The carpet seller in Cascais is tall, wears kaftan and his ebony
face looks as a relief of an Egyptian Farao….Carries his carpets
on his forearm (like an offering) and shows to tourists who sit
drinking cold beer at pavement cafes. When they ask how much
he quotes a price impossibly high for his worn rugs, to be sure
no one buys because he doesn´t want to sell them. He just likes to
walk around, it is his way, when tired he sits on a bench, folds
the rugs on his lap, dreamily strokes them and smiles.
Where he goes when it rains I don´t know, perhaps he has got
a room somewhere, a bed, a bookshelf and a postcard from
Senegal pinned on the wall. I noticed he wears solid boots as
Dalai Lama does when flying around the world meeting famous
people, giggles and says simple things about life and freedom.
The carpet seller is not going home, he has become a colourful
part of the townscape, and Dalai Lama will not see Tibet again.
