2 days remaining

2 days remaining.
June 18, 2008

Two days remaining. Everyone feels the time as its passing grips our hearts. We arrived to the breakfast table this morning to find Geninha’s eyes red and swollen from crying. She watches Jenna closely – memorizing every detail of her precious granddaughter. Filinto has let work go to play soccer with Marcos or to take him for an ice cream or to play in the pool. Duarte also seems to be feeling the tugging of his heart strings. He will be leaving his mother, his father, his brother and his homeland. His eyes tear easily- which is unusual for me to see. And how can I not feel anything? I feel it all because my senses are more aware. I hurt for everyone. OUr kids are so happy here – we are all so happy here. We will be leaving much behind. This is a place full of love. How fortunate we are – but, oh, how it hurts to say goodbye.

The Smell of Portugal

6/14/2008

Morning
Damp rock, dew on green grass, damp earth, manure

Late morning
Mint, wild roses, lunches being prepared

Afternoon
Hot earth, dusty rocks, dry grass. Lavender,

Evening
Sweet chamomile flowers, green grass, cool rocks

Nighttime
Wine on the end of a cork, Cool air, grass, blossoms, fresh ironed sheets that have been dried in the sun.

6 weeks

June 10, 2008

Our 6 weeks in Portugal are nearing completion. We have 9-days left. How did it pass so quickly?

It seems that it takes too long to slow ourselves down enough when we arrive to Portugal. Our grumpy, complex lives in State College remain with us until mid-stay and then as we realize the time is passing we grasp tightly the hours we still have. We’ve had wonderful days but it is only now that I am remembering to savor each moment. Life is moving fast.

The first week: mountain biking, cold, rain, EATING, feira, time catching up with family, listening to the church bells and remembering really special times from the year before.

Week 2: A beautiful week on the Alentejo coast of Portugal, a visit from my mom, surfing, kayaking, touring, playing with the kids, EATING, a day in Lisbon, a ferry ride

Week 3: Back to Chaves and to Quinta da Mata, mountain biking, swimming, playing with the kids, still too damn cold and rainy, EATING, a date, an afternoon at the circus

Week 4: getting bored, EATING, playing with the kids, hey, the sun is out, it’s warm,
swimming, mountain biking, exploring, a beautiful hike, a visit to Lisbon, laying by the pool and reading a book, a day trip to the beach

Week 5: A funky haircut, visits from friends from State College, feira, touring, touring, touring, drinking, touring, EATING, not exercising, laughing, celebrating our anniversary, causing a lot of conflict in our village because we put in a window, and hey, I think I understand about 80% of what people are saying around me. Could it be that I am learning Portuguese?

Week 6: my plan is to EAT well and savor the wonderful food that someone else has cooked, mountain bike for 3 hours each day, play with my children, drink good wine, watch sunsets from our new window, catch-up with my much missed ex-sister-in-law, enjoy family and breathe easy.

And at this very moment, I am gazing at the orange glow, from the sun that set hours ago, above the mountains far across the valley. I have a glass of fine port wine beside me. My children are asleep after another very full day of play. Duarte is enjoying an evening out with his brother. I am peaceful. What a wonderful feeling.

I am a Balloon

June 3, 2008
I am a balloon

Being a foreigner in the North of Portugal is not easy. I know this place well. Duarte and I dated in this region when we first met, we were married here, both of our children were baptized here and we spent 6 months of sabbatical here. Even after all this time, I feel like a stranger.

I have dark skin and dark hair, so my features look more Portuguese than American – but my clothes, my demeanor and most of all my voice gives me away. It is strange to be so familiar with my surroundings and yet not be a part of this life at all. I feel like a brightly colored balloon hovering over everyone - watching frivolously.

We drive through our village each morning and I take in everything I see as an outsider. I am enamored with our village. I love watching the horse drawn carts, the shaggy dogs, the chickens and the old ladies. The huge granite blocks that form the walls of the ancient houses amaze me. And that’s just it – I love the quaintness of it all because it is not really mine. I don’t know what each of these things means to our neighbors. Why do they have horse drawn carts? Has the rain been hard on them? What about those walls? What do those walls mean to the people I see each day?

