It’s a cliché, but time does go by differently at the beach.

Granted, I don’t keep track. It’s too bright to read my watch’s digital screen and frankly, it doesn’t really matter what time it is. We’re not in a rush. It’s just the three of us lost somewhere in the world—sure, we have chores and some work plus basic human needs, but everything will be taken care of eventually. And I’m sure we will notice when the sun will set.

We find a spot on Praia do Moçambique, on of my favourite beaches on Ilha de Santa Catarina because it’s very, very long, very, very wild and very, very empty. I go for a walk and turn around at one point because I know I won’t reach the end of it. By the time I come back, two hours have gone by. How?

I leave my camera with Feng, grab my face mask and go into town to buy cold drinks, but I take a side street and somehow the side street doesn’t lead to the main street even though the town has like three streets, so I’m wandering around a tiny town bigger than I thought wearing only a bikini. Thanks to the pandemic, for the first time ever my face is more covered than my butt. By the time I delivered the cold drinks to the guys still hanging out on the beach I realize another 45 minutes have gone by. Weird. I’d swear I only left ten minutes ago.

Mark and I go bodyboarding. “Not too long, waves are getting big!” But not too long is still an hour according to devices programmed to keep track of minutes and hours because we, humans, are notoriously unreliable.

We drive back to Inglese, a short thirty-minute ride, no traffic jam for once. Wait, it took longer than half an hour. Weird. I’m not sure why, it’s only ten kilometres away.

Feng and I want to do the laundry but first, the three of us take a shower, then we have to gather everything we want to wash.

“I’m walking, I’ll meet you at the gas station.”

The 24/7 self-service Laundrexpress is conveniently located right in front of the Posto Shell. Just as well, I need coffee. Wait, is too late for coffee? Never mind, no idea what time it is, therefore it’s not too late.

Feng is stuck in the constant traffic jam on main street cars so we get there at the same time. We buy fichas at the gas station but we still need detergent. We go to the Angeloni supermarket two blocks away and since we’re here, may as well buy food. Another thirty… or more like forty minutes go by.

Two loads take thirty minutes. We take a walk, find a bakery, spend twenty minutes comparing huge slices of chocolate cake “for Mark… but if he doesn’t want it, we can eat it, right?”

Then we go back to the gas station and put everything in the dryer. Should be another 45 minutes before we get clean clothes. Then we still have to go back—I’ll walk, Feng will drive—, sort out the laundry, pack because we’re going back to Florianópolis tomorrow… did Mark eat? Can’t remember. Must ask him. He will say “yes” if he’s playing with the tablet, or maybe “no” to keep on playing while we figure out what to make for dinner.

Oh, I have an assignment to complete as well.

But first, we go for a walk on the beach. It’s late, I know it’s late. We take the main street on the way back and Feng sees a t-shirt he likes, but which one is best… Stores are open but it’s close to midnight, I know it, I did check my watch. No one seems to care, people are looking for food, for entertainment, for a slice of pizza because turns out Mark is hungry.

We finally speed things up but that’s only because it starts raining a bit.

And this is why I’m typing this at 3 a.m. again.

I’m telling you, time at the beach is weird.