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.