The people of our village have lived in the village for their entire lives. Their parents and their grandparents have known little else but of life in Sao Lourenco. The relationships are solid as they have spent every day of their lives together. I watch them walk with their arms linked through the crooked streets and I know that I will never have friendships like the ones they have. The men drape arms over each other’s shoulders as they sit upon the granite stairs at the end of the day. There is a comfortable camaraderie among the people of our village. And then we drive through their chores and their routines and their reveries morning and night in our oversized Land Rover - a colorful blaze passing through their day.

At Quinta da Mata, I am a part of the everyday culture there but I know little of what is really going on around me. I miss so much about the relationships surrounding me at any given moment because I cannot really understand the language. I can sense happiness and I can sense ill-will – my senses are heightened. Otherwise, I am lost. A balloon hovering with no anchor. “Where are we going?” “What’s our plan?” “What did she say?” I miss a lot -the plans, the jokes, the anger, the special moments. I pass by employees gossiping during their coffee breaks and I don’t know what they are saying. They don’t even see me.

I know that I am the only one who can anchor myself but I just don’t put out the effort that I need to when I am not here to learn the language. I lose my motivation when I am busy and living my life in State College. Being a balloon is not my true nature. I think that I am normally a rock – very grounded, very heavy- often weighing things down. Therefore I am at odds with myself because I cannot be myself. I think I am finally understanding what it is like for Duarte who is a man of two countries – always yearning for what the other doesn’t have. I do love Portugal and the beautiful life we have here but I miss myself, my life, my ability to communicate and connect with people around me. If I could connect the two lives that I have, I believe I could be content. I would not feel the swing of emotions I feel each day. I would not be a balloon.

Everyday Life

Everyday life…
May 30, 2008

Portugal is a magical place for us not only because it if its beauty and culture but also because we live entirely differently than we ever could live in the United States. We have taken time to travel a bit to Lisbon twice now and to Vila Nova Milfontes an incredible beach town in the southern coast of Portugal. But the majority of our days are spent in Chaves and though the days are not very special, I still marvel at how wonderfully different these days are from those we have at home.

We have our little village house in Sao Lourenco. It is small and situated at the top of the village. The upstairs portion of our house is the living space and the lower level is where our bedrooms can be found. The weather has been damp and cold since our arrival. There has been too much rain. Because one of our walls is the actual stone from underground – water trickles down the rock into our bedroom and bathroom when it rains. Lately, it feels like we are living in a dark, damp cave.

When the church bells clang 8 times, we get up, get dressed and drive down to Duarte’s parent’s bed and breakfast – Quinta da Mata. Duarte’s mother greets us eagerly with warm hugs and the traditional two kisses. We all sit down at the table in the kitchen for breakfast. The table is adorned with a red table cloth and there is a great variety of irresistibly fresh pastries, cheeses, breads, jams scattered all about the table. We drink orange juice and coffee with warm milk. Dona Orlanda always scrambles a few eggs just plucked from the chicken’s nest for Jenna and I.

With our bellies full, we leave the kids to play with their grandparents or with the employees of Quinta da Mata. Duarte and I typically hop on our mountain bikes for a 2 or 3 hour bike ride. The rides this year are as splendid as last year – but we have had less time to physically prepare our bodies for the long climbs necessary to get anywhere from Quinta da Mata. Yesterday, we rode 2 hours up a mountain and then rode 1 hour down. The scenery is always amazing and thankfully a good distraction from the pain that I feel in my legs. The villages, however, are the best part of our rides. The people of these villages look as though they could have lived at any point in time. The women wear black and purple scarves upon their heads, a sweater, a black skirt, tights and black clogs. The men, I have already described. They dress nicely but their clothes are faded and worn with age. The men and women we see are typically working side by side in their fields. They smile toothless smiles and yell out cheers of encouragement.

Lunch time is another grand feast and no different than dinner. A warm, blended vegetable soup served with fresh bread is the first course of our meal. The main dish varies from day to day. Chicken, fish, fish or fish, octopus, rabbit, duck stew are the more common foods served for lunch or for dinner. Rice, fried potatoes that are divine, olives and salad from the garden complete the main meal. To drink we almost always have a glass of wine. Dessert also varies depending on our mood – fresh fruit or cake or flan. No meal is complete in this country without an espresso.

