Our day on the beach in Tofo was mostly spent making small talk with the vendors trying to sell bracelets and fresh fish. This particular vendor really (REALLY) wanted one of our carabiners on our backpacks. We tried to explain that we needed them, and all of our extras (which we really did have at one point) were stolen when we checked our other backpacks. He insisted that he could have just taken them from us, but he didn’t. He asked us first. We agreed that was polite of him, and thanked him for not stealing, but insisted we needed them and couldn’t give him one. Eventually, I took his picture and printed one off to give him instead. It was only then that he realized we really weren’t going to give him a carabiner.
Another favorite moment of the day: giving in to getting a massage from a woman who walked up to us on our front porch. Her opening line involved miming how small my chest was (fingers an inch apart) and how big hers was (juggling one breast with her hand). I admired her spirit and agreed to a half hour massage. She asked for a drink of my Fanta and then massaged my shoulders for five minutes before announcing she was finished. You can ask Andrew, I’m not even exaggerating. Five minutes. I KNEW I should have gotten Andrew’s watch or his phone to set the timer. She had twelve children. I’m guessing she needed a sip of Fanta and a hot minute off of her feet more than I needed a longer massage. I should have probably offered to give her a massage now that I think about it…
Later that night, Andrew and I stopped to buy a few bottles of beer from the women sitting off the side of the road. One of the women must have just been feeding one of her children, for one breast was hanging out of her dress. I wasn’t even phased. We’ve been in Africa long enough to not think this to be strange. Andrew didn’t even notice until one of her friends told her in Portugese to put her boob away. Embarrassment flashed across her face for a brief second, until she realized Andrew wasn’t the slightest bit uncomfortable.
