Chili
June 30, 2009
On Saturday after returning from 6 weeks in Portugal, I stopped by my friends’ house to pick up Chili (our dog) where she had been staying while we were away. My friend who just left town mentioned that she thought Chili was sore because she had been limping since the day before. When I arrived to the house, I was surprised by how severely Chili was limping.
I took her home with hope that she was only sore from playing. Groggy and jet lagged, I spent the day on the couch trying to make sense of the local time and place. By the time evening rolled around Chili was in bad shape. Chili was shaking uncontrollably, panting, drooling, loosing hair and unable to move around without a big limp. I was worried. By 10:30pm, I was convinced something serious was wrong. I called a friend to accompany me to the Animal Emergency clinic because my only other experience in such a place resulted in my childhood best dog being put to sleep. In addition, I was so bleary eyed and exhausted, I wasn’t sure I could hold a conversation with the vet.
We were relieved when the doctor dismissed Chili’s ailment as only a pulled muscle. She gave us some painkillers and home we went. On Sunday, Chili was not improving. In fact, I thought she seemed worse. She could no longer put weight on the leg and she was still losing lots of hair and shaking. Chili wouldn’t eat, drink or go to the bathroom. I spent time on the phone with our vet and decided to take her in on Monday for x-rays.
I did my best to ready myself for the likelihood that Chili might not come home from the Veterinary appointment. I could see that she was in a great deal of pain. It was hard to see such a good friend suffering so greatly. I carried her outside to go to the bathroom and when I put her down she collapsed. Instead of returning to work as scheduled, I stayed home and held Chili and spent what I thought might be my last hours with her.
At the vet, the doctor had a difficult time discerning what her ailment might be until he took x-rays. The films revealed severe arthritis that she has likely had her whole life. We saw bone spurs and broken bone spurs. He said there really wasn’t much that could be done for such a bad case of arthritis. He prescribed some heavy-duty drugs and we decided to see how she would do with them.
I brought Chili home and watched her lethargy and her inability to move. I looked into her sad eyes and went over and over in my head how putting her to sleep was the fair and kind thing to do. Of course, it was impossible to truly be at peace with such a decision. I was struggling with this mentally and emotionally. Duarte had been out of touch through all of this and I also felt like I couldn’t make the decision without his input. Chili is his “first child” as well.
My father emailed a few hours later and reminded me that dying is a time for the soul to move on to another place. He encouraged me to hold Chili and love her and let her know she had been a good dog and then tell her it was okay if she wanted to go on. And so I did just that. The words came in gentle tones through tears and sobs. I held my beautiful old dog and remembered some of her best moments. Chili loved to chase sticks and balls, she liked sit up on the front of our raft with her legs hanging over the edge, in the river she likes to ride the currents and catch eddies, Chili is a bed hog dog.
Just as I finished my thoughts and words of love, Chili stood up (which she hadn’t done willingly in 3 days), turned her back to me and then breathed out a defiant “humph.” Well, I thought. This is something. So I got up and gave her a piece of cheese. She had been refusing food for days. Now she enthusiastically gobbled up the cheese. Then I gave her some chicken. She also gobbled this up. I pushed her dog food towards her. Amazingly, she stood up and ate it. She drank her bowl full of water after 3 days of not drinking. She went outside on her own and went to the bathroom!
I left her downstairs when I went up to bed. I was up there for a few minutes when I heard a bark. I went down to see what she needed. Chili pushed past the door that closed her into the kitchen, RAN past me and went all the way up the stairs on her own! Go figure.
Today Chili is excellent. She greeted me with a wag of her tail, she went to the bathroom on her own, ate all of her food and waited impatiently for me to throw her a stick (which I would not do).
And so – Here’ to the Dog who will not die! Our miracle dog! I love you, Chili Bean Morais!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Home
Home at last
June 27, 2009
What a journey it is to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Airplanes make travelling easier and faster but I feel worlds away from Portugal now.
Bad airplane food, expensive drinks, fast food, loud Americans all welcomed me back to the land of plenty. I’m in America – the new world. It is a fast, clean society that focuses too much on work and too little on people.
I’m dazed and confused being back here. Of course everything is familiar and comfortable. It is nice to know exactly how to speak and move about while I’m out among the public. It’s so easy and I can do it all on my own. I’m glad for the new (but short-lived, I’m sure) perspective travel has given me. My house seems bigger and cleaner. My movements feel assured. My relationships with friends are truly appreciated. My American life overall seems more interesting than it ordinarily does. But being here contrasts so sharply with Portugal that it is difficult to even really consider one life while living in the other.
I woke up early this morning due to the difference in time. The first thing I did was call Quinta da Mata to check on the kids. Filinto answered the phone and we spoke a little bit. This was a first time occurrence for he and I. Speaking Portuguese on the phone has been challenging for me over the years as I’m unable to use body language to support my poorly pronounced words. We finished our genial exchange and then Filinto passed the phone to Geninha. Suddenly I couldn’t speak at all. This time my inability to speak was due to my feelings of longing. Upon hearing her voice, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t make the words squeeze through the tightening of my throat. I miss them.
I went out for an early morning run today and even this challenged me culturally a little bit. When I run it Portugal I head out to run among a culture who views me as an oddity. They see an athletic woman wearing a baseball cap and shorts running through their community. I am the only person who does this, I am certain. There are not other woman runners who run pass their houses or who run pass the shepherds and their sheep on the mountain. To make things more interesting for the people I pass, I always call out “Bom Dia!” (good morning). This is the typical greeting Portuguese exchange anytime before lunch. I am very adamant about this greeting as I want them to relax when they see me and I want to be familiar those people I see regulary. Today on my run I passed a number of people out for morning exercise and over and over again I called out “Bom Dia!” I could not change my greeting as it has been programmed so well into my head. The people I passed were a little puzzled but less so than those whom I pass in Chaves, I’m sure.
I could go on and on with all of the small things I’m marveling over – for better or for worse. Here are a few…
My dog is INSIDE the house with me.
Our tap water tastes really bad.
I can take a shower instead of a bath.
No one is staring at me while I grocery shop.
Food is expensive.
I don’t have any desire to eat American food. I may starve until Duarte gets home.
I have the freedom to open my computer without imposing on anyone.
It’s humid here.
The roads are all made of asphalt - which is much smoother but less interesting than granite roads.
I have my own cell phone.
I can talk and listen and express myself.
I loved catching up with my friend yesterday. She helped me process a little of what I experienced. It’s not healthy to live without friends.
I was able to get a haircut today and explain in detail to the best hairdresser in the world what I wanted to have done. He understood me.
There is not a swimming pool in my back yard.
Air conditioning feels artificial and cold.
There is not enough (or any) wine in my body.
I miss soup and olives.
I don’t have to hug or kiss anyone I greet.
I have time to myself.
I have to cook, clean and work.
I have more than 4 outfits from which to choose my clothes.
The dollar is worth a dollar.
I’m not full….but I’m really hungry.
I went to bed at 9:00 p.m. last night.
There are no church bells.
I need an espresso and there are none of any quality that I’m aware of in State College.
My shoes do not have animal poop on them.
Part of my heart was left behind in Portugal. It hurts.
June 27, 2009
What a journey it is to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Airplanes make travelling easier and faster but I feel worlds away from Portugal now.
Bad airplane food, expensive drinks, fast food, loud Americans all welcomed me back to the land of plenty. I’m in America – the new world. It is a fast, clean society that focuses too much on work and too little on people.
I’m dazed and confused being back here. Of course everything is familiar and comfortable. It is nice to know exactly how to speak and move about while I’m out among the public. It’s so easy and I can do it all on my own. I’m glad for the new (but short-lived, I’m sure) perspective travel has given me. My house seems bigger and cleaner. My movements feel assured. My relationships with friends are truly appreciated. My American life overall seems more interesting than it ordinarily does. But being here contrasts so sharply with Portugal that it is difficult to even really consider one life while living in the other.
I woke up early this morning due to the difference in time. The first thing I did was call Quinta da Mata to check on the kids. Filinto answered the phone and we spoke a little bit. This was a first time occurrence for he and I. Speaking Portuguese on the phone has been challenging for me over the years as I’m unable to use body language to support my poorly pronounced words. We finished our genial exchange and then Filinto passed the phone to Geninha. Suddenly I couldn’t speak at all. This time my inability to speak was due to my feelings of longing. Upon hearing her voice, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t make the words squeeze through the tightening of my throat. I miss them.
