Itacaré: Thoughts in Rhythm with the Sea

Itacaré

The scent of sandalwood had me completely entranced. It was only 9:30 in the morning, but I could have stayed lying there forever.

Without moving, eyes half-open, I found myself staring at the lamp hanging from the ceiling.

I’d seen similar decorations in other places already. It must have been made from braided buriti fibers, a Bahian craft that looks like it was woven to the rhythm of the sea.

There she goes again, the know-it-all…Just little things you learn along the way.

The cool floor beneath me. My body still in savasana, my mind slowly returning. The silence broken only by the chirping of birds and the distant buzz of a motorbike.

And there I was, half-asleep, surprised by a simple thought: how clean everything was.

I remembered how, just an hour earlier, walking to the shala, I’d seen men and women sweeping in front of their shops, homes, and cafés with brooms made from dry branches.

And I thought, “This is how the country stays so astonishingly clean, almost on every corner.”

Since I arrived, I’ve noticed that people here seem to live by one simple rule that works for everything: respect.

And in that endless stream of thoughts that constantly swirl around our minds, a memory from the night before appeared.

As the sky shifted from blue to yellow, orange, red, and violet over the ocean, a guy was playing guitar, sitting on a polished log.

A girl, still with wet hair, said she was from another country. She’d been a gymnast in traveling circuses, but now, with a two-year-old daughter, she had learned how to make tapioca sweets, which she sold on the beach because it paid better.

Another woman joined in. She sold incense around the world.

“I’m staying here for a few months now. The pace is good, people are kind, the food’s amazing… I wanted to go to Spain, but there, the police kick you out if you try to show your art in the streets.” (True.)

My mind listened to their stories while my nose chased the delicious smell of grilled queijo coalho that fills the beaches at sunset.

So many people have chosen alternative lifestyles that here seem completely normal. And yet, back home we’d already be asking:

“Okay, but what’s your real job though?”

Or even:

“Do you have a license to sell?”

“A health certificate?”

“And why do I have to sweep now? It’s your turn.”

And after seeing how well people manage in so many places I’ve visited, without all the questioning, the overly ‘serious’ jobs, or the rules, I can’t help but feel that our more "serious" way of life exposes something:

We lack respect. And we carry too much fear.

Hey, I hear you whispering… careful now, what will society think of you?

…

I’ll admit it, that’s always the hardest part about coming back. The first shock.

Too many rules.

That clash with so many regulations you’ve lived perfectly fine without for months… and that suddenly seem senseless.

As I let myself drift through the memory, I feel grateful that my nature has always pulled me slightly off the beaten path, or at least made me question it.

And thanks to that, today I can be here, under a lamp woven by a Bahian sailor, thinking that if one day I need to, maybe I could make a living selling gazpacho on a beach in Brazil. And it wouldn’t be that crazy.

And so, I live with a little less fear, and a little more respect for the many ways one can exist in this wild world.

We begin to move. Little fingers and toes waking up, and slowly, we sit up…

I left the yoga class and headed to the beach, weaving through cobblestones and dodging puddles left behind by last night’s storm.

I was alone, body light, mind in motion.

And then, another memory. Another one from the night before. A bizarre debate.

(Yes, the mind is really all over the place lately…)

Back to the debate.

Alright, let me throw this out there, what do you think?

How many continents are there in the world?

Seven! an Anglophone or a Chinese person will say, splitting America into North and South.

Five! you’ll say If you are European. Maybe six, if you count Antarctica.

Also five, says a Russian, for whom Europe and Asia are just one: Eurasia.

And all of them are valid and accepted.

Maybe I’m just incredibly ignorant, but I had no idea.

To me, it’s the perfect example that shows how so-called “universal truths” depend entirely on context. And that, after a heated loop of a discussion under the moonlight:

. That’s how wars begin.

. The borders we made up from thin air mean nothing.

. And that’s how the rules we assume as obvious can make absolutely no sense to someone else.

So… who’s right when everyone wants to be, and there’s no universal truth or valid rule to decide?

Maybe not everything needs a rule.

Maybe all we need is to keep sweeping even when no one asks, just to keep things pleasant. To sell sweets without worrying about permits, knowing that hustling to survive is already an act of courage. To let countries and continents be what they are: imaginary lines.

And maybe, the only thing that should always be right is respect.

Because just like yoga, it doesn’t really need a certificate. It’s something you live.Something you choose.Something you practice.