There was a little house called the Shanty in Kuchchaveli made of timber. Previous occupants had drawn the the fish they had caught. The little house had only the bare essentials. We managed without electricity.
We spent endless days floating in the beautiful sea with inner tubes of tires around our waists. Nobody cared about sunburn. We used to buy crabs when the pots were taken out of the water. We played cards or read by lamplight in the evenings.
When the war I ended I started dreaming of going to Trinco. I don't think the little holiday homes survived the war. Today I tried to book hotel rooms for a couple of days in August when my husband is free but both hotels are fully booked.
I feel very sad. It's more than the disappointment of not being able to go to Trinco. It's the inability to recapture the innocent happiness of my childhood. It was a time time before sickness, death and broken marriages. I wanted my girls to experience the same happiness as I had experienced in Trinco.
I am still dreaming of Trinco with hope of walking on her beaches and watching the sun rise in the cool early morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment