The waterfall that wasn't

The magical island of Santo Antão is surrounded by stormy sea. “No swimming this time of the year” says Liana, the hostel owner, and she is right. It looks scary. I ask my local friends if there’s any inland waterfalls or pools of water where one could swim. They say yes, but not this time of the year. Now is the dry season: no rain, no water, no waterfalls and no lakes.

In the past, I observed many times what I call the villager paradox. If you ask an average villager if he ever hiked the mountain next to his house, the answer is usually no. The locals often know very little about the area in which they live. I don’t know why this is so, but it remains so in every culture and every geography.

The lake was there, waiting for me, and I found it the next day. What helped was some luck and the so-called red marker method: a secret algorithm to select the places worth exploring, which I picked up from a fellow traveler long ago. It works like this: you open the map, take a red marker and cross over all the places recommended in the guidebooks. These you will not visit. All the rest remains for you to explore.

In the hostel, I propose a trip to an unnamed valley which has not been recommended by anyone. David joins me. We follow a paved road for some time, and then turn to a footpath passing smelly pigsties surrounding the village. In the banana palm grove we meet a man. He asks simply: “Vais à cascata?” This way, we learn that we are 30 minutes away from a waterfall. But in most rural parts of the world, time and distance should not be taken literally. “30 minutes” often means “you may get there before dark”.

We continue and quickly realize that not many people frequent the valley. Apparently, the waterfall is not the biggest tourist attraction. The path disappears. We lurk in the vegetation, relying on our sense of direction. It is a bit scary. It is magical, too.

After an hour we see the waterfall and we are stunned. It is amazingly tall and beautiful. It is also far and the sun is setting already.

We realise we won’t get home before dark. David walks back and I decide to continue, negotiating the way through the paradise. There are no people in the valley. I meet a lonely goat. Otherwise, just myself, confronting the majesty of the creation.

The terrain is getting quite difficult and it seems the target isn’t getting any closer.

The last few meters take almost half an hour of finding the way between big boulders. I finally make it to the waterfall and see that it ends in a small, pretty lake.

I take a swim…

I sit down, watch and listen…

I then walk home in the dark.

The next morning, I look through the hostel window. In the stormy sea, I see two 10-year-old boys on mini-surfing boards. They play with the huge waves literally a few meters away from the rocks. No one is watching them. After an hour of fun, they happilly swim back.

I walked towards the sea with the camera but it was too late. Instead, this view was waiting for me. Better than the waterfall.