Five depressions crossed the continent in less than a month. A full handful.
In January came Ingrid, Joseph, and the dreadful Kristin. In February it was the turn of storms Leonardo and Marta. Between January 22 and February 8, the rain never stopped. A true atmospheric river originating in the Caribbean crossed the Atlantic only to pour down over sea and land—without respite.
AND THE SKY GREW DARKER
Winter set in. The year had begun with a calm sea. Gradually, the sky darkened. Nothing led me to imagine what was to follow.
During my excursions along the coast and through the hills, I experienced moments of apparent calm that preceded the gales and the relentless rain.
THE RAIN FELL WITOUT END AND THE SEA ROSE
With the bad weather came turmoil at sea. Enraged waves abruptly ended their journey against the cliffs or the beach walls. A vast expanse of foam stretched toward the breaking surf, which in turn was here and there cut through by furious runoffs draining enormous masses of water between the sandbanks.
Fixing my gaze upon that swirling mass, I was certain that no one could ever survive there. And yet, despite—and because of—all this, the landscape captivates and fascinates. From a distance, of course.
THE FISHERMAN’S BAR AND THE BANDIT
It was at the Fisherman’s Bar on Praia Grande that I met the Bandit (Bandido). Some call him by the name of the establishment. To me, he is more Bandit than Fisherman. Or perhaps both.
One day he came up to me and jumped into the car. Even after I shooed him out, he stayed nearby chatting away; the two of us, calmly perched atop the seawall above the already shrunken stretch of sand. He only left when the car returned to the road.
It was on that day that I took these photographs. Then the storms came, and we stopped seeing him for several weeks.
THE STORMS AT PRAIA GRANDE
The beach disappeared. At low tide, only sand remained, painted black by the mineral the sea had uncovered. It was swept again and again by the force of the waves breaking into foam against the seawall. There were days when no one dared descend to what little remained of the beach. And when it was all over, half of the beach was left without sand.
During the worst of those days, the police even closed the beach road. It was not safe to walk there either.
The restaurants shut their doors, waiting for better days. As for the Bandido, nothing more was heard of him fora long period. Life has not been easy for anyone.
THE RETURN OF THE BANDIT
When the storm—or storms—finally passed, the Bandit returned.
But nothing would ever be the same again. The notch at the tip of his left ear indicates that he has been neutered. The storms alone were not enough to trouble him. This time, the ride he accepted proved costly. He did not learn when he ended up at the GNR station in Colares. They had to go get him.
The Bandits’ journey is usually the reverse. But what came to pass after the prolonged absence during the storms can no longer be undone.
His friend Caramelo escaped. He too was missing for a while, but he is not in the habit of accepting rides from strangers.
Better days will come. When everything calms down, the surfers will return, and the terrace of the Pescador will once again be lively. And Bandido will then have many people to talk to.
No misfortune lasts forever. Life goes on.
Until tomorrow, Bandido!