Ilha Deserta

I look out of the window to see how people are dressed and how warm or cold it is. It's clear who is a tourist from a cold country, who from a warm country and who is local. Sunny but chilly. In breakfast cafe every chair is different.
To the harbour. A ferry goes from there to Ilha Deserta. The southernmost place of Portugal. A stork flies overhead with half a tree. And airplanes almost touch the roofs.
On the island are an endless sandy beach, big seashells and colourful stones. A bunch of seagulls wait for something on water's edge. I wander around, sit and watch the sea. There's also a marked path but a lot of marked path is to come later anyway. All other people have stayed somewhere behind. On the other side of the water is Africa. Water is icy. Four hours disappear in no time.
More people have arrived to the beginning of the beach. Most of them have taken a position of a starfish. Sand that was cold in the morning burns my soles now. High time to visit the only house on the island, the restaurant that looks like a crab from above. View towards shimmering water.
I start a new book. Have to be slower. I read a whole book yesterday, with just one day.
Back in town I see where the stork flew with the branches. He has a nest on top of a latern in the central square. Later looking up I see that church towers are also popular nesting places, as is a crane. I wander about streets and photograph walls. Churchbells ring. The chapel made of bones is closed.
foggy Netherlands and first stop
to the mountains

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