April 28, 2007
My friend Emily is visiting from State College along with her husband and two kids. It has been nice to have a close friend here to witness this incredible life and to share with bits of Portugal that we really love. Their arrival was refreshing for us all as it is nice to see familiar faces and hear about the life we left behind for 6 months.
In the eight days we have been together we have had some really special experiences including three beautiful days in Porto, long leisurely meals in beachside cafes, farm life at Quinta da Mata, a day at a lake in a national park and a day visiting Duarte’s uncle’s olive farm. Every day we have been able to separate ourselves from our kids for a short time to exercise and this separation has been nearly guilt-free as the kids are excited to play together. Emily and I had a memorable mountain bike ride one evening. As I think back to it, I realize that our two-hour ride was the perfect sampling of the life we are exposed to everyday here.
Emily and I hopped on our bikes around 6:00pm one evening. From the village where we live, we quickly started up a steep Roman road towards a network of trails which would ultimately lead to a castle overlooking the valley. The terrain was tricky and not easy to navigate as there were large rocks impeding our ascent up the steep passage. We both struggled up the uneven rocks and wondered how a Roman was able to travel on such difficult roads. At the top of the road Emily asked if I ever got lost on these back roads and I answered that I hadn’t yet – but we might today. A few more minutes of riding on the hard packed forest road we passed a shepherd and his large herd of sheep heading towards the village for the evening. In the small village, we saw kids playing soccer in the center where three roads merge. Another man was riding on his primitive wooded cart that was being pulled by a burro. Everyone we passed stopped what they were doing to watch us and all of them called out a jovial “Boa Tarde!” which means good evening. The village had a few long narrow gutters that crossed the road and were wet with the runoff from cleaning out the stable on one side of the street. I hopped over the urine and manure filled run-off knowingly. Emily rode right through it. Her legs were splattered with the murky liquid. We carried on.
It is common to see dogs running loose in Portugal. In fact, most dogs live outside all of the time. They like to chase cars and bark a lot and therefore they are sometimes intimidating to pass on a bicycle. I warned Emily in advance about these dogs and explained that the best technique for encouraging them to relax was to whistle to them. Emily replied nervously that she didn’t know how to whistle. Well, okay then…"stick with me". We did pass a few dogs along the way and they did run along with us for a little bit – and we faired just fine without whistling.
The ride up to the castle was a steady climb up. Remembering that Emily takes a spin class in State College – I called out to her the typical spin class jargon with encouragement to get to the top. She said “I don’t need to think about spin class while I’m here. This is where I want to be while I’m taking that class.” She was right. We were enjoying a beautiful ride out of doors, with amazing scenery, and fresh air. We arrived to the castle around 7:00pm. It was a bit windy at the top of the mountain. The vast valley spread out beneath us. It was a view well worth our effort. The time was getting late, so we decided to turn back. As soon as we turned our bikes in the direction of home the rain started. We were wearing only one layer – so we needed to get down quickly as the cool night air and the moisture from the rain were making us cold. Passing through the village once more we came upon a cow walking on its own down the street. I told Emily that I wasn’t sure of the etiquette to pass a cow and she said that she didn’t believe that there was etiquette to pass a cow. We passed cautiously. Emily noted the large horns atop of its head. I noted her udders - which in my mind meant a more docile animal. We were successful getting past the cow… hence, cow etiquette.
There were still some men wandering around the village as we passed through the second time. One of the men called out to us. I paused a little bit trying to make sense of what I thought I understood and I finally told Emily that I thought he said that we looked good from behind. I wasn’t totally sure of my translation and I told her that as well. Emily’s reply was perfect…”Well, I’m definitely not sure.” I think that pretty much sums up everything I translate over here.
The trip back home wasn’t as clear as it had been on the ride up. Roads were splitting off to the right here and there and I wasn’t sure which road would be the right one. I finally chose what I believed would lead us back to Quinta da Mata. We pedaled for a while and were both inspired by the beautiful mountain landscape bright with patterns of purple and yellow and white as the flowers were in full bloom. The air felt cool and fresh and the scent of the rain and the pines were soothing. Though it was getting late and admittedly we were a little bit lost, we took a moment to hop off of our bikes and smell the lavender that was growing alongside of the road. Throughout the ride down we had been talking about the lives we live in State College and being philosophical about how life could be lived more simply. And then…it seemed that it all made sense and for the moment all was right in our lives…we were enjoying a good adventure, sharing thoughts about life, seeing new places and stopping to smell the lavender. I guess sometimes it is as simple as taking a moment to slow down and enjoy the good things in life that are right in front of us.
