Olhao (Algarve, Portugal)
Olhao,in its name is a wave. A wave that comes and goes. A blowing of the wind. A music of water. A whirlpool of current. Olhao has the ocean on it, encrusted on the boats, spread on the walls, suspended in the humid and stuffy air. It is a constant and absolute presence from wich you cannot prescind. It is like a continuous caress, rough and salty, that tousles the palms on the coast.It is a touch that placates and consumes. It is a constant breath that dangles the fishing boats, the sails and the old restored caicco anchored at the pier. In the pronunciation of its name there's the yelding consistency of sand and a consonant, like a stranded wreck. Squared houses and communicating terraced roofs, but it isn't a Moorish city. It's a city that saw an African mirage and reflected itself in it. The ocean is its father and the shore its mother. When Olhao was conceived, they were both dreaming of Africa, its candid towns, the lime walls, the cubic houses, wich corners divide the sun in light and shadow. Black or white, depending on the hour. The fishermen from Ria de Aveiro founded this city. Commerces and contacts with North Africa influenced the design of the new town. Portuguese spirit and exotic soul. Lusitania reality and African dream melted in the waters of the Atlantic. Even Algarve is different here. No more rocks and cliffs, rage and roar of waves, but long and sandy strings and flat islands of incommensurable beaches. Indolent marine lagoons that are lost under an infinite line of horizon. A slower sense of time. A sweet melancholy. And in this honey , a taste of salt that brings restlessness, generates deep nostalgia, lights a slight fever. Living on the ocean involves all the senses. It's a discovery of beauty that requires total commitment and passion. The ocean is a lot, it's to much....
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