I went out for an early morning run today and even this challenged me culturally a little bit. When I run it Portugal I head out to run among a culture who views me as an oddity. They see an athletic woman wearing a baseball cap and shorts running through their community. I am the only person who does this, I am certain. There are not other woman runners who run pass their houses or who run pass the shepherds and their sheep on the mountain. To make things more interesting for the people I pass, I always call out “Bom Dia!” (good morning). This is the typical greeting Portuguese exchange anytime before lunch. I am very adamant about this greeting as I want them to relax when they see me and I want to be familiar those people I see regulary. Today on my run I passed a number of people out for morning exercise and over and over again I called out “Bom Dia!” I could not change my greeting as it has been programmed so well into my head. The people I passed were a little puzzled but less so than those whom I pass in Chaves, I’m sure.
I could go on and on with all of the small things I’m marveling over – for better or for worse. Here are a few…
My dog is INSIDE the house with me.
Our tap water tastes really bad.
I can take a shower instead of a bath.
No one is staring at me while I grocery shop.
Food is expensive.
I don’t have any desire to eat American food. I may starve until Duarte gets home.
I have the freedom to open my computer without imposing on anyone.
It’s humid here.
The roads are all made of asphalt - which is much smoother but less interesting than granite roads.
I have my own cell phone.
I can talk and listen and express myself.
I loved catching up with my friend yesterday. She helped me process a little of what I experienced. It’s not healthy to live without friends.
I was able to get a haircut today and explain in detail to the best hairdresser in the world what I wanted to have done. He understood me.
There is not a swimming pool in my back yard.
Air conditioning feels artificial and cold.
There is not enough (or any) wine in my body.
I miss soup and olives.
I don’t have to hug or kiss anyone I greet.
I have time to myself.
I have to cook, clean and work.
I have more than 4 outfits from which to choose my clothes.
The dollar is worth a dollar.
I’m not full….but I’m really hungry.
I went to bed at 9:00 p.m. last night.
There are no church bells.
I need an espresso and there are none of any quality that I’m aware of in State College.
My shoes do not have animal poop on them.
Part of my heart was left behind in Portugal. It hurts.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saudades
Saudades
June 26, 2009
Lisboa aeroporto
“Saudades” is a word the Portuguese use to express a longing for something or someone left behind. I have saudades for Portugal already.
Duarte dropped me off at the airport in Porto early this morning. I had mixed feelings about leaving as I felt ready to be home but not ready to leave Duarte and the kids behind for a week. And certainly not ready to leave such a good life behind. Portugal is a special place for me. It is my husband’s homeland. It is my family’s happy place. It is where my soul is fed what it needs.
Now I have time to sit and think in the Lisbon airport before boarding my flight to Philadelphia. I have found a sunny spot in an outside café in the exact place where Duarte and I waited to meet Geninha, Filinto and the kids after our trip to Madeira. My heart aches for Duarte and for the kids and with the memories of the expectation I felt that day as we met and then left for the beach for a week. I thought that I craved time alone after 6 intense weeks with my family surrounding me. Now I feel too alone and I desire their company, their love. I wish Duarte were here to plan another adventure that would push me to my limit once again. I really miss him.
He’s not here. It’s time to go home.
I’m speaking better Portuguese now. I can hear it. I can have a conversation. I can ride my mountain bike for hours and hours and because of this I’ve seen the tucked in life that most travelers can’t see. I know some of the smaller details about this culture. It is becoming my own. I have a Portuguese family who loves me very, very much. I am the luckiest woman alive.
How do I re-enter my American life after such an experience? How do I sit behind my desk or among my peers and just be my normal self again? I’ve been further seasoned by the difficulties and the adventure of travel, by the gifts from the rich culture and from my time away from the mundane. I am better for the experience. I just don’t want to go home. There is much to think about and to process.
Tenho saudades. This division of cultures is confusing. 6 weeks in Portugal is a long time but 10 months in American is a long time too.
Enough psychology. I need to go catch my plane and fly away. Damn it.
Txau.
June 26, 2009
Lisboa aeroporto
“Saudades” is a word the Portuguese use to express a longing for something or someone left behind. I have saudades for Portugal already.
Duarte dropped me off at the airport in Porto early this morning. I had mixed feelings about leaving as I felt ready to be home but not ready to leave Duarte and the kids behind for a week. And certainly not ready to leave such a good life behind. Portugal is a special place for me. It is my husband’s homeland. It is my family’s happy place. It is where my soul is fed what it needs.
Now I have time to sit and think in the Lisbon airport before boarding my flight to Philadelphia. I have found a sunny spot in an outside café in the exact place where Duarte and I waited to meet Geninha, Filinto and the kids after our trip to Madeira. My heart aches for Duarte and for the kids and with the memories of the expectation I felt that day as we met and then left for the beach for a week. I thought that I craved time alone after 6 intense weeks with my family surrounding me. Now I feel too alone and I desire their company, their love. I wish Duarte were here to plan another adventure that would push me to my limit once again. I really miss him.
He’s not here. It’s time to go home.
I’m speaking better Portuguese now. I can hear it. I can have a conversation. I can ride my mountain bike for hours and hours and because of this I’ve seen the tucked in life that most travelers can’t see. I know some of the smaller details about this culture. It is becoming my own. I have a Portuguese family who loves me very, very much. I am the luckiest woman alive.
How do I re-enter my American life after such an experience? How do I sit behind my desk or among my peers and just be my normal self again? I’ve been further seasoned by the difficulties and the adventure of travel, by the gifts from the rich culture and from my time away from the mundane. I am better for the experience. I just don’t want to go home. There is much to think about and to process.
Tenho saudades. This division of cultures is confusing. 6 weeks in Portugal is a long time but 10 months in American is a long time too.
Enough psychology. I need to go catch my plane and fly away. Damn it.
Txau.
Sao Joao
Sao Joao
Porto
June 2009
I hit over 3000 people on the head with a hammer during the Festa de Sao Joao in Porto on Tuesday night. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun! Since I have known Duarte, he has told me about this festival and he has always been disappointed that we have scheduled our flights to leave Portugal a couple of days before this celebration. This year we timed everything right and enjoyed an incredible night of laughter, celebration, friendship, drinks and discovery.
I know little about who Sao Joao (Saint John) was and why he is so celebrated but I do know that the summer months are a time when Portuguese celebrate their local saints. Each village or city has a saint that protects their region. Sao Joao apparently is the saint protecting Porto. The celebration is historic and part of the celebration involves tapping people on the head with a long garlic flower. Since thousands travel to Porto for this celebration, the flowers have evolved into plastic hammers with accordion ends that squeak when tapped. Therefore there are thousands of people celebrating in the streets of Porto tapping each other on the head with hammers. There are sardines being roasted on small grills throughout all of the streets so the air smells like sardines. The night was alive with squeaks and laughter and eating and drinking.
Our celebration began at Duarte’s uncle’s house in Porto. Lisa and Alex (friends we met in State College who now live in Madrid) and their kids joined us. We had a magnificent dinner and drinks in the garden while the kids ran around after each other. Then we left at 11:00pm to join the party. Ceu stayed at the house and watched the kids.
We took the metro to the Ribiera area of Porto where the heart of the party takes place. We purchased our hammers and of we went to tap people on the heads. I could not have guessed how much fun it would be to do this. I laughed as hard as I have ever laughed. It was totally fine to tap people on the head AND it was what you are supposed to do. Oh, I loved the endearing expressions on the many faces I tapped. It felt so friendly. It felt like I made so many people smile and there was an intimate connection with everyone there.
We converged on the Ribiera where we somehow made it front row to the
“Brittany Spears of Portugal.” We danced and laughed and of course tapped people on the head. Soon after, an amazing spectacle of fireworks took place over the river. It was a fantastic show. We walked up through the old, twisting streets of Porto after the fireworks and found a small bar tucked in among the little houses. We drank caiperinhas and settled in for a while not even thinking about the hour. Duarte hung out outside with the local men grilling sardines and Lisa and I caught up – enjoying such a night out.
Before we knew it, it was 3:00a.m. and we still had a way to travel before we were home. We passed through the crowds celebrating and lifting paper hot air balloons into the air. We laughed and danced and continued to tap people on the head. At 4:00 a.m. we were finally in bed still giggling from the night. It was a night to remember and certainly it could not be easily have been forgotten as our children were up at 7:00 a.m. ready to play the very same morning.
A Festa de Sao Joao fui muito bom! Eu quiero ir otra vez.