Continuing towards home, we made a few more turns along the mountain road before I decided that we were not going in the right direction and called Duarte to come find us. Though Emily and I would have both enjoyed more time to explore on the bikes, it was late and we were cold and wet. Somehow, to our amazement, Duarte was able to deduce where we were by my descriptions of the vistas I could see from where we were riding. We rode down the steep slick trail until we came upon a major road where we briefly waited for Duarte to pick us up. We had made it! In two quick hours we saw and experienced many wonderful things within the back roads of Portugal. It was a great ride with a great friend. Such experiences become the memories that make the life we have lived so beautiful.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Morais Family update
Morais update….
April 23, 2007
It is nearing the end of April. We have been living in Portugal for four months now. In just four short months, we have experienced foggy winter days, turbulent moods, blissful travel, magnificent meals, much needed family time, hours for exercising, and much more. We have all grown and changed so much.
Marcos had a difficult time transitioning to life in Portugal. Though we all struggled in our own ways, Marcos’ feelings were the most evident through his anger and acting out. He had virtually no comprehension of the language in January. He would scream when he was left alone with his family that only speaks Portuguese. It made him crazy! Marcos is now a different little boy. I am so proud of him. Mostly to his grandfather’s credit, Marcos is close to fluent in Portuguese. He makes mistakes but he isn’t afraid to speak. He flips back and forth from English to Portuguese without skipping a beat. He adores his Portuguese family and looks forward to being left alone with them now. His grandparents couldn’t be happier as they are now able to know their grandson and all of the funny things that he can now share with them.
Marcos is outside playing much of the day. He knows his way around the farm and takes off to explore by bike or on foot by himself or with his grandfather – so different from what his American life would be if we were there now. He spent time teaching his American grandmother how to say certain words while she was visiting. Sometimes he would lose patience with her, however, when she didn’t get the pronunciation just right. It’s fun to be learning a language and a culture together with my four-year old son. We wonder out loud together and we teach each other and we laugh at things together… we are just trying to figure it all out.
Jenna is now 16 months old. She is and always has been the happiest member of our family. Her grandmother loves her and spoils her and helps create the best life for Jenna. Jenna is fed homemade soups – blended especially for her for lunch and dinner every day. She is bathed after every bowel movement. She plays outside and goes for walks and spends a lot of time watching the sheep. Jenna’s skin is golden brown, her hair wild and curly. She is the delight of her grandparents and to all of the maids in the house. Jenna knows both Portuguese and English. She doesn’t speak a word of either language – but understands everything. She sings all of the time. Though she doesn’t know the words, she knows the tune of four or five songs and will burst out with her “la la’s” at any given moment. Her singing is wonderful except at 2:00am – which does occasionally happen.
Duarte has the busiest life of us all. He works, plays, translates, drives, and provides experiences for visitors. He takes time to boat and to bike and to be there for his friends and family. He also has his brother here whom he adores and does his best to make time to spend with Lipe. Duarte is happy and grateful for this time to reconnect with his culture and with his family. It means so much to him to have his parents know his children and for me to know about the culture from which he comes.
I am content. I am happy. The bumpy roads I bounced along when we first arrived to Portugal have passed. There was a big turning point for me when one day I woke up and suddenly I understood the language. After months of just noise, I suddenly could hear the words. I can speak the words too. That has made an incredible difference.
I haven’t cooked a meal, cleaned a dish or a house or washed or folded a single piece of laundry in four months. I sit down to meals that are served to me and my cup is always full. My clothes are dried on the line in the hot Portuguese sun and then ironed and folded neatly. I can exercise for hours at a time on any given day. I love this way of life. I don’t know how I will transition back to the United States to the life where I try to maximize every second to be able to get it all done. Fortunately, I don’t need to worry about that for a little while yet.
