Slowing Down from Slow
May 17, 2007
There hasn’t been much to write about this week as I am here at Quinta da Mata with Duarte’s parents and the kids while Duarte is filling the days and nights entertaining his American kayaking buddies. They are having a great time but I rarely see them. My own activity has slowed even more. Spending the days here, I have time to play with the kids, read, write, take naps and exercise if I feel like it instead of collecting experiences as Duarte and I have been doing since our arrival. I am enjoying the more relaxed pace.
The weather has changed from cool to hot. The dry air and the strong rays from the sun seem to absorb all moisture. My skin is dry, the air is dry, the ground is parched and cracking. We need to avoid the afternoon heat so we seek the cool, cave-like interior of this grand house. On the patio, the kids splash in the baby pool and spray each other with water. They are entertained for long stretches of time with such idol play.
Bright red cherries weigh down the branches of the cherry trees that line the long driveway that leads to Quinta da Mata. We have been taking walks to eat the sweet fruit right off the trees. There are no chemicals used here. At this time of year the flowers are still flourishing around Quinta da Mata and the fruit from the varying fruit trees are at different stages of development. I think that the figs will soon be ready to eat and then the pears. The pear trees grow along side the swimming pool and drop fruit from their branches into the cool water allowing us a chilled snack while we play in the water.
Marcos has had some sort of stomach virus for a couple of days – so when he is feeling bad, he lies around and watches movies or sleeps. It is difficult to see him sick but he is very snuggly when he is needy. When he is feeling good, he is up and bounding around. He loves to play with Duarte’s friends at breakfast time. I think Marcos thinks he is big and cool like “the guys.”
Jenna is wild these days. Her personality is being revealed a little bit more each day. She is vain in that she is very proud of her appearance- showing everyone who walks by her shirt or her shoes and relishing in their responses. She is strong as she marches right out the back door of the house and walks with her sturdy little legs down a steep rocky road and then up another all the way to see the sheep…”meehing” as she goes. She makes sure that she gets everything Marcos gets. If he drinks a juice then she must have one too. She will go as far as to steel his cookies if she doesn’t get her own. Though Jenna doesn’t speak, there is little doubt what she wants and what she doesn’t want. I am surprised by the strength of her will.
There is a lot of hustle and bustle around Quinta da Mata as each weekend approaches. There are wedding receptions every Saturday and Sunday that start early in the afternoon and go into the wee early morning of the following day. Preparation for the weddings begins on Thursday with many employees coming and going. On the day of the wedding, there are large platters mounded with food that pass in and out the doors heading toward or from the garden where the big receptions take place. I love all of the activity. Though it is crazy to be in the middle of it all, I feel the energy of so many people doing what they need to be doing. Some people are carving incredible fruit structures, others arranging platters of appetizers, some waiting tables, strong men heaving suckling pigs into the giant wood fired ovens. Live music fills the air and there is of course the general festivity that accompanies all weddings. Duarte and I were married here and I always re-live that perfect day as I peer into the garden to see the beautiful party. Best of all, the abundance of food is always shared with us. We sit on the patio away from the wedding and the employees passing through like to spoil us by handing us a platter of shrimp or lobster, bottles of wine, indulgent cheeses and desserts. I love it.
There are so many ways to spend a day or to spend a week or to spend 6 months. I am content that I am living the way that I want to live while I am in Portugal. I don’t have any regrets. There are many visitors that come to stay at this Bed and Breakfast. I enjoy talking with them if they speak English. It seems that when people are on vacation, they take time to slow down and ponder their existence or to take advantage of the distance vacation brings to their lives as they consider why they are caught up in the incredible momentum of work and other responsibilities. It is interesting for me to hear that people from every culture feel squeezed of energy. Everyone feels that they work too hard and have too little time for themselves and their families. It’s a human condition – but Why? I’ve spent the last 5 months thinking about this and I don’t have any explanation or answers. The best that I can come up with at this time is to look for the good in each moment and savor the things that make you happy. There is not a perfect life but there is a good life and that can only be found when perfection is not sought. Sometimes there are only good moments and sometimes that’s enough.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Lisbon nights
May 10, 2007
Duarte had a birthday to celebrate so we decided to take off for a couple of days without Marcos and Jenna to the capitol of Portugal “Lisboa”. Lisbon is a huge city filled with fashion, energy, history, beauty, nightlife, shopping, technology, and much more. Leaving the slow paced lifestyle of Chaves for the lively Lisboa was a welcomed change. Duarte went to college in Lisbon and therefore knows the city well. He oriented us to some of the most charming and unique places off the beaten path.
Our first night was a unusual blend of pop culture, history and romance. Walking up the steep streets of Bairro Alto it was hard to escape the energy of the night. Small bars and café’s with their own jazzy or retro or disco themes have doors open onto the narrow streets. There was an eclectic mix of people out and about from hip college students to not so hip elderly German tourists. The sounds of those around us expressed a more worldly interaction with a wide array of accents and languages. Here and there were a few odd stores open late in the night selling unexpected items like eastpack backpacks or creative t-shirts, funky shoes… Gypsies walked up and down the streets and in and out of restaurants selling roses or blinking lights or watches or sunglasses.