Porto
June 2009
I hit over 3000 people on the head with a hammer during the Festa de Sao Joao in Porto on Tuesday night. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun! Since I have known Duarte, he has told me about this festival and he has always been disappointed that we have scheduled our flights to leave Portugal a couple of days before this celebration. This year we timed everything right and enjoyed an incredible night of laughter, celebration, friendship, drinks and discovery.
I know little about who Sao Joao (Saint John) was and why he is so celebrated but I do know that the summer months are a time when Portuguese celebrate their local saints. Each village or city has a saint that protects their region. Sao Joao apparently is the saint protecting Porto. The celebration is historic and part of the celebration involves tapping people on the head with a long garlic flower. Since thousands travel to Porto for this celebration, the flowers have evolved into plastic hammers with accordion ends that squeak when tapped. Therefore there are thousands of people celebrating in the streets of Porto tapping each other on the head with hammers. There are sardines being roasted on small grills throughout all of the streets so the air smells like sardines. The night was alive with squeaks and laughter and eating and drinking.
Our celebration began at Duarte’s uncle’s house in Porto. Lisa and Alex (friends we met in State College who now live in Madrid) and their kids joined us. We had a magnificent dinner and drinks in the garden while the kids ran around after each other. Then we left at 11:00pm to join the party. Ceu stayed at the house and watched the kids.
We took the metro to the Ribiera area of Porto where the heart of the party takes place. We purchased our hammers and of we went to tap people on the heads. I could not have guessed how much fun it would be to do this. I laughed as hard as I have ever laughed. It was totally fine to tap people on the head AND it was what you are supposed to do. Oh, I loved the endearing expressions on the many faces I tapped. It felt so friendly. It felt like I made so many people smile and there was an intimate connection with everyone there.
We converged on the Ribiera where we somehow made it front row to the
“Brittany Spears of Portugal.” We danced and laughed and of course tapped people on the head. Soon after, an amazing spectacle of fireworks took place over the river. It was a fantastic show. We walked up through the old, twisting streets of Porto after the fireworks and found a small bar tucked in among the little houses. We drank caiperinhas and settled in for a while not even thinking about the hour. Duarte hung out outside with the local men grilling sardines and Lisa and I caught up – enjoying such a night out.
Before we knew it, it was 3:00a.m. and we still had a way to travel before we were home. We passed through the crowds celebrating and lifting paper hot air balloons into the air. We laughed and danced and continued to tap people on the head. At 4:00 a.m. we were finally in bed still giggling from the night. It was a night to remember and certainly it could not be easily have been forgotten as our children were up at 7:00 a.m. ready to play the very same morning.
A Festa de Sao Joao fui muito bom! Eu quiero ir otra vez.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Bike Races
Bike Races
June 19, 2009
On our second day in Portugal, we signed up for a 25 km mountain bike race in Chaves. We are not typically competitors in any kind of race except the annual Red Mo canoe race in central PA and another kayak race Duarte enjoys at the Cheat River. Our reasoning really was to try something different and to be around others with similar interests.
The race itself turned out to be more fun than we anticipated. The starting point was in the center of downtown Chaves early on a chilly, foggy morning. We arrived to see 200 mountain bikers completely decked out in spandex with some pretty elaborate mountain bikes. There were very few women in the crowd –less than 10 to be certain. This really wasn’t surprising in this patriarchal society where mountain biking and even exercising has only recently become a trend but it was disappointing nonetheless.
We took off with the crowd with an excited start. The course raced through Chaves on its brand new cyclovia that snakes all around town. Passing was aggressive and difficult on the path packed full of bikers. Being a women in this race made me feel tough and strong. The men didn’t like being passed by a woman. I was competing against a lot of testosterone and yet I was stronger than many of the men competing. About half way through the race Duarte said that I would likely be the first woman to finish. What a surge that idea sent through me. I loved the idea that I could be a leader or a role model to the kids and mothers watching on the side. I loved the idea that in this small town, I would be known as a tough woman who could keep up and even ride better than the men. I powered on through the mountain section of the route even faster with these thoughts.
Despite my determination, I really needed to pee. Duarte was aware of this but what could we do? We kept on pedaling and passing some of the other bikers who were becoming weary. On a steep ascent Duarte passed some bikes on the left and I passed the same bikes on the right. Each of us was unaware that the other had done so. I assumed Duarte was behind me so I kept pedaling. Duarte assumed I was behind him so he stopped and waited thinking I must have stopped to pee. Eventually I realized he wasn’t with me or even in sight. So I turned my bike around and went looking for him. After 10 or 15 minutes apart we reunited to learn our mistake. How frustrating! We took off determined to make up time.
We passed a few of the people who gained on us and we started to feel better about our mistake. With this peace of mind, I did finally stop to pee this time with Duarte nearby. We pedaled towards the end of the race and realized we didn’t know where the course ended. One, two, three, four, five times around the roundabout before we finally figured it out. This mistake cost us even more time.
In the end we finished 15th and 16th. I was the first female finisher. I was so proud of us but also disappointed that our mistakes cost us an even better position. We sort of caught the competitive bug and decided we would register for even more races if the opportunity were to arise.
Indeed, we did register for another race. This time it was to be a three-hour, pairs, endurance race to begin at 9:00pm on a hot summer night (last night) and to end at midnight. We decked out our bikes with lights and prepared for what we thought would be a race similar to the first one we competed in. We were wrong. We arrived to the exact same starting place – this time the square was filled to the brim with masculinity, testosterone and competitiveness. Both of us realized we were way out of our league. Not only was the competition steep but there was only one other woman among the crowd! Admittedly, I was intimidated.
We did a reconnaissance lap and found the route to be fast and challenging. The route was 6 km through the city that had been closed off completely to cars so we could race up and down the old streets of Chaves. It was a beautiful route and it was dark and it had some tough turns and steep hills. Each lap took about 15 minutes to complete. Duarte and I would alternate – each taking a lap on the route. We had to tap the other to start the next lap – relay style. We were competing again the other woman and her partner as they were the only other “mixed pair.”
For three hours, Duarte and I alternated routes around the dark city. We didn’t talk at all as we individually raced to the meeting point and off the other would go. I liked pushing myself hard but found the race disappointing with so much machismo around me. The men absolutely could not tolerate me passing them. I passed many on a hill or on a long flat section and then – always- they would push themselves past me just as we came into public view at the meeting point. I did like that the spectators noticed me as one of two women and called out encouragement each time I passed.
We finished well and with only two mixed pair teams we had some prize money to collect. It turned out that in the long three-hour race, we were only 45 seconds behind the other team. It was a well-matched dual. They won $100 Euros and Duarte and I won $75. We were given a giant, cardboard check by the city’s mayor during the closing ceremony. This covered our entrance fee and all the gadgets we put on our bikes. We broke even.
We drove home at 2:30 a.m. Our bodies were exhausted, our lungs were filled with dust and were burning, our minds were racing. We talked until 3:30 a.m. catching up on the differences and similarities in each other’s race. Not surprisingly, Duarte and I had totally different experiences. It was a great and memorable evening but we finished our conversation resolving never to enter such a race again.
June 19, 2009
On our second day in Portugal, we signed up for a 25 km mountain bike race in Chaves. We are not typically competitors in any kind of race except the annual Red Mo canoe race in central PA and another kayak race Duarte enjoys at the Cheat River. Our reasoning really was to try something different and to be around others with similar interests.
The race itself turned out to be more fun than we anticipated. The starting point was in the center of downtown Chaves early on a chilly, foggy morning. We arrived to see 200 mountain bikers completely decked out in spandex with some pretty elaborate mountain bikes. There were very few women in the crowd –less than 10 to be certain. This really wasn’t surprising in this patriarchal society where mountain biking and even exercising has only recently become a trend but it was disappointing nonetheless.
We took off with the crowd with an excited start. The course raced through Chaves on its brand new cyclovia that snakes all around town. Passing was aggressive and difficult on the path packed full of bikers. Being a women in this race made me feel tough and strong. The men didn’t like being passed by a woman. I was competing against a lot of testosterone and yet I was stronger than many of the men competing. About half way through the race Duarte said that I would likely be the first woman to finish. What a surge that idea sent through me. I loved the idea that I could be a leader or a role model to the kids and mothers watching on the side. I loved the idea that in this small town, I would be known as a tough woman who could keep up and even ride better than the men. I powered on through the mountain section of the route even faster with these thoughts.