Through our own individual trials and tribulations we have connected with each other as a family in a special way. We know each other well and have an intimate understanding of our family rhythm. It’s nice to have time together. This time has changed us and shaped us to become a healthier family. We have always loved each other – but its easier to love and laugh when time is being spent respecting one another and caring for one another in both good and bad times.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Friday the 13th
April 14, 2007
Since Portugal is predominantly a Catholic country, we have been a part of many Christian celebrations in the last six months. Yesterday was Friday the 13th and we took part in our first pagan celebration. Three cars full of friends and family traveled to the second highest mountain in Portugal to a village called Montalegre. Montalegre is located in the North of Portugal about 45 minutes from Chaves. It is known for having a history of sorcerers, spells and witchcraft. The town therefore celebrates Friday the 13th with an astounding event which begins at midnight.
We drove through dark mountain roads to Montalegre around 10:00pm on Friday night. Walking from our car through the narrow streets up towards the castle where the celebration was to take place, we all zipped up our jackets and turned up our collars as the high altitude brought a chill in the air. As we approached the castle, loud, eerie music boomed from the castle that loomed above. The castle was lit with barrels of fire, adorned with colorful banners and people in medieval costumes could be seen running along the edges. Seeing the castle like this made it easy to imagine the very same castle when it was inhabited hundreds of years ago. A loud voice called from a speaker within the castle inviting us in to watch a witch be held on trial for her evil spirit. There were easily 1000 people of all ages inside the great stonewalls at this late hour. The music though eerie was enchanting with the pulsating rhythm, the dancers on the walls moving to the beat and the fires burning all around us. The air was filled with smoke and the smell of kerosene. A witch was sentenced to death for her evil ways and then pushed off the high castle wall into the burning flames below. Though it was all a performance, it had credibility considering where we were. Next the ghost of the witch flew over our heads (held by a harness) in white flowing clothing. The lighting and the mystical music again played to our senses causing a chill to run up my spine. A priest in ancient robes said a prayer and they boiled firewater (the Portuguese version of moonshine) in a large caldron and then invited us all to sip the sweet concoction. The crowd pushed forward without order for a taste. The firewater was sweet and strong. The performance lasted only 30 minutes – but what an experience.
In addition to the excellent performance, the local restaurants all were a part of the celebration. Outside of the entrances to the restaurants were ladders leaning against the doorways causing people to pass under for bad luck. Inside, umbrellas were open and silverware was crossed. Drinks were served out of hornshaped mug.. People had come from all over to enjoy the festivities. In Portugal, it is typical to see many generations of families out enjoying a meal or an event together. I love the family aspect of this country.
We left Montalegre after the show and didn’t arrive to Chaves until the wee hours of the morning. I awoke the next day unsure of whether the night’s events truly had taken place. Given the strangeness of the whole event and the late hour, it felt more like a dream than reality
Since Portugal is predominantly a Catholic country, we have been a part of many Christian celebrations in the last six months. Yesterday was Friday the 13th and we took part in our first pagan celebration. Three cars full of friends and family traveled to the second highest mountain in Portugal to a village called Montalegre. Montalegre is located in the North of Portugal about 45 minutes from Chaves. It is known for having a history of sorcerers, spells and witchcraft. The town therefore celebrates Friday the 13th with an astounding event which begins at midnight.
We drove through dark mountain roads to Montalegre around 10:00pm on Friday night. Walking from our car through the narrow streets up towards the castle where the celebration was to take place, we all zipped up our jackets and turned up our collars as the high altitude brought a chill in the air. As we approached the castle, loud, eerie music boomed from the castle that loomed above. The castle was lit with barrels of fire, adorned with colorful banners and people in medieval costumes could be seen running along the edges. Seeing the castle like this made it easy to imagine the very same castle when it was inhabited hundreds of years ago. A loud voice called from a speaker within the castle inviting us in to watch a witch be held on trial for her evil spirit. There were easily 1000 people of all ages inside the great stonewalls at this late hour. The music though eerie was enchanting with the pulsating rhythm, the dancers on the walls moving to the beat and the fires burning all around us. The air was filled with smoke and the smell of kerosene. A witch was sentenced to death for her evil ways and then pushed off the high castle wall into the burning flames below. Though it was all a performance, it had credibility considering where we were. Next the ghost of the witch flew over our heads (held by a harness) in white flowing clothing. The lighting and the mystical music again played to our senses causing a chill to run up my spine. A priest in ancient robes said a prayer and they boiled firewater (the Portuguese version of moonshine) in a large caldron and then invited us all to sip the sweet concoction. The crowd pushed forward without order for a taste. The firewater was sweet and strong. The performance lasted only 30 minutes – but what an experience.
