Sunday, 2 March 2014

In Tavira Inn

You'd love this place. The owner, an affable painter/designer named Sebastien, has built a little 6-room hotel that's full of charm.
He keeps his BMW 1150 motorcycle inside his beautiful bar/restaurant space which he won't open, he says, until he can get the right staff. Just to the left inside the front gate.
On top of the bar he built a salt water pool, too cold yet to swim in. You'll notice the pool's self-cleaning area, front right as you view the pool from the back of the main patio. It's ingenious. Get me to tell you about it.
Perhaps you notice the train bridge in the background. Sabastien says, "The trains remind us how quiet this place is otherwise." Indeed, they are brief but loud, though less so inside the two sets doors leading to my patio.
Sebastien is a loner, like me. But he loves to talk, unlike me. Thus it was all the more remarkable to see him utterly gobsmacked--as in, scrambling to re-process his entire universe--when I told him it had been -40 Celsius at home. He was a long time silent. "Four, zero?" he said finally. I nodded. More silence. You could have heard a train go by.


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