Despite my determination, I really needed to pee. Duarte was aware of this but what could we do? We kept on pedaling and passing some of the other bikers who were becoming weary. On a steep ascent Duarte passed some bikes on the left and I passed the same bikes on the right. Each of us was unaware that the other had done so. I assumed Duarte was behind me so I kept pedaling. Duarte assumed I was behind him so he stopped and waited thinking I must have stopped to pee. Eventually I realized he wasn’t with me or even in sight. So I turned my bike around and went looking for him. After 10 or 15 minutes apart we reunited to learn our mistake. How frustrating! We took off determined to make up time.
We passed a few of the people who gained on us and we started to feel better about our mistake. With this peace of mind, I did finally stop to pee this time with Duarte nearby. We pedaled towards the end of the race and realized we didn’t know where the course ended. One, two, three, four, five times around the roundabout before we finally figured it out. This mistake cost us even more time.
In the end we finished 15th and 16th. I was the first female finisher. I was so proud of us but also disappointed that our mistakes cost us an even better position. We sort of caught the competitive bug and decided we would register for even more races if the opportunity were to arise.
Indeed, we did register for another race. This time it was to be a three-hour, pairs, endurance race to begin at 9:00pm on a hot summer night (last night) and to end at midnight. We decked out our bikes with lights and prepared for what we thought would be a race similar to the first one we competed in. We were wrong. We arrived to the exact same starting place – this time the square was filled to the brim with masculinity, testosterone and competitiveness. Both of us realized we were way out of our league. Not only was the competition steep but there was only one other woman among the crowd! Admittedly, I was intimidated.
We did a reconnaissance lap and found the route to be fast and challenging. The route was 6 km through the city that had been closed off completely to cars so we could race up and down the old streets of Chaves. It was a beautiful route and it was dark and it had some tough turns and steep hills. Each lap took about 15 minutes to complete. Duarte and I would alternate – each taking a lap on the route. We had to tap the other to start the next lap – relay style. We were competing again the other woman and her partner as they were the only other “mixed pair.”
For three hours, Duarte and I alternated routes around the dark city. We didn’t talk at all as we individually raced to the meeting point and off the other would go. I liked pushing myself hard but found the race disappointing with so much machismo around me. The men absolutely could not tolerate me passing them. I passed many on a hill or on a long flat section and then – always- they would push themselves past me just as we came into public view at the meeting point. I did like that the spectators noticed me as one of two women and called out encouragement each time I passed.
We finished well and with only two mixed pair teams we had some prize money to collect. It turned out that in the long three-hour race, we were only 45 seconds behind the other team. It was a well-matched dual. They won $100 Euros and Duarte and I won $75. We were given a giant, cardboard check by the city’s mayor during the closing ceremony. This covered our entrance fee and all the gadgets we put on our bikes. We broke even.
We drove home at 2:30 a.m. Our bodies were exhausted, our lungs were filled with dust and were burning, our minds were racing. We talked until 3:30 a.m. catching up on the differences and similarities in each other’s race. Not surprisingly, Duarte and I had totally different experiences. It was a great and memorable evening but we finished our conversation resolving never to enter such a race again.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Last days in Portugal
Last days in Chaves
June 19, 2009
My six weeks in Portugal are rapidly coming to an end (Duarte and the kids have another week). I have three more days in Chaves and then 3 days in Porto. As always, the last days are the best days as I’m back to fully appreciating all that I can only enjoy in this wonderful country.
We spent 2 or 3 weeks of our time here in crisis. I won’t go into detail as I think it would be impossible for anyone to understand these crisises unless you yourself took 6 weeks to live in a different culture, speaking a different language and living with your spouse’s family. You would have to deprive yourself of your friends, and of your work and sort-of of your identity. You would have to leave everything familiar for 6 weeks and speak with only your spouse the entire time. There are other factors as well – like the lack of structure in our lives, no discipline for our kids while they are with their grandparents and certainly more. Our separate crisises were quite complex and truly more than either of us yet understands. I’m not sure how we will accommodate such a trip next year. I hope that the good times are more memorable than the challenging times so that we do choose to return to Portugal for this duration again in the future. I’m not so sure.
And so I am careful to record the more special times.
• Jenna is beginning to speak Portuguese.
• The kids adore their grandparents and greet them daily with hugs and kisses.
• Watching Marcos and Filinto interact. It is really special.
• Duarte and I together enjoyed amazing mountain biking through some of the most beautiful places in the world.
• Pushing our selves in two mountain bike races and finishing really well.
• Exploring new places… Madeira, Picos de Europa and of course all of the places we found when we were lost on our mountain bikes.
• Pushing our selves physically.
• Jenna learned to ride her bike without training wheels. (Stopping is still an issue)
• We lived in a place frozen in time. We could be living in 1900 or 2009.
• We ate great food – every meal, every day. We drank great wine as well.
• Lounging in the pool on a hot day. Ooh, I love that.
• Espressos after lunch.
• Full days of bright sunshine.
• “Finos” (cold beer) on the hottest days.
• Time to talk and time to play with our kids.
• Time spent with a loving family.
• A great day in Ourense, Spain at the hot springs spa.
• Really helpful customer service when shopping.
• The earthy smells of the “terra”
• Our view of a small pasture, a mountainside village and beautiful sunsets out of our new window.
• Learning more Portuguese and attempting to speak more often.
• Listening to the church bells ring in Sao Lourenco.
• Sitting in open cafes.
• The kids ate over 100 ice creams in open cafes while they were here.
• Shopping with Jenna. It is truly a unique experience.
• Eating dinner on the patio at Quinta da Mata.
• Watching Marcos put the sheep away at night.
• Living more simply.
• Sunsets over Chaves.
I am grateful for all that I’m able to experience and enjoy while I am in Portugal. It is conflicting to even have a moment of unrest or uncertainty with so many beautiful things offered to my family and I. And yet, I do experience these feelings. I marvel at the man I married wondering how he has integrated himself so fluently into the American culture. In the end our struggles are part of the fabric of our dual nationality family. Our life here and in the United States is a complex tapestry that is outwardly beautiful but intricate and complex in its making. And thus another pattern is formed.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Picos de Europa
Picos de Europa
The Peaks of Europe are in the northern part of Spain about 4 hours from Chaves. Duarte started planning our mountain biking circumnavigation around these peaks even before we left the United States. He studied maps and blogs and google earth and whatever else he could find. As usual, I left the homework to him and decided to let the trip unfold as it was happening. And, Oh, what a trip it was!
We left Chaves mid-morning and made the trek to the Peaks of Europe. We drove through flat, treeless landscapes where we could see for miles and miles – Don Quixote terrain. And then much to our surprise we came upon steep, jagged, snow covered mountains. Lush green meadows filled with birds and animals and wild flowers filled the valleys below the mountains. The colors were so vivid the texture was so striking. In all of my travels, I have never seen such a beautiful place.
We stayed in a small, mountain village and hiked up into a high meadow with a bottle of wine and some stinky cheese. We talked and laughed and enjoyed a beautiful evening together.
The next morning we awoke early and packed our backpacks full of water, food and clothes for overnight. We hopped on our bikes to begin our adventure. The ride started with a fast and chilly descent into the mouth of an incredible canyon called the Caris.
The Caris was incredible! I was worried about feelings of vertigo as this canyon is known for its very exposed trails to high drop offs. Bikes are actually not allowed on this trail as there are no guard rails and it would be easy to knock another person off of the trail. We resolved to mostly hike the canyon and dismount where I felt uncomfortable or when we encountered other hikers. I was so amazed by the beauty of this canyon there was no room for fear. Our travels through the Caris were extraordinary!
Leaving the canyon was a different story. We climbed and climbed and climbed and climbed. 6 miles up! When we arrived to our destination for the day we were too exhausted to move. We showered and sought food but there was no food to be found until 7:00pm in this village. When we did finally eat, the food we disappointing. Spanish food is simply disgusting. Enough said.
Day 2 had its share of adventures.
We had an early morning climb up to a huge plateau filled with cattle and horses. It would be fair to say that these animals were certainly not domesticated. In fact, I wonder how many humans they have ever encountered? We were nearly assaulted by a mama horse who wanted us O.U.T. out of her domain. Duarte stopped long enough to take a picture and quickly realized his mistake. She growled at him! The problem with passing through all of these animals was that there was down hill behind us, hills on either side of us (and more animals) and hill in front of us. There was no escape. We had to pass through. We did take note of what good mothers horses seem to be. They were shading their sleeping colts and certainly guarding their well-being.
I think the most adrenaline I experience was passing a VERY large bull that was only 4 feet from our path. I stopped Duarte and said “what should we do if he charges us?” Duarte confidently said “I don’t know, but let’s go!” I nearly shook off my bike with fear. I can’t believe we made it through without incident. The bull didn’t even look our way. He was distracted by an attractive cow who passed between us.