In addition to the excellent performance, the local restaurants all were a part of the celebration. Outside of the entrances to the restaurants were ladders leaning against the doorways causing people to pass under for bad luck. Inside, umbrellas were open and silverware was crossed. Drinks were served out of hornshaped mug.. People had come from all over to enjoy the festivities. In Portugal, it is typical to see many generations of families out enjoying a meal or an event together. I love the family aspect of this country.
We left Montalegre after the show and didn’t arrive to Chaves until the wee hours of the morning. I awoke the next day unsure of whether the night’s events truly had taken place. Given the strangeness of the whole event and the late hour, it felt more like a dream than reality
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Space Invaders
April 11, 2007
We drove to the moon today or at least that’s what it felt like. I am sitting in a small, cozy house in the highest village in Portugal on the mountain called Serra de Estrella. There is a bright orange fire crackling away in the corner of the small room in which I sit. The rain is falling down with big, wet heavy drops outside. Marcos and Duarte are curled up on pillows in front of me whispering….their talk before sleep. Jenna is sleeping soundly in the next room and my mom who is visiting is in her own room. It would seem strange to a local villager to look up at our window and see the glow of my computer as it seems that technology has no place here. It feels good to be comfortable, dry and warm as I sit to write and enjoy a quiet moment in this high mountain village.
I am constantly amazed by the magnificence of the differing landscapes of Portugal. From Sagres the southernmost point of Portugal with its high cliffs and beautiful surf, to Alentejo with its rolling hills, lazy inhabitants and wide landscapes dotted with cork and olive trees, the cities are cities with lots of hustle and bustle and now Serra de Estrella a high mountain with weathered villagers, goats and altitude. It is beautiful here but the terrain is different from anything I have seen before. The road up the mountain first passes through a relatively large city which seems to just barely hang on the edge of the mountain. Walking is only straight up or straight down. After the city, the road winds its way up the steep mountain with great vistas and precarious drop offs only inches away from the edge of the pavement. My mom had a hard time with the exposed drive – gripping the interior handles of the Land Rover with white knuckles. Duarte who was driving was exhilarated as we passed through the playground of his early outdoor experiences. He stretched his neck to point out the various places where he first learned to rock climb or ice climb or sea kayak or ski. The more he talked the quieter my mom became.
The glacial valley that descends the mountain has long green runoffs, waterfalls and large round boulders randomly dispersed as far as the eye can see. There aren’t any trees at this altitude. The only greenery is the sparse patches of moss or the low mountain shrubs. The large, granite boulders widely dispersed give the mountain and its valley a moonlike appearance. Traveling to the highest point on the mountain, we found snow to Marcos’ great delight. Having experienced his first winter without snow, it was apparent how much he missed snow play. He jumped out of the car in just his shirtsleeves ready to throw a snowball and make a snow angel. How odd it is to drive from warmth and greenery to the moon and find snow.
We are tourists in the small village where we are staying. We suddenly appear with our suitcases, cameras, brightly colored, high tech clothing and wallets. The villagers stare at us with the same fascination that we have as we watch the shepherds come in with their herds of sheep and goats. We are an oddity here. It’s impossible to imagine what life is like for those who live here. It is a cold and exposed existence with little comfort from the weather and land. The village is quite secluded and difficult to access. I wonder…How many of these people have ever been beyond the mountain? The expressions on some of their faces reveal contempt as they watch up pass through while they plow their fields by hand. How dare we venture to steel a look at their lives; to take a few pictures ...I believe they are thinking.. what frivolity to live for only a day here. We haven’t walked in their shoes at all. How many other tourists think that they have? There is a small tourism niche here that a few of the villagers have taken advantage of with stores filled with pottery, sheep skin lined slippers, stuffed animals, keychains and all of the other junk people seem to need or want.
