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?