I was at an isolated island south of Rio stand up paddling along the coastline with flippers and a snorkel on the front of my board. I stopped at a spot where a sea turtle was following me and jumped in with my gear. The silence of the ocean and surrounding nature was impressive. I paddled for and hour to this beautiful area full of colorful coral, fish, and squid. I came up from snorkeling and there was a wrinkled man in a dug out canoe paddling in my direction. He saw the board floating with no one near and thought something was wrong. He was surprised to see me pop up in the middle of nowhere. I showed him I was attached to the board by my leash and he was pleased.

He asked me if I wanted some water. I said no thank you, and asked him where he was coming from. His name was Orlando, and he was on the return trip from the supermarket ten kilometers away in a small mainland village. When I showed surprise at the distance he had gone for groceries, he proudly pounded his chest and with a big smile said “fifty years of paddling!”

He told me this was a good area for fishing, and he would come here later to spear fish for squid. His hollowed out canoe was named after the oldest of his three daughters, Bruna, and from the looks of the boat she was about a hundred years old. He must have named the water skis after the younger two, Beatriz and Barbara.

He invited me for lunch at his small home on the island. I had to get back to my hosts home so they didn’t think I was lost at sea, but he said to stop by any time. He informed me that there were only three small huts on that side of the island and I could recognize his by the brightly colored, yet weathered, canoe. It was clear, like mangroves that surround this region, Orlando had long grown roots at the edge of the sea.

Our floating conversation ended and we paddled our separate ways.