The day starts out badly, the rude awakening to a dark morning I am not ready for, the coffee lukewarm, the sense of my soul being elsewhere. The day an average toil; ups and downs, frustrations and humor, contempt and appreciation. Nothing out of the ordinary. Ennui.
In the afternoon the mood turns; a swim in the ocean to wash away the angst; moments sitting in the sun, unwinding, chatting; a platter of sardines and octupus; a glass, two, of cold, white wine; good conversation; a stroll home along the sea front; stopping to chat with a friendly street vendor from Senegal; watching boats coming, going or just bobbing about; a sand sculpture to celebrate the local fiesta; stopping to buy the best ice cream on the island; sharing the ice cream at home with family and a friend; more good conversation.
Ennui turns to pleasure.
Island are strange places. They entrap you, then they smother you, and just when you think you are ready to breathe free, they snare you again.