On my own...

February 20, 2007

On my own….

Living in Portugal without my tour guide and interpreter has been a good reality check. Duarte and his brother left last Friday for an 8-day trip to Morocco – a trip they have been planning for years. He was so excited to have this opportunity to drive down to the south of Spain, catch a ferry to Africa and then let their adventure unravel from there. They packed the Land Rover full with kayaking gear, the paraglider, hiking clothes for a summit and camping gear. Good for them.

Meanwhile I am here in Chaves with the kids. Instead of staying in our house up the mountain, we have taken a room at Quinta da Mata with the benefit of having Duarte’s parents help with the kids and with food, of course. This week has had it’s ups and downs.

My sister in law is my lifeline. She has no idea how much I need her to maintain my sanity. Susana is very special. She is easy-going, smart, funny, interesting and she speaks English. Marcos adores her and she adores him. When Susana shows up, everything is better. She saved me a few times this week with meals, parades, and by just being there.

This week was the week of Carnaval in Portugal. Carnaval involves a whole host of festivities prior to the onset of Lent. Kids were out of school and many people had holidays during this time. The idea behind this festive period is to celebrate, feast, overindulge, tell people truths before the fasting before Lent. Adults and children dress up in costumes, attend parades and have parties. Susana took us to two parades this week. The one in Verin, Spain was terrific. Marcos loved it. The parade lasted over an hour. It was an exuberant celebration with colorful costumes and vibrant people.

Marcos isn’t the easiest child to raise and when his father is gone he is impossible. When Duarte is away and/or when he is really stressed he scrunches up his face in the meanest contortion. Eyebrows knit with fury, eyes blazing with evil, he nearly explodes with aggression. My mom calls him “bat boy” when he is in this mode. Marcos knows how to push my buttons. It is impossible for me to be patient with him when he is in “bat boy” mode. It is also not possible for me to leave him with anyone else for fear that he will hurt someone. Therefore I have had to keep a close watch on him. Fortunately, as the days have passed, his behavior has been improving. I wasn’t sure either of us were going to make it through the week.

Duarte’s parents are very helpful. I am grateful for all that they do for us. Jenna's care is completely covered by her adoring grandmother. Filinto enjoys Marcos and is helpful in his own way but sometimes his judgment is off and his help turns out to further complicate our situation. On Tuesday, it was pouring down rain and we all could see that the day had serious potential for disaster with a cooped up, highly energetic boy. Filinto suggested a drive to Spain for he thought there might be some Carnaval festivities going on. Sounded like a good idea to me. Little did I know, that Filinto is known for his “Sunday drives.” Our trip to Verin, Spain which typically takes me 20 minutes, took us 45 minutes. It was painfully slow. Marcos wanted to get out. He needed to pee. I had stepped in dog poop just before we left – so the whole car smelled, Filinto was listening to Spanish talk radio, and Ceu (Duarte’s foster sister) had a nose bleed. To top it all off, there was nothing going on in Spain, so we turned around and drove back…the long way!!!

Marcos does have his moments, however. In the car the other day, he was leaning across to Jenna’s car seat and I could see he was picking at the crusty boogers on her nose. Thinking this was sure to go bad, I asked him to stop. His reply was. “Well, I’m just picking the barnacles off of her nose.” He cracks me up. I write this story because I haven’t been able to tell anyone else. I don’t think I could manage all of those words in Portuguese.

Because I am mostly without an interpreter, I have been more willing to speak Portuguese. I imagine that it is painful to hear the garble that comes out of my mouth. Regardless, it is working. I am able to communicate my needs for the most part. Other times, there are whole monologues spoken to me and I catch maybe every fifth word. Then I do my best to try to figure out what in the world the person is talking about. Sometimes I am completely wrong with my interpretation and I usually find this out the hard way… like when my nice brown sweater was dyed black or when I thought Filinto was supposed to pick up Marcos from school and he didn’t. Eek.

I do have a few prouds thus far… I am finding my way around town well. I have ordered a coffee and paid for it by myself in a café, I have taken the kids to a park and to a castle and I have asked questions in stores. I am getting by… but it is a whole lot more fun when Duarte is here.

The real struggle that is integral to all of my feelings is language. I never realized how important communication really is. Really. Speaking is self-expression. To share a thought or an insight is to share yourself with another person. Relationships are mostly developed from communication. It’s amazing how much time I think about words here. I listen to every syllable, intonation, word ending, tense, etc. I want so badly to understand the language. Not fully understanding the language makes me feel I am living in this world under a heavy blanket. There is so much that I am not aware of going on around me. The Portuguese lessons are helping a little bit. I enjoy the time with my teacher because we can speak English together.

When I really start feeling out of sorts, I start seeking the familiar. I flip the radio stations through and through until I find an American song I know. Sometimes I surf familiar websites. I don’t know why these websites bring me so much comfort, but they do. Grocery shopping helps too as grocery stores are big and fully lit and oddly familiar. If I can decipher the title of a movie, I’ll rent one because they are typically in English with Portuguese subtitles. When I indulge in one of these familiar activities, I feel a bit more grounded - like standing on a small island in a big ocean.

Duarte has sent a few text messages from Morocco. “Had a great day. Just passed over the Atlas mountains.” Or “Sleeping in the desert. No sounds or lights. Amazing.” “We are having a big adventure, wish you were here.” I wish I was there too. I am happy for his experience and I think later I will be happy for mine. One of the things I hoped to get while living abroad was a new perspective on my American life. I can comfortably say that I am glad that I have the life I have in America. I look forward to the many experiences that lie ahead in the months to come but I think I’ll be happy to get back to my turf. I miss my family, my friends, my job, my language and my country.

I am on my own here in Portugal and I’m doing okay - just a little bit lonely. All of these experiences, for better are for worse, are THE EXPERIENCE.