2001 circuit around the Cape Verde islands - sixth stop - Brava island

I have been wanting to download the photos and notes on my 2001 circuit around the Cape Verde islands, as the accounts of three islands are missing, but recent "stories" seem to have "absorbed" my evening hours and I have therefore not done this for quite a while now.

I flew from Praia to Fogo but once I realized that on the day of my arrival there would be a ship from "Arca Verde" sailing off to Brava I changed my mind about staying and headed towards the harbour, not before having warned the owner of the residencial hotel I was booked at that I would be back in  four or five days.

I didn't understand (then) why he kept on warning me not to go as (according to him) I might not be able to return that soon ... I must say I did consider his conversation to be fairly "strange", but in full compliance with my previous decision sailed off to Brava that same afternoon.

I had no idea I would be travelling with living creatures of all sorts and sizes and as I watched a helpless woman pulling a hog aboard following a series of "refusals" on his part despite his owner's visible strength, I couldn't help wondering why he didn't want to move ...

We sailed off one hour later than expected, but the moment we approached the Bay of Furna all the "inconveniences" were forgotten ... I was about to land on the legendary island of Brava, where the great 19th century American whaling ships were said to call so as to pick up courageous young men to work aboard.

The fact that most settlers were from Madeira and Azores and never took part in the slave trade led to there being a greater proportion of white skins on Brava than on any other Cape Verde island, according to historic accounts.

To reach the Vila Nova Sintra, 520 metres above sea level one has to drive up winding roads on the slope of the extinct volcano crater where the main port lies.

Overlooking the port

It is an Hibiscus tree lined little cobblestoned town with typical Portuguese whitewash houses with red tiles. I stayed at the Residencial Pension Paulo, an incredibly beautiful "sobrado" adapted to host just a few guests and whose owner cooked prodigiously.

The following morning I took an "aluguer" to Fajã d'Agua, a little village at the foot of some mountains with natural swimming pools and an amazingly beautiful bay, which  I almost immediately fell in love with and where I spent some unforgettable afternoons.

View over Fajã d'Agua bay (left) and the natural pools of Fajã d'Agua  (right)

Like everywhere else in Cape Verde children approached me with natural curiosity and  I ended up making quite a few "little" friends over the next few days.

 

Having read that Fontanha de Vinagre water springs had, among various medicinal properties, the capacity to "prolong life" I did not hesitate walking the four kilometre distance. There I met an old man who had worked in the "urzella" and whose agility really caught my attention taking int account his age (98 years old).

Could it be that the medicinal waters had had some influence on his physical state? I wondered ...

I would later venture on another four kilometre distance walk towards Nossa Senhora do Monte in the opposite direction to meet the oldest Cape Verdean violin player alive at the time - Raul de Pina in a little village  called Cova Joana.

He was an adorable old man, whom I spent a memorable afternoon with. Not only did he play (he still played incredibly well for his age) but also showed me some crafted wooden rings with little mother pearl incrustrations that he did to just occupy his time. I was taken by the work involved and the precision with which he did those beautiful rings, having bought him a few as souvenirs for my friends but  having kept two, which I still regularly wear.

Raul de Pina at his home

On the fifth day I realised it would be impossible to leave the island unless I rented a  small fishing boat together with another foreigner who was also stranded on the island. And that's what we did among a few setbacks.

I left the island two days later, on what would turn out to be one of the most frightening experiences of this whole "adventure" - sailing  off on a small "bote" (the size of a fragile rowing boat) inside which we could barely move, without any life-buoys and having the "professionalism" of the fishing sailors as our only hope to reach Fogo island (just in front).

A few young boys swam after the boat for a few minutes to say godbye and wish us well.

 ... The lyrics of "Hora di bai" by the  poet  and composer Eugenio Tavares, who lived his whole life on the island "haunted" me as I set foot on Fogo ...

Despite the  "sailing"circumstances I (already) missed Brava ...