The French couple who run the resort tell us that Cesaria used to play here before she was famous. At dinner, under a huge baobab tree decked out in little white lights, a morna band plays jazzy versions of Cesaria s repertoire, and we drive into a delicious buffet of cachupa, barbecued steaks, and seafood. It s hard to believe such luxury exists on this barren island. When our taxi arrives at 2 A.M. to take us across the desert to the airport, we re both reluctant to leave the revelry. The 747 from Johannesburg touches down, and too bleary-eyed passengers file into the airport for the hour long stopover.
Cigarette smoke fills the air.
A wan South African traveler comes over, thinking he recognizes us from New York. He asks how we enjoyed our visit to Johannesburg. Actually, we ve spent the last week in Cape Verde, we tell him. You re kidding, he says. I thought it was just desert.