Before we finished our time among the livestock, we had to pass 3 more bulls. Two young bulls were locking horns in the middle of our passage and to their right was their very large and aggressive father who was passing his time snorting and scraping at the dirt. I was sure he was preparing his goring of the two stupid humans trying to pass by his territory. The cattle guard was within view. We had no choice but to go. And so we did. We lived to tell the story.
After passing the cows, we enjoyed our 2nd downhill in nearly 30 miles. We ate as good of a meal as can be eaten in Spain and then carried on. Little did know what was ahead.
We climbed and climbed and climbed for three long hot hours. I thought the end would never come and was quite agitated by the time we got to the top. It was frustrating to see other mountain bikers (going in the other direction) pass us by. Their route eluded the long ascents AND the cattle.
We finished with the third and final downhill (thank god!). We biked over 100 Kilometres and I think it’s safe to say that 60 of those Kilometres were uphill. It felt good to have such an extreme adventure and to learn what are bodies were capable of physically. I didn’t know I could ride uphill for 7 hours and still walk afterwards.
Picos de Europa is a magical place. I recommend exploration by foot or by bike clockwise, however. We learned that the hard way.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Moments in a day
Moments in a day
June 8, 2009
Marcos pointed out a piece of rabbit poop and told Jenna it was chocolate. She ate it.
Jenna is mixing Portuguese and English. “I quiero that.” “Don’t tickle my cu, tickle my back.” “I want some agua.”
Marcos uses the bidet!
This morning Marcos complained that he did not like the éclair that had white cream inside of it. It has been delivered from the pastry shop just for him early in the morning before we arrived to Quinta da Mata. Geninha had a back up with yellow cream waiting for him.
Yesterday I skipped breakfast to go for a run. I thought I would just eat a few cherries instead. After my run, I sat down at the table at 11:00 a.m. to have a cup of coffee since the thermoses were still out. As soon as I sat down Dona Orlanda whipped up some scrambled eggs and delivered them to the table.
Every night after dinner, Marcos and Filinto put the sheep into the barn for the night. When the sheep are heading into the barn, Marcos calls this the “sheep highway.” He says he just stands to the side, behind the door to keep from being run over.
Filinto only changes his shirt every 3 or 4 days. He stinks and has no idea.
There is a tractor parked next to our car in the eira just outside of our steps. It has a nearly nude woman calendar page taped in the window.
I was in a salsa bar in Chaves the other night where the national Salsa dancing champions were giving salsa lessons.
Jenna has learned to ride her bike without training wheels. She is awesome!
Marcos likes to mountain bike on the dirt roads on Padrinho’s farm. We dropped him off about a mile and a half from the farm and he road home with us trailing behind in the Land Rover. As he was setting off, he said “Wish me luck!” He is great on a mountain bike.
A friend of ours was meeting us in the park today as she approached Jenna said “I don’t want to give any more kisses.”
We saw a rainbow from our window. Marcos wanted to run out and find the pot of gold. Jenna said “Yeah, and maybe there will be leopards there too!” I said “Do you mean Leprechans?” She said “Oh yeah, Leprechans.”
There was a burro in a nearby field that looked soggy and miserable from the falling rain. His ears were low and he just looked kind of droopy. Duarte commented to this effect. Marcos said “ No, Burros always kind of look like that.”
Jenna said to me “When I am big, I’m going to pee a lot like you.”
June 8, 2009
Marcos pointed out a piece of rabbit poop and told Jenna it was chocolate. She ate it.
Jenna is mixing Portuguese and English. “I quiero that.” “Don’t tickle my cu, tickle my back.” “I want some agua.”
Marcos uses the bidet!
This morning Marcos complained that he did not like the éclair that had white cream inside of it. It has been delivered from the pastry shop just for him early in the morning before we arrived to Quinta da Mata. Geninha had a back up with yellow cream waiting for him.
Yesterday I skipped breakfast to go for a run. I thought I would just eat a few cherries instead. After my run, I sat down at the table at 11:00 a.m. to have a cup of coffee since the thermoses were still out. As soon as I sat down Dona Orlanda whipped up some scrambled eggs and delivered them to the table.
Every night after dinner, Marcos and Filinto put the sheep into the barn for the night. When the sheep are heading into the barn, Marcos calls this the “sheep highway.” He says he just stands to the side, behind the door to keep from being run over.
Filinto only changes his shirt every 3 or 4 days. He stinks and has no idea.
There is a tractor parked next to our car in the eira just outside of our steps. It has a nearly nude woman calendar page taped in the window.
I was in a salsa bar in Chaves the other night where the national Salsa dancing champions were giving salsa lessons.
Jenna has learned to ride her bike without training wheels. She is awesome!
Marcos likes to mountain bike on the dirt roads on Padrinho’s farm. We dropped him off about a mile and a half from the farm and he road home with us trailing behind in the Land Rover. As he was setting off, he said “Wish me luck!” He is great on a mountain bike.
A friend of ours was meeting us in the park today as she approached Jenna said “I don’t want to give any more kisses.”
We saw a rainbow from our window. Marcos wanted to run out and find the pot of gold. Jenna said “Yeah, and maybe there will be leopards there too!” I said “Do you mean Leprechans?” She said “Oh yeah, Leprechans.”
There was a burro in a nearby field that looked soggy and miserable from the falling rain. His ears were low and he just looked kind of droopy. Duarte commented to this effect. Marcos said “ No, Burros always kind of look like that.”
Jenna said to me “When I am big, I’m going to pee a lot like you.”
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Anniversary
June 9, 2009
Today is the eighth wedding anniversary of the day Duarte and I were married in Chaves, Portugal. All day long I have been remembering that very special day.
This morning Duarte and I rode our bikes up through Nantes - which is coincidentally where the church is located where Duarte and I were married. As we were passing by, we noticed the caretaker just leaving the church. We stopped her and told her it was our wedding anniversary and asked if we could go inside the church. She happily obliged our request and she oddly even remembered that it had been eight years to the day.
Wearing our cycling clothes, Duarte and I walked into the small church and I was overwhelmed with memories from that exquisite day. I could see my family sitting on the left side of the chapel…my mom in her blue suit, my grandmother and grandfather, my uncles with tears in their eyes. On Duarte’s side, many relatives I didn’t yet know but who have since become a part of lives when we are here in Portugal. My father accompanied me down the aisle. Because we hadn’t had any kind of rehearsal – I I didn't know when to start down the aisle. There was a string quartet playing Pachobel’s Canon and the flowers my mom and I had chosen filled the chapel. I remember walking too quickly into the church but nothing I could do could slow me down. Duarte waited for me up front – wiping tears from his eyes. I felt beautiful in my dress and Duarte was so handsome. I remember little of the ceremony as it was completely in Portuguese but I remember my feelings of pride and hope and exhilaration and of course assuredness.
We left the chapel and continued our mountain bike ascent together up over Nantes and over Chaves. Our ride gave me time to think about Duarte and I. It has been quite a journey since that ceremony eight years ago. We have two beautiful, spirited children. We have encountered ups and downs neither of us could have ever anticipated. We enjoy a steady, strong marriage that continues to grow and blossom. Riding together and enjoying each other still is a beautiful gift which I need never to take for granted. I most certainly have a full and abundant life and this is because of the incredible man I married eight (or nine ☺) years ago today.
Today is the eighth wedding anniversary of the day Duarte and I were married in Chaves, Portugal. All day long I have been remembering that very special day.
This morning Duarte and I rode our bikes up through Nantes - which is coincidentally where the church is located where Duarte and I were married. As we were passing by, we noticed the caretaker just leaving the church. We stopped her and told her it was our wedding anniversary and asked if we could go inside the church. She happily obliged our request and she oddly even remembered that it had been eight years to the day.
Wearing our cycling clothes, Duarte and I walked into the small church and I was overwhelmed with memories from that exquisite day. I could see my family sitting on the left side of the chapel…my mom in her blue suit, my grandmother and grandfather, my uncles with tears in their eyes. On Duarte’s side, many relatives I didn’t yet know but who have since become a part of lives when we are here in Portugal. My father accompanied me down the aisle. Because we hadn’t had any kind of rehearsal – I I didn't know when to start down the aisle. There was a string quartet playing Pachobel’s Canon and the flowers my mom and I had chosen filled the chapel. I remember walking too quickly into the church but nothing I could do could slow me down. Duarte waited for me up front – wiping tears from his eyes. I felt beautiful in my dress and Duarte was so handsome. I remember little of the ceremony as it was completely in Portuguese but I remember my feelings of pride and hope and exhilaration and of course assuredness.
