The cruise to the Earth’s end
I was riding a rented scooter on Eliat Street, few blocks from the Telavivian Gallery, glancing at the lifeless store windows. I wasn’t wearing a helmet and the dry wind whipped across my face. The lane was free, with no traffic. It felt like Sunday morning. The last time I checked the calendar, it was still Thursday. Without pedestrians or sellers, the street looked like a desert. Maybe because we were in the desert. That gathering of concrete and glass, with some sparse trees and few parked cars, was a mere facade. The arid and lonely atmosphere struck me, but the idea of shortly reaching the Jaffa seashore brought me some relief.
I rode for a few meters and when I got closer to the beach, I had the impression that it was not Eliat Street, and it was not Tel Aviv. It was Mena Barreto Street (or Paulino Fernandes, or Nelson Mandela, I don’t remember quite well), in Botafogo neighbourhood, being blasted by the hundred-degree sun of Rio de Janeiro. When I got to the corner, I turned on to Voluntários da Pátria Street and rode towards the ocean. Once again, all the stores were closed, with their windows showing naked dummies. I continued on to the end of the street. I thought I was mistaken and believed that I would arrive at the sands of Jaffa. It felt like I was losing my sense of perspective.
When I finally saw the ocean and got close to the sand, it was Sugar Loaf in the middle of the bay, floating over Atlantic waters. It was not the endless horizon of the Mediterranean. I left the scooter near a tree and ran to the sand, leaving my shoes behind. I dove into the sea and swam a few meters, feeling the salty water burn. I opened my eyes while submerged and they burned, even so, I could see lights at the bottom. Some swimmers were working at the center of the bay, many of them surrounding machinery connected by cables to a big boat on the surface. I came back, got some air and went down again, but couldn’t swim for long and had to resurface. I tried again, this time determined to go further, but the swimmers had vanished. I imagined they had finished the job at that point and went to the next one. The depth and darkness prevented me from seeing them. I swam back to the beach.
While I was drying off, I noticed that the scene had changed. The Sugar Loaf, the cable car, the United Nations Avenue had been transformed. At the end of the beach, there was The House on the sea, sitting next to the HaMidron Garden and the Theater of Jaffa, a few kilometres from the Gaza border. My scooter was still next to the tree. I hopped on and rode through Yerushalayim Avenue, showcasing their vivid green palm trees, surrounding the beautiful Midron Yaffo Park. I went on for a while until I got to Jaffa Port, where a small boat would take me back to the ship in high seas. I stopped the scooter a few meters from the platform and after I returned the keys to a young man in a blue uniform, I walked to the boat. One of the seafarers stopped me and handed me a card, followed by a towel, then offered me some water. I walked by the deck to the stern, from where I watched the ocean and the Sun setting until it got swallowed up by the Mediterranean waters.
When I got to the ship and climbed to the tower, a waiter came close with a glass and said: “Enjoy the view, Captain. Only a few can have it”. He looked at me with wandering eyes and continued: “But remember, sir, this place is not forever”. Politely, he bowed and left me alone. I finished the drink and sorrowfully watched another night about to set in. Only after the twilight, did the other travellers begin to show up. I would go back to lead the ship in a few minutes. After many trips around the world, places start losing their unique characteristics. I’m homesick, but I don’t remember where I used to live. One circumnavigation is completed each twenty-eight days like I’m chasing the Moon. The Sun and the salt burn the beach on a hot day. The journey is always to the end of the night. Only archetypes remain, the names will be gone and the ship keeps tearing arbitrarily any ocean water in its way. The cruise to the Earth’s end doesn’t exist, it’s a vicious circle.
—
Author: Jadson André
English version: Rodrigo Pinto
Revision: Marrie De Vries
