Turtles go and return since before recorded time. Short paddles, of limited movement, small heads like a parrot, shell to protect, slow, ugly. Go and return, swimming. They go to the other side of the world, cross the meridian, and return. That old one there, its grandmother can talk about Cabral, and about Columbus, about the Dutch and the pirates, and that it saw the pass of the Nao of China, but she, ah! She can tell from this cove, that by this side, to the one that saw the slaves arrive, and the other that saw them gone. That other one, young, with that calm look, he wants nothing, only to swim, in no hurry, because hurry kills, cross east sea, time and time again, kill the time, until his great-great-grandson comes, and he will recognize him, inexpressively. Sometimes it looks as though they need a traffic light, the turtle cross is so dazzling. The whales are sometimes there crossing parallels, but that doesn’t last long because their time is different: turtles from October to March, and whales from July to September, the family coming with its young, jumping and singing, on vacation to the South, tons of emotions.

For further information:
www.projetotamar.org.br
www.cria-ativa.com.br/jubarte