We left the chapel and continued our mountain bike ascent together up over Nantes and over Chaves. Our ride gave me time to think about Duarte and I. It has been quite a journey since that ceremony eight years ago. We have two beautiful, spirited children. We have encountered ups and downs neither of us could have ever anticipated. We enjoy a steady, strong marriage that continues to grow and blossom. Riding together and enjoying each other still is a beautiful gift which I need never to take for granted. I most certainly have a full and abundant life and this is because of the incredible man I married eight (or nine ☺) years ago today.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Feira
Feira
Wednesday morning is the day of Feira in Chaves. This is my favorite day of the week because of all of hustle and bustle going on in town. As I have mentioned before EVERYONE puts on their nice clothes and heads in to town to buy food, seeds, animals, plants, clothes, etc. Filinto, Marcos, Jenna and I decided to join the crowd.
We woke up early, enjoyed a grand breakfast as always and drove into Chaves among every make of vehicle known to man. Filinto first took us to the animal trading area – which I have learned to despise as I think the animals are not treated with care. We didn’t stay long as the kids eyes grew big and teary within minutes of being there. Before leaving, Filinto bought a handmade leather collar with a handmade metal bell for his ram whom Marcos named Oliver. It was awesome to watch the craftsman work.
I love the gypsy section of Feira. It’s a little sketchy, very loud and fascinating. I like bargaining and buying cheap socks and underwear. Filinto was visibly uncomfortable at this part of Feira as were the kids but we didn’t leave before I purchased 10 pairs of underwear and 10 pairs of socks for Marcos. We ran into lots of people Filinto knew while we were there. Over and over again we all had to endure wet, cheek kisses from bristly, mustached old women. Yuck.
As we were walking away from the gypsy market, I noticed a “sports” section of Feira with lots of Portuguese soccer jerseys. Marcos loves this kind of thing so we stopped. Filinto insisted that he wanted to buy Jenna a mini skirt that said “Portugal” on the back. I insisted that she would wear no such thing. If he wanted to buy her something it should be a soccer uniform. He reluctantly agreed though the gypsies weren’t so sure. They continued to insist on the skirt. “No!” I said – “a uniform”. Well, within moments Jenna was clad in an oversized white Jersey and shorts. And what Jenna has, Marcos must also have. The two of them were identical and so incredibly cute, I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. There were Portuguese women clucking over Jenna and trying to get her into the skirt – which of course, didn’t happen. Marcos and Jenna walked proudly through Feira in their matching uniforms. It was great!
Our last stop was in the rabbit, duck and chicken section. Filinto had it in his mind that he would buy a male and female rabbit for the kids. I was nervous about this as I overheard a phone conversation earlier from a client who was ordering a dinner of rabbit for his arrival next week. The kids, however, were delighted to have their bunnies. Immediately, they were named “Zach” and “Princess flower.” I mentioned to Marcos that they should probably be called “Lunch” and “Dinner” but Marcos firmly disagreed. The kids enjoyed the afternoon with their bunnies and then put them in a rabbit cage and they have been feeding them. So far the bunnies are still with us. We’ll see what happens when that client arrives next week.
I was anxious to see Duarte’s reaction to the kids in their soccer uniforms. It was perfect. Marcos and Jenna went running into where Duarte was working and proudly showed him their new clothes. Duarte’s jaw dropped and he declared “I cannot believe it” and then said “Where did you find jerseys that say “Portugalc?” Portugalc? I hadn’t noticed that… Sure enough- the gypsies messed up and now we have two complet uniforms with “Portugalc” printed widely across the back for everyone to see. The kids don’t mind though and the uniforms were a part of their imaginative adventures for the remainder of the day.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Alone?
Ahhh. A moment to myself - which rarely seems to happen while we are in Portugal. Our interaction with Duarte’s family is so intense that we are with them from morning until night. This isn’t necessarily bad but I do feel like I’m “on” all of the time. I feel like I don’t have a place just to be me. In the United States our lives are busy and full but there are segments of time when individually we can get away. Even when I am working I am on my own. I am an autonomous woman in the United States. Living in a different country and living with Duarte’s family leaves me feeling overly dependent. There is so much that I miss and so much that I just don’t know. Adapting to another culture is not easy at all. A simple drive alone to the grocery store is stressful for me as I don’t know what the traffic signs mean or I don’t know to weigh the bananas before I get to the check out line – and so I am always accompanied by someone. Duarte must interpret everything.
After 10 days away, we have returned to an arid Chaves. The kids are in bed and Duarte is out with Lipe. I’m enjoying the night air on the front step of our village house. The sky is bright with color as the sun sets and the heat from the day is radiating from the granite street and granite walls. There is a gentle breeze. Voices from nearby houses fill the air as all the doors and windows are open allowing the night air to cool their warm houses.
I sit with a glass of wine. I take a deep breath. I take time to appreciate this beautiful world full of life around me. I can’t help but note the collision of cultures as I sit here with my computer while those around me have just put their plow horses away for the night. There is no cable up here. No satellite tv, no internet. There is a village phone that is located in someone’s house in the center of Sao Lourenco. I’m certainly out of place here – but so grateful to be in this place because this moment is mine alone.
And I’m glad I made note of it because now I see headlights shining on the house in front of ours and I hear the Land Rover’s engine. And once again, I’m no longer alone.
After 10 days away, we have returned to an arid Chaves. The kids are in bed and Duarte is out with Lipe. I’m enjoying the night air on the front step of our village house. The sky is bright with color as the sun sets and the heat from the day is radiating from the granite street and granite walls. There is a gentle breeze. Voices from nearby houses fill the air as all the doors and windows are open allowing the night air to cool their warm houses.
I sit with a glass of wine. I take a deep breath. I take time to appreciate this beautiful world full of life around me. I can’t help but note the collision of cultures as I sit here with my computer while those around me have just put their plow horses away for the night. There is no cable up here. No satellite tv, no internet. There is a village phone that is located in someone’s house in the center of Sao Lourenco. I’m certainly out of place here – but so grateful to be in this place because this moment is mine alone.
And I’m glad I made note of it because now I see headlights shining on the house in front of ours and I hear the Land Rover’s engine. And once again, I’m no longer alone.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Some differences
Vila Nova de Milfontes
May 31, 2009
We’ve been travelling for a week and a half now. First Madeira without the kids and now Vila Nova Milfontes for the last week. Vila Nova Milfontes is a small, oceanside village in the south of Portugal. It is known for really good surf, good fishing, and of course good sun bathing. There are many beaches to choose from on any given day. One can choose a remote beach hidden between high cliffs or wide open, white sand beaches with aquamarine waters. There are so many beaches that it is easy to escape a crowd and enjoy a whole sweep of beach all to ourselves.
It has been a calm and relaxing week full of sunshine, sand and water play. After a weekend away from our kids, in Madeira we’ve been enjoying Marcos and Jenna’s energy and full days of playing in the sand. We’ve travelled to a different beach with each day we have been here. We’ve eaten a great variety of meals for better of for worse. I look forward to not feeling full at any given moment. Lipe was with us until Friday. We’ve been with Geninha and Filinto the entire time. We’ve enjoyed our time together and their love and attention to our kids but I’m pretty sure we mutually agree that it’s time for some distance. We’ll head back to Chaves tomorrow. I need to be back in our space with our stuff and with our own pace.
Portugal becomes less and less and more and more a mystery every time I visit. I’m fascinated by the vast differences in our cultures. Some of the things I’ve been noticing:
Lots of public displays of affection. Teenagers, adults – any place, any time are going at it… passionate kisses, loving caresses, tender embraces. Love is in the air in Portugal. Duarte has always been very affectionate – especially in the early days of our relationship. Being American and being conservative about public displays of affection I have curbed his open affection over the years…. Now I realize it is a part of his upbringing. Even with family members, Portuguese family members hold hands, hug, kiss, play with each other’s hair, etc. This is very different from my affectionless upbringing. I love that our kids are learning about affection and open love. Why hide it?
Portuguese are always late.
Portuguese cannot say goodbye.
Fashion matters way too much – but the fashion is sooo ugly from my American viewpoint.
A good cup of espresso completes a meal.
Wine is a staple of this culture. It is served at lunch and dinner and it is good!
I can’t figure out the two kisses thing. Who do I give two kisses to? Whom do
I just shake hands? Greetings are terribly awkward.
