed squarely in my court. This involved many trips to shore with a
couple of pails and water jugs. Lara used to help me on these trips
ashore. She was fine company – even had a small pail of her own to help
with the rinsing. The nearest water source was a primitive shower, sans
spray head. I used to take the 5 gal. water jugs to the shower, and
fill them by placing them in the right position for the water
trajectory to go in the spout. When the two were full, I would turn off
the shower, replace the caps, and bend over and lift the two
jugs, (probably with the odd grunt or groan), to take them to our
washing site. On this particular occasion that sticks in my mind,
just as I bend over to lift the full jugs, little Lara, being ever so
practical, runs forward till she is under my now bent over torso, puts
her arms up, hands on my chest and proceeds to attempt to help push me
up into a standing position. I guess she figured the ‘old boy’ must
really need some help, judging by the sounds he makes. Kind of warmed
my heart – such a practical little soldier.
Another incident that happened there had us in stitches for days. The
place on the river where we were anchored was close enough to the mouth
for the tide to have full effect on the water level. There was a short
concrete quay right in front of the yacht club. Early one evening, an
old fisherman tied up alongside the quay, and just disappeared below.
He must have been tired out completely and simply needed some serious
sleep. It was a little wooden boat, probably no more than 20 feet long
and quite light. Anyhow, in his haste to hit the sack, he neglected to
consider the tide. I recall sitting in the cockpit, enjoying a
sundowner, when I looked across and noticed this boat, tied tightly
alongside the quay, now a good 3 or 4 feet above the water level. The
tide had gone out while the old boy slept. Just as I pointed and
exclaimed to Sharon, who was with me in the cockpit, he must have
turned over in his bunk, for the boat suddenly flipped over, spilling
his pots and pans and all sorts of stuff into the river – the boat now
still suspended from the quay but more upside down than anything. Last
to fall out was the confused old boy. He took off down the river in the
current along with all his possessions. I damn near fell in from
laughing as I jumped into the dinghy to go rescue him and his stuff.
Was quite a job righting that boat in the night before the tide came
back in.
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