Chuva e Sol

“Have you been to Chuvaesol?”

“No.”

“Really? Well, I have.”

“Good for you.”

“I’ll tell you about it.”

“Oh, no thank you. My stop is coming up.”

“Shhhhhh.”

…

Near the Atlantic coast there is a small town named Chuvaesol. Not many people have heard of it. Once you’ve been there though, you’ll never forget. I myself have only been once, as a tourist, of course.

It was the middle of their Summer Festival when I went. The locals told me the street musicians could make crops sprout from rain and grow from sunshine with just a song. Ridiculous, of course. Music can’t do that. But naturally, I decided to attend the festival to see for myself. I have to say, I’ve been to many festivals before, but this one takes the cake.

The town was already vibrant, but the decorations made it even more so. There were banners of every imaginable color strung between the buildings, as well as vendors with portable umbrellas and booths lining the streets. The cobblestone streets had been littered with flower petals and fragrant herbs. And of course, the people, the locals I mean, were dressed to impress. The ladies had billowing red, blue, and yellow skirts that twirled in a hypnotizing way as they walked. The men, although most of them were shirtless, were also wearing striped, silky outfits. And everyone had on a large, feathered headpiece. There were so many feathers everywhere it almost felt dangerous to walk through the crowd… but I did make it. Death by feather was not on my bucket list for that vacation.

Right in the center of everything was a large, dry fountain. There were several musicians setting up their instruments around it, and the crowd watched as they did so. I thought it was odd that the fountain had no water, but I was more interested in the food the vendors were selling. I was about to go and get myself a cheese bread from one of the stalls when a lady grabbed my arm. She pointed towards the musicians just as they started to play. Let me tell you. I’ve never seen or heard anything like it in my life.

First, a quartet of musicians stepped up. There was a trumpet, two banjos, and some other brass instrument… I’m not a musician. Don’t ask me for the details. They started playing this fast paced, jig-like melody. I was about to start clapping my hands to the beat, but the women to my left and right linked elbows with me and pulled me into a circle dance of sort. Not good. I’m not a dancer. It took all of my focus to stay upright. Left knee up. Kick. Stumble. Right knee up. Kick. Stumble. When the dance was finally over, I was completely drenched in sweat and ready to high tail it out of there. I didn’t though. Looking around, I realized that the whole town was darker. I glanced up at the sky and saw huge, gray clouds everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Before we started dancing, the sky had been clear blue. And then suddenly, I was regretting not bringing a jacket.

I tried to ask someone how long we had been dancing for, but he shook his head at me and pointed back towards the fountain. Three beautiful, young ladies were now walking up to the fountain. They had dark hair pinned up beneath their feathered headdresses and all three were carrying small hand drums. They sat down on the stone and began beating slowly on their drums. They began to sing. “Rain come down. Feed the seed. Rain come down.” The song was almost sad sounding, but it was beautiful. I closed my eyes, just enjoying the music, that is, until I noticed how wet I was getting.

Opening my eyes, I saw that rain had started falling. The women kept singing despite the rain, and the locals didn’t seem bothered. It soaked through my clothes and started forming puddles on the street. An earthy, almost sweet scent filled the air and I almost forgot to breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Something about rain always feels so nostalgic.

The ladies stopped singing, although they stayed by the fountain. Three young men stepped up and stood in front of them. The couples held hands and the men began singing in lower toned harmonies, “Bring the sun. Warm our bones. Bring the sun.” The rain settled down and the air warmed, although the fresh scent still lingered in the air. Children ran through the crowd towards the six vocalists. They were holding bells and shakers that jingled in time with the tempo the ladies continued to beat on their drums. They danced around the fountain, wearing mini versions of the adult’s feathered headdresses.

The women joined the men in singing again. Their voices were faster; presto, if I were to describe it in musical terms. “Bring the sun. Fox’s wedding. Bring the rain. Widow’s wedding.” The rain started pouring again. As I watched, the clouds spread apart, letting the sun continue to shine as well. As the sun shone through the falling raindrops, a pattern of colors stretched from one end of the market to the other. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Indigo. Violet. A rainbow, out of nowhere, and nobody seemed surprised. The crowd around me was singing with the musicians, and little groups of the circle-dancing began again. The once dry fountain was filled with a pool of rainwater as the sunshine storm continued. “Bring the sun. Fox’s wedding. Bring the rain. Widow’s wedding.”

At that point I decided to leave. The random weather was a little too much for me, and watching a fox get married was also not on my bucket list. So, I took a few pictures of the rainbow, bought some cheese bread on my way out, and took a plane back home. I do recommend the trip though. It’s beautiful out there, and the weather is out of this world. If you get the chance, you should go.

…

“Wow.”

“This is your stop.”

“Oh, you’re right, thank you.”

“No problem. Just don’t forget to give money to street musicians.”

“If you say so.”