Duarte works in the afternoon. I put the kids down for a nap and then do my own thing. When the kids, wake up, we play outside. Marcos is really enjoying soccer these days. He dresses in soccer clothes and wears the new cleats his grandfather bought for him. We have “a big game” in the evenings. Marcos and his grandfather are very close friends. The affection Filinto shows for Marcos is so special. I love to watch them together.

Jenna isn’t quite as independent as Marcos is while we are living here- as she is only 2 years old and there are many dangers around the farm. Jenna has boundaries and must be watched more carefully. Jenna enjoys the animals of the farm and she loves playing with Marcos. Her grandmother adores her and does everything she can think of to please her grand daughter.

At 6:00, we eat a lighter meal. Cakes, cheeses, bread, jams and tea.

Dinner isn’t served until 8:30, so the days feel much longer than our days in the United States. We all enjoy the huge meal and then load up the Land Rover to drive back up the mountain to our own house. The kids are asleep by 10:00. Duarte and I enjoy a little time to ourselves before we too fall asleep.

This is a good life. I wish I could have even one part of it to take home with me. What would it be? The cook? The laundry? The maids? The babysitters? I guess it will just have to be the memories.

The Circus

The Circus
May 24, 2008


The circus came to town today! It would have been hard not to have noticed their arrival. In addition to the bright orange signs plastered all over Chaves, there was also a Volkswagen van with a huge artificial clown on top driving all around town announcing its show times via a megaphone aimed out of the window. It was only after we passed the space where the circus had set up that we decided that we had to go. This was NOT Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey’s circus. This was The Big Circus show put on by the Caveagna family. There wasn’t an established arena for them at all as there would have been in the United States- instead they had set up their own big top tent right in the middle of a large, dirt parking lot in downtown Chaves.

Duarte, Lipe, Filinto, Marcos, Jenna and I arrived moments before the show was to begin. There was a small crowd of people gathered outside waiting to enter the tall, blue and white tent. The kids were entertained as they watched and fed grass to four small circus ponies in a pen just outside the entrance. Finally, it was time to enter. The crowd gathered and narrowed and disappeared into only a small opening of the tent as they passed their tickets to the two ticket takers. I was eager to catch a glimpse of what was inside the big top. Once inside, I was delighted. Plastic chairs were set up all around the small center ring. Inside the ring, covering the dirt floor was a white tarp with a blue and red star painted upon it. Two bright lights were directed at the small performance area in the ring directing our attention. The tent was otherwise dark as its thick walls and its tall sloped ceiling blocked out the afternoon sun. A group of people crowded the little cart where popcorn was being sold. I didn’t see any props for a trapeze act or any cages filled with tigers. I could not imagine what was to go on in this funny little circus.

The acts turned out to be perfectly suited for the audience and the venue. The first performer was a juggler. He juggled a couple of balls, then rings, then he dropped a couple of balls and a couple of rings. He made no effort to disguise his disappointment with himself when he messed up. Following the juggling, the man finished off the act by balancing a ball on his head.

The magician was next along with his shimmering assistant. She swayed and swiveled and attempted to look sexy for the purpose of distracting the audience from the magician’s tricks.

The clowns in their simple but colorful costumes were actually pretty funny. They performed a variety of acts including a bin Laden spoof, pies in the face and other slap stick antics.

As the show progressed it became evident that there were only 8 people in total working the show (including the woman selling popcorn). The ticket takers were the light guys, the prop guys and the horse herders. The juggler became the ringmaster. The magician was the horse trainer and a clown. The magician’s shimmering assistant was Minnie Mouse. Oh yes, I said Minnie Mouse…. “Straight from Disney for the first time ever in a circus…” came characters that looked very much like Minnie Mouse and Mickey Mouse. Mickey was trying to get Minnie to give him a kiss. The next thing we knew they were dancing around to the song “You’re the One that I Want” from the movie Grease all the while playing catch with the crowd using a beach ball. Duarte and I looked at each other during this act and laughed out loud at the hilarity of it all. Marcos looked back at me and smiled with pure joy and satisfaction. It was clear that he believed he had truly witnessed Mickey and Minnie having a dance party. I seriously doubt Disney had anything to do with this act or with the other “Disney” act. The other “Disney” act included a person dressed as a purple rabbit (supposedly Bugs Bunny) who ran out on stage and then a person dressed as a hunter (not at all like Elmer Fudd) who also ran out onto the stage and began chasing the rabbit with his toy gun that looked real. My kids were terrified.