Portuguese sleep late, eat late and go to bed late. I’ve been out until 2:00 a.m. on many occasions since we have arrived and honestly it seems early when we finally turn in! Just the other night, we purchased a used surfboard from a classified ad at 1:00a.m. It was the seller’s idea! We then went out for drinks afterwards.
Food is plentiful – to a fault. I’m tired of food. Really tired of food. We’ve been eating in restaurants since we left Chaves and I have an opinion about how the Portuguese eat. The quality of the food is always extraordinary. Food is simply prepared with olive oil, salt, garlic and piri piri and it is ALWAYS delicious and ALWAYS abundant. As much as I enjoy the incredible food, I’m tired of the waste. The portions are huge and could easily be split between two or three people. After eating a big meal, we leave enough food on the table to feed two or three people. Taking food with you is unheard of unless you are truly taking food to feed your dog. Even then, take away boxes are hard to come by. Portuguese do eat well but I’m so full I could be happy not eating for the next week.
Enough for now. My affectionate husband awaits with a bottle of port and dessert. Go figure. I had a cup of espresso only minutes ago and it is now 11:00pm. I’m still dizzy and uncomfortably full from our huge fish dinner accompanied by local wine. I’m dressed in my fashionless American clothes and am eager to get into my ugly comfy pajamas but who knows if we’ll be out later or not. I’d like to stop writing but feel I can’t or I might offend. So… two kisses or a hand shake or simply a “prazer” I don’t know……………………I don’t know! Boa Noite???!!
May 31, 2009
We’ve been travelling for a week and a half now. First Madeira without the kids and now Vila Nova Milfontes for the last week. Vila Nova Milfontes is a small, oceanside village in the south of Portugal. It is known for really good surf, good fishing, and of course good sun bathing. There are many beaches to choose from on any given day. One can choose a remote beach hidden between high cliffs or wide open, white sand beaches with aquamarine waters. There are so many beaches that it is easy to escape a crowd and enjoy a whole sweep of beach all to ourselves.
It has been a calm and relaxing week full of sunshine, sand and water play. After a weekend away from our kids, in Madeira we’ve been enjoying Marcos and Jenna’s energy and full days of playing in the sand. We’ve travelled to a different beach with each day we have been here. We’ve eaten a great variety of meals for better of for worse. I look forward to not feeling full at any given moment. Lipe was with us until Friday. We’ve been with Geninha and Filinto the entire time. We’ve enjoyed our time together and their love and attention to our kids but I’m pretty sure we mutually agree that it’s time for some distance. We’ll head back to Chaves tomorrow. I need to be back in our space with our stuff and with our own pace.
Portugal becomes less and less and more and more a mystery every time I visit. I’m fascinated by the vast differences in our cultures. Some of the things I’ve been noticing:
Lots of public displays of affection. Teenagers, adults – any place, any time are going at it… passionate kisses, loving caresses, tender embraces. Love is in the air in Portugal. Duarte has always been very affectionate – especially in the early days of our relationship. Being American and being conservative about public displays of affection I have curbed his open affection over the years…. Now I realize it is a part of his upbringing. Even with family members, Portuguese family members hold hands, hug, kiss, play with each other’s hair, etc. This is very different from my affectionless upbringing. I love that our kids are learning about affection and open love. Why hide it?
Portuguese are always late.
Portuguese cannot say goodbye.
Fashion matters way too much – but the fashion is sooo ugly from my American viewpoint.
A good cup of espresso completes a meal.
Wine is a staple of this culture. It is served at lunch and dinner and it is good!
I can’t figure out the two kisses thing. Who do I give two kisses to? Whom do
I just shake hands? Greetings are terribly awkward.
Portuguese sleep late, eat late and go to bed late. I’ve been out until 2:00 a.m. on many occasions since we have arrived and honestly it seems early when we finally turn in! Just the other night, we purchased a used surfboard from a classified ad at 1:00a.m. It was the seller’s idea! We then went out for drinks afterwards.
Food is plentiful – to a fault. I’m tired of food. Really tired of food. We’ve been eating in restaurants since we left Chaves and I have an opinion about how the Portuguese eat. The quality of the food is always extraordinary. Food is simply prepared with olive oil, salt, garlic and piri piri and it is ALWAYS delicious and ALWAYS abundant. As much as I enjoy the incredible food, I’m tired of the waste. The portions are huge and could easily be split between two or three people. After eating a big meal, we leave enough food on the table to feed two or three people. Taking food with you is unheard of unless you are truly taking food to feed your dog. Even then, take away boxes are hard to come by. Portuguese do eat well but I’m so full I could be happy not eating for the next week.
Enough for now. My affectionate husband awaits with a bottle of port and dessert. Go figure. I had a cup of espresso only minutes ago and it is now 11:00pm. I’m still dizzy and uncomfortably full from our huge fish dinner accompanied by local wine. I’m dressed in my fashionless American clothes and am eager to get into my ugly comfy pajamas but who knows if we’ll be out later or not. I’d like to stop writing but feel I can’t or I might offend. So… two kisses or a hand shake or simply a “prazer” I don’t know……………………I don’t know! Boa Noite???!!
Monday, May 25, 2009
I've been duped
I’ve been duped. Madeira, Portugal
May 24, 2009
I'm sitting in an open cafe in Madeira, Portugal. It's a bustling Sunday morning and I'm listening to the clang of church bells and the sounds of tourists breakfasting at tables beside ours. Duarte, Lipe and I are visiting Madeira for a long weekend without the kids. It is an odd thing to suddenly be on vacation and to know so little about the place where I'm visiting. Lipe has set up the entire weekend and I'm along for the ride. So, when I heard we were going to a tropical island way out in the Atlantic ocean - “an island like Hawaii” Duarte and Lipe said, I packed my bathing suit, a paperback and some shorts. I was duped.
Yes, this is an island like Hawaii. It’s very tropical with many banana plantations, black stones, volcanic peaks and EVERYTHING is on an incline... up, up up or down, down, down. But this is not a place to lounge on the beach. There really aren’t any beaches as the island is so rocky and steep. This is an island where people come to hike. Hike! Who goes on vacation to hike? Imagine my surprise.
Yesterday, after a winding drive up, around and through the mountain, I found myself at the highest elevation on the island away from the warmth, sunshine and blue skies in cotton shorts and a synthetic t-shirt. It was about 40 degrees and we were up in the clouds - no sun to be seen. We hiked through lush forests with about 500 other tourists to some pretty incredible waterfalls. Though the scenery truly was remarkable - the tourists were a big turn off for me.
Our hunger was great after 5 hours of hiking and so we sought a nice meal. We drove to a fishing village and had dinner on an outdoor patio overlooking the ocean. We ate “caco” bread and I enjoyed a meal of swordfish with bananas and “ponchas” and “nikitas” to drink. The meal was perfectly satisfying and I anticipated the day being over until we got a phone call. A friend of LIpe’s invited us over for dinner! Lipe wasn’t truthful and told him we hadn’t eaten because he didn’t want to offend the friend. So the next thing I know, we were sitting down for another huge Portuguese meal. It is offensive to hosts in this culture to refuse anything and to not take second helpings. As I mounded up my plate, I cursed Lipe for his deception. We waddled out of their ocean-view apartment around 1:00am. - filled to the top with food and wine.
Today the plan is to hike once again. Apparently today’s hike will be “very exposed.” I’m concerned about this as yesterday’s hike did not have this demarcation and there were times when the path was only 2.5 feet wide with a drop off so steep, I could not see the ground below (guard rails are “not typical.”) Keeping up with these adventurous Portuguese men has proven to be more than I bargained for. I’ll let you know how I fare today. I’m certain there will be some stories to tell.
Later…
Yes, I have a story to tell, damn it. Thirty minutes into our hike today, I realized that my overwhelming sense of vertigo was not to allow me to complete the planned 3- hour hike. This hike consisted of a 3 feet wide path with a light wire “guard rail” on either side. This flimsy guardrail was all that stood between the hiker and depths too far below for me to glimpse or fathom. I promptly bailed on the boys and decided to try my luck driving on this ridiculously steep island. I don’t know what was more risky the hike or the drive.
Lipe compassionately insisted that the drive would be easy and that I could “just meet them at the other peak” where they were hiking. He said – “just get in the car, go left at the first intersection and then look for signs”. He also said that the drive would take an hour and a half. Have you ever jumped in a car turned left and then seen a sign that points to your destination when the destination is over an hour away? Once again, I realized, I had been duped.