This mountain and all of our travels throughout Portugal have showed me so many different ways of living and all of these ways are more simple and yet more difficult in some aspects than the life that I know in the United States. There are lessons to be taken back to my own chaotic lifestyle in State College. But I fear they are only lessons. Everyone is a product of their culture and like the sheep that are herded by the shepherds, we jump in and do our best to keep up with the others. I will rejoin my herd and follow the others and walk my path day in and day out. I’ll push to get ahead of some of the others but soon others will be ahead of me. What does it all mean? What is it all for? One could grow up in a quiet village on a high mountain in Portugal with nothing but sheep to look after day in and day out or one could live in the United States and quest for success, money, and fame. Whose life is better? And what does it matter anyway?
We drove to the moon today or at least that’s what it felt like. I am sitting in a small, cozy house in the highest village in Portugal on the mountain called Serra de Estrella. There is a bright orange fire crackling away in the corner of the small room in which I sit. The rain is falling down with big, wet heavy drops outside. Marcos and Duarte are curled up on pillows in front of me whispering….their talk before sleep. Jenna is sleeping soundly in the next room and my mom who is visiting is in her own room. It would seem strange to a local villager to look up at our window and see the glow of my computer as it seems that technology has no place here. It feels good to be comfortable, dry and warm as I sit to write and enjoy a quiet moment in this high mountain village.
I am constantly amazed by the magnificence of the differing landscapes of Portugal. From Sagres the southernmost point of Portugal with its high cliffs and beautiful surf, to Alentejo with its rolling hills, lazy inhabitants and wide landscapes dotted with cork and olive trees, the cities are cities with lots of hustle and bustle and now Serra de Estrella a high mountain with weathered villagers, goats and altitude. It is beautiful here but the terrain is different from anything I have seen before. The road up the mountain first passes through a relatively large city which seems to just barely hang on the edge of the mountain. Walking is only straight up or straight down. After the city, the road winds its way up the steep mountain with great vistas and precarious drop offs only inches away from the edge of the pavement. My mom had a hard time with the exposed drive – gripping the interior handles of the Land Rover with white knuckles. Duarte who was driving was exhilarated as we passed through the playground of his early outdoor experiences. He stretched his neck to point out the various places where he first learned to rock climb or ice climb or sea kayak or ski. The more he talked the quieter my mom became.
The glacial valley that descends the mountain has long green runoffs, waterfalls and large round boulders randomly dispersed as far as the eye can see. There aren’t any trees at this altitude. The only greenery is the sparse patches of moss or the low mountain shrubs. The large, granite boulders widely dispersed give the mountain and its valley a moonlike appearance. Traveling to the highest point on the mountain, we found snow to Marcos’ great delight. Having experienced his first winter without snow, it was apparent how much he missed snow play. He jumped out of the car in just his shirtsleeves ready to throw a snowball and make a snow angel. How odd it is to drive from warmth and greenery to the moon and find snow.
We are tourists in the small village where we are staying. We suddenly appear with our suitcases, cameras, brightly colored, high tech clothing and wallets. The villagers stare at us with the same fascination that we have as we watch the shepherds come in with their herds of sheep and goats. We are an oddity here. It’s impossible to imagine what life is like for those who live here. It is a cold and exposed existence with little comfort from the weather and land. The village is quite secluded and difficult to access. I wonder…How many of these people have ever been beyond the mountain? The expressions on some of their faces reveal contempt as they watch up pass through while they plow their fields by hand. How dare we venture to steel a look at their lives; to take a few pictures ...I believe they are thinking.. what frivolity to live for only a day here. We haven’t walked in their shoes at all. How many other tourists think that they have? There is a small tourism niche here that a few of the villagers have taken advantage of with stores filled with pottery, sheep skin lined slippers, stuffed animals, keychains and all of the other junk people seem to need or want.
This mountain and all of our travels throughout Portugal have showed me so many different ways of living and all of these ways are more simple and yet more difficult in some aspects than the life that I know in the United States. There are lessons to be taken back to my own chaotic lifestyle in State College. But I fear they are only lessons. Everyone is a product of their culture and like the sheep that are herded by the shepherds, we jump in and do our best to keep up with the others. I will rejoin my herd and follow the others and walk my path day in and day out. I’ll push to get ahead of some of the others but soon others will be ahead of me. What does it all mean? What is it all for? One could grow up in a quiet village on a high mountain in Portugal with nothing but sheep to look after day in and day out or one could live in the United States and quest for success, money, and fame. Whose life is better? And what does it matter anyway?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