The most entertaining part of the show was when the unkempt little ponies were to take their turn in the center ring. I believe the ponies were supposed to do a few laps or perhaps a few tricks as the magician/horse trainer waiting expectantly for them in the center of the ring. However, the ponies missed their entrance into the ring entirely and took off in another direction. The shaggy little ponies unpredictably ran in high-speed circles around the crowd on the outside of the ring. It was a good thing the crowd stayed in their seats as someone was sure to have been trampled otherwise. The circus guys (aka: ticket takers) were chasing after the horses but they just couldn’t catch them. It was only after the ponies stopped on their own and the male pony started humping the female pony that the circus guys were able to catch up with the errant horses.

And thus, the show went on.

We all had a wonderful time at the family Caveagna Big Circus Show. This circus reminded me of the small town circuses of the past that I had only known about from movies and books. It’s good to know that such a simple show can still make it in this day and age if only in rural Portugal. I have to admit that despite its small scale, limited staff and bawdy horses, it was more entertaining than many of the big, flashy shows I have seen in the United States.

Feira

May 14, 2008

Feira

On Wednesdays in Chaves everyone goes into town for Feira. I think all European towns have a feira. It is the day when farmers come into the city to sell their livestock, wives come in to sell their fruit and vegetables, and ducks, chickens and rabbits, gypsies line the street with their designer clothing knock-offs, cheap underwear and pirated movies. It is a day full of hustle and bustle. People come into town on this one day and run all of their errands and set all of their appointments. The city is alive on the day of feira and the faces of those about town are magnificent.

Many of the people who inhabit the northern part of Portugal are a rugged sort. Their skin is olive in complexion and their hair mostly black or dark brown. They are small in stature. It is rare to see a man even 6 feet tall. On feira day the people dress up to come into the city. Men wear dark pants, a dress shirt – drab with age, a black, leather coat or dark, wool coat and a button down cap or a fedora. Their eyes are dark and their faces glow red with either wine or too much sun. The women also dress up. One will rarely if ever see a person living in Portugal wearing shorts. Even on the driest, hottest days- men and women wear pants and skirts respectively. The women dress in dark, pantsuits and carry bags filled with coves, carrots, a live rabbit or chestnuts. Their faces are bright as they enjoy bargaining for their goods or greeting a friend with their loud chirping voices.

We decided to wake up early and take Marcos and Jenna to the animal feira. Marcos always enjoys seeing the livestock for sale and Jenna certainly couldn’t remember doing so in the past. We walked down the steep hill into the open air market. In pens that were too small for their inhabitants were the various animals being sold by a variety of people. The livestock trucks shook and moo’d and smelled of animals. The ground was covered in manure. We all held hands and entered the market. We could not have been more out of place had we landed on the moon. Duarte was wearing a bright green jacket, shorts and carrying Jenna in the backpack. Marcos wore a bright orange jacket and shorts, I had on a red jacket, jeans and SANDALS (mistake). There were only weathered men wearing their dark clothes standing about negotiating the cost of a lamb, a goat or a calf. We provided the only color in the small market and we were without a doubt the only people there for recreation.

Recreation might not be the best word. Within five minutes my heart was hurting for the animals tightly caged and poorly treated within this market. I think it was the tiny lambs that were meehing” nervously that first rattled me. A lamb’s cry sounds so much like a baby’s cry that it is impossible for a mother not to feel anxious with these lambs so upset.

We came upon 6 beautiful calves all tied together with a blue, plastic cord and attached to a post. They couldn’t move at all and I could truly feel their frustration. With dismay, we turned to leave only to see a large bull being caned in the face because it turned it’s head the wrong way as it entered a truck. Marcos was most appalled upon seeing this and asked his Papa why that happened. Duarte’s answer was interesting and most probably true. “These people have grown up their entire lives around animals. They have watched animals die again and again and have sold them for years. They do not know to respect they animals. They cannot respect the animals.” As disturbing as this scene was to me, Duarte also noted that these animals have a much better life than American livestock. They roam about large farms, eat fresh grass, reproduce and are killed more humanely than the manner in which they are killed in our large butchering plants in the U.S.