Lipe has a Portuguese speaking GPS navigation system for driving. Thinking I was being so crafty, I tampered with her to find the British speaker named Anna. Anna (aka: Matilda, dad!) and I quickly became enemies. She is a know it all who will not divulge information when I need it, nor is she trustworthy and she doesn’t tell me when I am wrong. I hate Anna. It would be hard to go into precise detail of all that occurred during the 2 hours Anna and I were together. I will say that I circled a little village more than 14 times before I gave up and cried. Also, I drove up an incline so steep it would have been better to have used a ladder and when I was half way up this hill (in first gear) another car came down the opposite way and I had to BACK UP!!!! F$%& Anna!
I’m now on the balcony of our hotel room hoping the acid reflux I experienced during my outing will soon go away. I called Duarte and Lipe and told them they were on their own for getting home. I wonder if they will make it back today? I wonder if I care?
For now, I’ll drink my beer, look out at the ocean and be so grateful for a peaceful moment in this ridiculous “vacation.”
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A Very Good Day
Tuesday, April 18, 2009
To stay up into the wee hours of a new day with loved ones and watch from our very own window the last bit of light fade from the sky is a rare and treasured occurrence. Lipe joined us after we put the kids to bed for a night of pondering the meaning of life while sipping aguardente and musing over the perfection of that exact moment in time.
And so the day began and further opened to even more incredible moments that I want to remember and savor.
Duarte and I escaped for a few hours on our mountain bikes. We explored the ancient landscape and looked out upon spring all around us. The hills were alive with birds singing and flowers blooming, water trickling and fresh green meadows as far as the eye could see. The fragrance of lavender filled the air as our pedals brushed the purple flowers along the old, gravel road.
Being true to our way of exploring, we found ourselves lost on an old path off a more well-traveled road. Instead of turning around, we pressed forward and carried our bikes to the top of the hill. From above we looked down upon a field of tall, green grass swaying with the breeze. Within the grass were pockets of white chamomile flowers. We rode down through the shoulder high grass. I laughed with the swimming feeling I was experiencing. The grass gently brushed my legs, my arms and my body and the air was filled with the calming scent of chamomile. I couldn’t tell where my tires were going and just held on with a bit of adrenaline pulsing through my body.
After a deliciously hearty lunch at Quinta da Mata, Geninha and I took Jenna shopping. Jenna likes clothes and she likes shoes and she liked just about everything in the store. Her adoring grandmother indulged her with whatever her little heart desired and we walked out of the store with an entirely new wardrobe for Jenna who is only three years old. She looked pretty good in her white sunglasses, soft cotton – “gypsy” dress and her pink Hello Kitty shoes.
Just before dinner we stood in the driveway in front of Quinta da Mata. The sheep had come in as they normally do towards the end of the day. Duarte and his father were talking and I was watching Marcos and Jenna wrestle in the grass. I looked up and noticed 6 young sheep frolicking up and down the hill. They looked like dogs as they chased each other with youthful vigor. It was incredible to watch the silly sheep play so carelessly while their boring elders scrambled to eat a few more bites of grass before going to bed.
After dinner, Filinto walked up the hill to put the sheep into the barn for the night. Marcos ran out after him and they walked hand in hand to the barn to accomplish their task. My heart filled with love for this incredible life our children get to live and experience.
Portugal reminds me to slow down and open my senses and enjoy a day and all of its gifts. Today I felt the love of my family, I smelled the fragrance of wildflowers, I was touched by long, soft grass swaying in the breeze, and the music of a thousand birds filled my ears. I lived this day well. And now I’ll descend our spiral staircase to our dark little bedroom and count the church bells until my eyes will no longer stay open. Ate mana.
To stay up into the wee hours of a new day with loved ones and watch from our very own window the last bit of light fade from the sky is a rare and treasured occurrence. Lipe joined us after we put the kids to bed for a night of pondering the meaning of life while sipping aguardente and musing over the perfection of that exact moment in time.
And so the day began and further opened to even more incredible moments that I want to remember and savor.
Duarte and I escaped for a few hours on our mountain bikes. We explored the ancient landscape and looked out upon spring all around us. The hills were alive with birds singing and flowers blooming, water trickling and fresh green meadows as far as the eye could see. The fragrance of lavender filled the air as our pedals brushed the purple flowers along the old, gravel road.
Being true to our way of exploring, we found ourselves lost on an old path off a more well-traveled road. Instead of turning around, we pressed forward and carried our bikes to the top of the hill. From above we looked down upon a field of tall, green grass swaying with the breeze. Within the grass were pockets of white chamomile flowers. We rode down through the shoulder high grass. I laughed with the swimming feeling I was experiencing. The grass gently brushed my legs, my arms and my body and the air was filled with the calming scent of chamomile. I couldn’t tell where my tires were going and just held on with a bit of adrenaline pulsing through my body.
After a deliciously hearty lunch at Quinta da Mata, Geninha and I took Jenna shopping. Jenna likes clothes and she likes shoes and she liked just about everything in the store. Her adoring grandmother indulged her with whatever her little heart desired and we walked out of the store with an entirely new wardrobe for Jenna who is only three years old. She looked pretty good in her white sunglasses, soft cotton – “gypsy” dress and her pink Hello Kitty shoes.
Just before dinner we stood in the driveway in front of Quinta da Mata. The sheep had come in as they normally do towards the end of the day. Duarte and his father were talking and I was watching Marcos and Jenna wrestle in the grass. I looked up and noticed 6 young sheep frolicking up and down the hill. They looked like dogs as they chased each other with youthful vigor. It was incredible to watch the silly sheep play so carelessly while their boring elders scrambled to eat a few more bites of grass before going to bed.
After dinner, Filinto walked up the hill to put the sheep into the barn for the night. Marcos ran out after him and they walked hand in hand to the barn to accomplish their task. My heart filled with love for this incredible life our children get to live and experience.
Portugal reminds me to slow down and open my senses and enjoy a day and all of its gifts. Today I felt the love of my family, I smelled the fragrance of wildflowers, I was touched by long, soft grass swaying in the breeze, and the music of a thousand birds filled my ears. I lived this day well. And now I’ll descend our spiral staircase to our dark little bedroom and count the church bells until my eyes will no longer stay open. Ate mana.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
A Better Place
April 17, 2009
Arriving in Portugal this time has felt extraordinarily different from the many other times we have arrived in Portugal. Walking into Quinta da Mata was like walking into my own home. It felt so familiar and pleasant. Instantly I felt the love of home and the smell of an old place and I knew there would be many good days ahead.
What has changed is me. Another year has passed with it trial and tribulations. Our every day battle for balance and peace is puzzling as we find it here so readily. Duarte and I are frequently at odds with one another at home, there are so many things to be done, and the kids have needs. In Portugal, all of this dissipates and we become very different people - Happier, more agreeable people.
Duarte and I are enjoying laughter and easy conversation. We hop on our bikes and travel over the varied landscape and talk and talk without any tension whatsoever. Marcos and Jenna are free and independent. Marcos KNOWS Quinta da Mata. He is the master of his own big world here. He can hike about the farm, pick cherries from the trees, catch big air on his own bicycle ramps and cuddle up in a chair with his dog “Bella.” Jenna finally seems old enough to be a kid here. She and her grandfather hike up to the chicken cages and gather warm eggs from the chickens. Her eyes twinkle from this experience. She is so happy.
My heart is full of love and peace and balance. Portugal is good for my soul. I’m very glad to be here.
Arriving in Portugal this time has felt extraordinarily different from the many other times we have arrived in Portugal. Walking into Quinta da Mata was like walking into my own home. It felt so familiar and pleasant. Instantly I felt the love of home and the smell of an old place and I knew there would be many good days ahead.
What has changed is me. Another year has passed with it trial and tribulations. Our every day battle for balance and peace is puzzling as we find it here so readily. Duarte and I are frequently at odds with one another at home, there are so many things to be done, and the kids have needs. In Portugal, all of this dissipates and we become very different people - Happier, more agreeable people.
Duarte and I are enjoying laughter and easy conversation. We hop on our bikes and travel over the varied landscape and talk and talk without any tension whatsoever. Marcos and Jenna are free and independent. Marcos KNOWS Quinta da Mata. He is the master of his own big world here. He can hike about the farm, pick cherries from the trees, catch big air on his own bicycle ramps and cuddle up in a chair with his dog “Bella.” Jenna finally seems old enough to be a kid here. She and her grandfather hike up to the chicken cages and gather warm eggs from the chickens. Her eyes twinkle from this experience. She is so happy.
My heart is full of love and peace and balance. Portugal is good for my soul. I’m very glad to be here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
