Oh, what a weekend! We enjoyed a beautiful drive, lots of family time and an intense rafting experience.. .read on….
We left Chaves on Thursday afternoon to travel to Castelo da Paiva a small rural town near the river Paiva. We have some friends that own a hotel there as well as a rafting company. The rafting company was hosting a whitewater rafting race and kayak race on Saturday.
The drive to Castelo da Paiva was the most amazing trip I have ever taken by car. We traveled up, over and around the Douro river where the grapes for many Portuguese wines and Port wines are grown. The Douro river flows through a deep valley beneath 1500 meter peaks. The mountains from top to bottom are covered in grape vines. The vines grow in rows that are upon steps excavated in increments ascending all the way up the mountain. The steep slopes allow a top to bottom view of the magnificence of the valley.
After passing through the Douro region we climbed to the top of another set of mountains while the sun was setting. Looking down into the valley the small villages were lit with amber lights looking like glowing pots of gold at different altitudes within the mountains. Above us, was a sky full of stars. The road was narrow, curvy and very exposed. Many times while traveling there was nothing separating us from the steep cliffs below us as there was no guard rail in place. My dad would call this an “oh shit” road as he doesn’t like heights at all. Duarte in awe with the scenery called it an “oh wow!” road and because I was in the passenger seat enjoying the views but also concerned for the safety of our family I called it a “watch the road, Duarte!” road. The drive was beautiful but hard. Duarte carefully maneuvered the roads while I entertained the kids. Jenna was not happy...so we somehow survived the serpentine ride with every goofy children’s song I could come up with.
We made it to the only hotel in Castelo da Paiva around 7:00pm. We enjoyed a traditional Portuguese meal at the adjoining restaurant. The chef invited Marcos into the kitchen to play with his son and Jenna wandered around the restaurant while we ate our dinner and drank our wine.
Duarte ran a beautiful section of the Paiva river in his kayak with a group of Portuguese paddlers. Jenna, Marcos and I watched them paddle while standing on top of a Roman bridge. The river was crystal clear. We drove the Land Rover to the take out and waited for Duarte to end his run. While we were at the take out, a flock of sheep stopped to graze on the grass at the edge of the river. Jenna learned to talk sheep while they were there as she “meeehhed” in response their greetings.
On Saturday, I was invited to participate in the whitewater rafting race with the only female team. I accepted the invitation apprehensively – not fully knowing what I would be getting myself into. The team changed into wetsuits in the locker room at the edge of a soccer field above the river. While I was getting ready, I listened to the women joking with one another wondering what they were talking about… wondering how I would fit into this team. We all walked out of the small room together and walked towards the shuttle that would take us down the long, steep slope to the start of the race. Duarte stopped me to take a picture and to say good bye to the kids… I was 1 minute from the group and ran to catch up – only to see them loading into the truck and leaving for the put in without me.
Being an American in a culture with very little diversity has proven to be so difficult for me. I endure stares and comments everywhere I go, no matter what I am doing. This is uncomfortable for me as I tend to not enjoy attention by nature. I am learning to take a deep breath, not make eye contact and go for it. But when the team left me behind I started to feel it. I felt like I was in 5th grade and didn’t get picked for the kickball team.
Fighting tears, I set my mind to enjoy the walk down to the river. And so I went. After a long conflicting walk down the steep mountain road, wearing only neoprene booties, I arrived to the large crowd of paddlers wearing wetsuits, pfd’s and helmets just as I was. I thought…well, at least I’ll blend in…if only for a short period of time.
I found my team and saw that they were preparing to get into the raft with their paddles. I asked the team leader where I could find a paddle. She seemed preoccupied and acknowledged my question but quickly got distracted. I turned around to ask someone else about the paddle only to find that a tv camera had found me. I guess a distraught American female makes interesting video footage and the cameraman followed me through a very frustrating search for a paddle. The next person I asked was a teammate, as soon as she heard my English, I saw her defenses rise and she immediately claimed not to speak English. Unbelievable…fighting tears and the urge to tell everyone to go to hell (with that damn camera following me) I continued to search for someone who would help me. It seemed that my English was making people so uncomfortable that they would just say “there are no paddles.” Finally, I found someone I knew who speaks English. Within minutes a paddle was secured and that damn camera finally left me alone.
The race began. Being the only female raft in a large rafting race, in a male dominated society was an interesting glimpse into the social dynamics of the Portuguese culture. We were called “meninhas” by everyone. Meninhas means “little girls.” My teammates didn’t seem to mind or even notice…but I did and found the comment so telling. We were lined up last in the order of the race by the race organizers. Every mistake that was made was because “we didn’t have enough strength.”
All said, I had a good time. I learned some Portuguese, met some pretty cool women and truly felt every emotion that I could feel during that experience. I was so nervous going into the race. I was sad and frustrated when my team left me. Angry and exposed when I couldn’t find a paddle and that damn camera was following me. Happy to be a part of the team while we were on the river. Despite being different, I felt competent and capable in the raft. The river was beautiful and the women excellent for being so brave to show up and take part in this man’s race.
It was a good day. I lived this experience. It was as real and edgy as anything I have ever done.