We left the animal feira then having seen quite enough. We passed the trailer selling boiled octopus and cups of wine. There were quite a few men patronizing this vendor even at 9:30 in the morning. A different kind of life, indeed.

The real purpose to our visit to feira was to buy a rooster. THE rooster at Quinta da Mata was recently killed by the fox and now there are no fertilized eggs to be had and therefore no chicks. We met Geninha and Filinto in the chicken and duck portion of feira a few miles away from the animal feira. Geninha had already chosen her rooster. We asked what qualities she looks for when buying a rooster. She said that she looks for tall, lean, roosters with some spunk. Afterall, they have a big job to do. I decided then that he should be called “Joe” after Joseph Smith the founder of the Mormon religion which in it’s early days condoned plural marriages. Jenna calls him “Jo Jo Coco Lo” (In Portuguese they say “cocorococo” instead of “cookadoodle doo.” Jenna is confused and thus days “cocolo.”). JoJo Coco Lo is one lucky rooster. He has some work to do.

Feira was undoubtedly a cultural experience for our family. I appreciate most what I believe feira is for the people of this region. It is a day to come together, buy what is needed to feed the family, sell what isn’t needed to feed the family and a common meeting place for friends and loved ones. The concept is so primitive, so traditional and so right for what a society needs. And much more interesting than the grocery store.

We are back!

Chaves, Portugal
May 12, 2008



We’re back! Ahhh…we are back to Portugal where life is good and life is easy.

After a long and exhausting day and night of travel Jenna and I arrived to Chaves. Duarte’s family welcomed us with open arms, two kisses and broad smiles. On the kitchen table a warm and abundant Portuguese meal was served. Homemade soup, fresh salad, balcalhau, fried potatoes, and red juicy strawberries. Marcos was happy to see me after 8 days away. He hugged me all afternoon. He was so proud and excited to show Jenna around the farm who apparently has no memory of Portugal. He held her hand and walked with assured determination right up to the herd of sheep, he petted “Flash” the burro and passed comfortably through the chicken coup. Being a little anxious about the animals, myself, Marcos addressed my fear. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’m a farm boy. I was born in the United States but I’m a farm boy now.” Well, okay. Actually, I still couldn’t go near the animals without fear the way Marcos could.

Three meals later we drove up to our village house in Sao Lourenco. Everything looked the same and felt the same. Dogs and chickens roamed the streets. The old ladies with their sun damaged skin and toothless mouths eyed us warily as we approached. As soon as they realized who we were we heard jubiliant “Boa Tarde” “Beinviendo” (good afternoon, Welcome) from them all.

Marcos and Jenna are sleeping in a bunk bed in the kid’s room. Jenna slept and slept through the night and late into the morning. She awoke groggy and confused and slowly toddled into our room and then into our bed where Marcos had already snuggled in. I took the time enjoy the moment realizing that we had no place to go and nothing, whatsoever, to do all day long. It was only when we heard the church bell chime ten times that we decided to rise and begin the day.

When we finally emerged from our house we drove down to Quinta da Mata to be fed. After breakfast, Duarte and I jumped onto our mountain bikes. We decided to head down the mountain rather than up with the purpose of “feeling our bikes again.” Even with the easier terrain I found myself winded. It’s hard to imagine 4 hours of riding as we did last year. I hope we can get that fit again. The best part of the ride of course was breathing in the air perfumed with flowers, smelling the earth below us, feeling the heat radiating from the rocks, enjoying the cool May breeze and be relaxed enough to sense it all.

Leaving America, which is in such turmoil with its elections, failing economy and everything else, it seems surreal to enter this old world. This world that time seems to have forgotten. It is easy to forget some of America’s struggles until we walk up to a register to pay for anything and find that we are paying nearly 2 dollars for every Euro. Beyond the incredible price of gas and high prices for everything, we are living in a place that values family, leisure, food and time. In that regard we are far, far away from America. And that makes me happy. 6-weeks to go.