This view looks hauntingly familiar…save for the shadows on the balcony floor casted by the afternoon light through the railings. I know I have seen it somewhere. It is peaceful and quiet as I remember it to be. An impressionist painting hung privately in the master’s quarter, a carved Santo Nino bust sits keenly scanning every footstep that goes by the pasillo, and two strategically placed rockers boasting of front row vista to this little corner of the world he tends as his own.
A familiar friend makes a wise suggestion that if you come for a visit, it is imperative that you leave your timepiece behind. The world stands still in this Eden where the lulling sea meets the lush green land. The silence is deafeningly tranquil as the late afternoon show announces itself through its opening act by the sound of a fisherman’s paddle, stabbing the water’s surface while another lashes the air by casting the nets as they gracefully maneuver a semi-circle course to an expected bounty at the end of this expertly executed play.
Five minutes into this time capsule I am inclined to profess you won’t be saddled with counting sheep. There is a hypnotic ambiance to this paradise as many fall prey to its allure and charm only to be whisked away to the altered estate of dreamland. I am mesmerized by its beauty in its simplicity but maintain my wakefulness as my host explains how he had stumbled into this hidden treasure over iced sodas and cheddared ensaymadas. You gotta love his candor as he proudly beams about it with every spoonful of juicy golden pink papayas I dismiss with flair. And as the taste linger a little longer in my mouth after a month have passed, my memory rescues me from temporary amnesia. I know where I have seen that view. On a wall hung privately in the master’s quarter…