We left Chaves on Thursday afternoon to travel to Castelo da Paiva a small rural town near the river Paiva. We have some friends that own a hotel there as well as a rafting company. The rafting company was hosting a whitewater rafting race and kayak race on Saturday.
The drive to Castelo da Paiva was the most amazing trip I have ever taken by car. We traveled up, over and around the Douro river where the grapes for many Portuguese wines and Port wines are grown. The Douro river flows through a deep valley beneath 1500 meter peaks. The mountains from top to bottom are covered in grape vines. The vines grow in rows that are upon steps excavated in increments ascending all the way up the mountain. The steep slopes allow a top to bottom view of the magnificence of the valley.
After passing through the Douro region we climbed to the top of another set of mountains while the sun was setting. Looking down into the valley the small villages were lit with amber lights looking like glowing pots of gold at different altitudes within the mountains. Above us, was a sky full of stars. The road was narrow, curvy and very exposed. Many times while traveling there was nothing separating us from the steep cliffs below us as there was no guard rail in place. My dad would call this an “oh shit” road as he doesn’t like heights at all. Duarte in awe with the scenery called it an “oh wow!” road and because I was in the passenger seat enjoying the views but also concerned for the safety of our family I called it a “watch the road, Duarte!” road. The drive was beautiful but hard. Duarte carefully maneuvered the roads while I entertained the kids. Jenna was not happy...so we somehow survived the serpentine ride with every goofy children’s song I could come up with.
We made it to the only hotel in Castelo da Paiva around 7:00pm. We enjoyed a traditional Portuguese meal at the adjoining restaurant. The chef invited Marcos into the kitchen to play with his son and Jenna wandered around the restaurant while we ate our dinner and drank our wine.
Duarte ran a beautiful section of the Paiva river in his kayak with a group of Portuguese paddlers. Jenna, Marcos and I watched them paddle while standing on top of a Roman bridge. The river was crystal clear. We drove the Land Rover to the take out and waited for Duarte to end his run. While we were at the take out, a flock of sheep stopped to graze on the grass at the edge of the river. Jenna learned to talk sheep while they were there as she “meeehhed” in response their greetings.
On Saturday, I was invited to participate in the whitewater rafting race with the only female team. I accepted the invitation apprehensively – not fully knowing what I would be getting myself into. The team changed into wetsuits in the locker room at the edge of a soccer field above the river. While I was getting ready, I listened to the women joking with one another wondering what they were talking about… wondering how I would fit into this team. We all walked out of the small room together and walked towards the shuttle that would take us down the long, steep slope to the start of the race. Duarte stopped me to take a picture and to say good bye to the kids… I was 1 minute from the group and ran to catch up – only to see them loading into the truck and leaving for the put in without me.
Being an American in a culture with very little diversity has proven to be so difficult for me. I endure stares and comments everywhere I go, no matter what I am doing. This is uncomfortable for me as I tend to not enjoy attention by nature. I am learning to take a deep breath, not make eye contact and go for it. But when the team left me behind I started to feel it. I felt like I was in 5th grade and didn’t get picked for the kickball team.
Fighting tears, I set my mind to enjoy the walk down to the river. And so I went. After a long conflicting walk down the steep mountain road, wearing only neoprene booties, I arrived to the large crowd of paddlers wearing wetsuits, pfd’s and helmets just as I was. I thought…well, at least I’ll blend in…if only for a short period of time.
I found my team and saw that they were preparing to get into the raft with their paddles. I asked the team leader where I could find a paddle. She seemed preoccupied and acknowledged my question but quickly got distracted. I turned around to ask someone else about the paddle only to find that a tv camera had found me. I guess a distraught American female makes interesting video footage and the cameraman followed me through a very frustrating search for a paddle. The next person I asked was a teammate, as soon as she heard my English, I saw her defenses rise and she immediately claimed not to speak English. Unbelievable…fighting tears and the urge to tell everyone to go to hell (with that damn camera following me) I continued to search for someone who would help me. It seemed that my English was making people so uncomfortable that they would just say “there are no paddles.” Finally, I found someone I knew who speaks English. Within minutes a paddle was secured and that damn camera finally left me alone.
The race began. Being the only female raft in a large rafting race, in a male dominated society was an interesting glimpse into the social dynamics of the Portuguese culture. We were called “meninhas” by everyone. Meninhas means “little girls.” My teammates didn’t seem to mind or even notice…but I did and found the comment so telling. We were lined up last in the order of the race by the race organizers. Every mistake that was made was because “we didn’t have enough strength.”
All said, I had a good time. I learned some Portuguese, met some pretty cool women and truly felt every emotion that I could feel during that experience. I was so nervous going into the race. I was sad and frustrated when my team left me. Angry and exposed when I couldn’t find a paddle and that damn camera was following me. Happy to be a part of the team while we were on the river. Despite being different, I felt competent and capable in the raft. The river was beautiful and the women excellent for being so brave to show up and take part in this man’s race.
It was a good day. I lived this experience. It was as real and edgy as anything I have ever done.
2 comments:
You are so brave.
This was a joy to read. We miss you.
Rachel
Susanne:
I think it's the Portuguese who are short on diversity and that a fiesty American girl is just what they need.
Thanks for the blogs.
Brendan
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