The best time to visit is early morning, when you might see a black-winged stilt dipping its long red legs into the water. But even if all you spy is a flock of migratory Germans, it's hard not to enjoy the lake. Though only about a foot deep, the frothy water is so saturated with salt that you feel like a weightless astronaut. Stepping out, my skin tingled and I was happy—until I saw the billboard for the Pedra de Lume Marina & Golf Resort. It showed an artist's rendering of what the area around the salt lake would look like with hundreds of villas, innumerable swimming pools, and an eighteen-hole golf course. The Italian developer the Stefanina Group has promised to build schools, a health center, and facilities for the employees. But despite the jobs it would bring, some, including Sal's mayor, oppose the scale and location of the resort. "I love my island, but it's changing," said Lima, who grew up on Sal. "I'm happy they want to build a resort, but it doesn't belong here."

More than ever, Lima cherishes the places he remembers from his childhood. He drove me out past the outskirts of Espargos and across a rocky track too corrugated for tour buses. Up ahead, past a shimmering mirage, was Buracona, a natural playground of volcanic rock pools strung along the island's west coast. Most people come for the green lagoon, where you can sit and sip a beer. But Lima led me over some rocks to a hidden grotto that we had all to ourselves.

Pink, purple, and yellow lichen transformed the walls into Vatican marble, and a hole in the vaulted ceiling shot sunlight into the basin, where half a dozen small fish made gentle circles in the sapphire water. I waded in as though entering a baptismal font, and there and then renounced all negative thoughts of the island. I plunged in deeper, tailing a fish toward the bottom. A fifty-escudo coin escaped from my pocket. Watching the sliver of silver flickering downward, I attached two wishes: that I could come back to Cape Verde, and that so too could the Cape Verdeans.