Among all of this hustle and bustle we sought out a traditional Portuguese Fado restaurant. Fado music has a long history within the Portuguese culture. It is nostalgic music of longing for the past and hoping for the future. There is both sadness and a wistful cheer in the lyrics sung by strong male or female voices and accompanied by a 12-string guitar. These folkloric songs are rich with the passion and emotion of the Portuguese people who throughout their long, tumultuous existence have been proud explorers of the new world, nationalistic soldiers and people oppressed by a long-standing dictatorship. We found a tiny, candle-lit restaurant crammed with people. There were four different singers who would alternate singing after 3 songs. Each singer was interestingly unique and talented. The first was an older, blind man without a very special voice but his charisma was enchanting. The second was a tall, full figured, woman with a powerful voice that resonated off of the hand painted tile walls of the small restaurant. The third singer was a younger woman who seemed to have a grudge against life. Her voice was poignant and sharp. Her talent was her ability to make the lyrics of the songs really touch the listener. I could feel the words she sang. The fourth singer was the most unique in that she was the dishwasher who came from the kitchen to sing. She was a thick, motherly woman with kind eyes and a sweet voice. She dressed in the simple, checked dress of all maids and dishwashers in Portugal and wore slippers on her feet. Her performance though admirable was unpolished as she constantly cleared her throat between verses in the songs. This was Fado! We ate a delicious meal and shared a bottle of wine and every now and then caught each other’s eye across the table and whispered our marvel at how beautiful this experience was.
Our second night in Lisbon had its own magic. We met up with Duarte’s longest friend “Paulo” and his girlfriend “Patricia” who live in Lisbon. We met at their chic apartment overlooking the skyline of Lisbon. From their apartment, we walked to Duarte’s favorite restaurant in Lisbon called “Casa de Alentejo.” On our way we stopped at a small, city garden and gazed out at the buildings and river spread out beneath us. Paulo and Patricia are great for sharing really interesting conversation with and so it was easy for us to get side tracked here and there being philosophical or inquisitive about any given topic. We finally moved on from this beautiful garden only after a security guard found us and informed us that the garden had closed and been locked since our arrival. He was kind and jovially escorted us out when he realized we were really not intentionally being menaces.
Casa de Alentejo is a very special place. The large building which now forms the restaurant was originally a Moorish palace dating back many centuries. Inside the original tiles adorn the many rooms of the house that have become the rooms of the restaurant. This is a restaurant with tremendous ambience. Because it is so unusual the average tourist would have a hard time finding it and if they did I suspect that they wouldn’t know how to navigate through the strange building. We selected a table on the second floor that overlooked the open courtyard of the majestic house. We dove into a nice bottle of wine and ordered a few traditional dishes to share. Once again the chemistry of our friendship blended well and the conversation was enjoyably stimulating and engaging.
Following our late night dinner we headed for a traditional, after-dinner drink in Lisbon called “Ginjinha.” This shot of cherry liquor served with or without cherries is offered at a well-known, walk-up bar in the street. Small groups of friends leisurely stand about outside with their shot glasses enjoying the strong, sweet drink. Music filled the air as the street performers wisely entertained the indulging crowd.
At 1:00am we pondered the thought of ending the night but decided that one more stop would finish the night nicely. Patricia led us to a place where the sound of loud jazz was pouring from the dimly lit, below-ground bar. Concerned about the music deterring us from our conversation, we headed to the back of the bar where the music was a bit more muted. Patricia noticed a door in the back and went to explore. She found a huge garden behind the bar with a few tables and chairs – perfect for such a night. We enjoyed the warm night air and talked and talked until 2:30 in the morning. Nobody knew we were back there.
At last it was time to get to bed. We said our goodbyes standing outside of a taxi in the middle of Lisbon. As with every city, Lisbon has its own unique charm and character. We tapped into some of its magic during our time there. We can’t wait to get back to explore some more. Portugal truly is a wonderful country.
Duarte had a birthday to celebrate so we decided to take off for a couple of days without Marcos and Jenna to the capitol of Portugal “Lisboa”. Lisbon is a huge city filled with fashion, energy, history, beauty, nightlife, shopping, technology, and much more. Leaving the slow paced lifestyle of Chaves for the lively Lisboa was a welcomed change. Duarte went to college in Lisbon and therefore knows the city well. He oriented us to some of the most charming and unique places off the beaten path.
Our first night was a unusual blend of pop culture, history and romance. Walking up the steep streets of Bairro Alto it was hard to escape the energy of the night. Small bars and café’s with their own jazzy or retro or disco themes have doors open onto the narrow streets. There was an eclectic mix of people out and about from hip college students to not so hip elderly German tourists. The sounds of those around us expressed a more worldly interaction with a wide array of accents and languages. Here and there were a few odd stores open late in the night selling unexpected items like eastpack backpacks or creative t-shirts, funky shoes… Gypsies walked up and down the streets and in and out of restaurants selling roses or blinking lights or watches or sunglasses.
Among all of this hustle and bustle we sought out a traditional Portuguese Fado restaurant. Fado music has a long history within the Portuguese culture. It is nostalgic music of longing for the past and hoping for the future. There is both sadness and a wistful cheer in the lyrics sung by strong male or female voices and accompanied by a 12-string guitar. These folkloric songs are rich with the passion and emotion of the Portuguese people who throughout their long, tumultuous existence have been proud explorers of the new world, nationalistic soldiers and people oppressed by a long-standing dictatorship. We found a tiny, candle-lit restaurant crammed with people. There were four different singers who would alternate singing after 3 songs. Each singer was interestingly unique and talented. The first was an older, blind man without a very special voice but his charisma was enchanting. The second was a tall, full figured, woman with a powerful voice that resonated off of the hand painted tile walls of the small restaurant. The third singer was a younger woman who seemed to have a grudge against life. Her voice was poignant and sharp. Her talent was her ability to make the lyrics of the songs really touch the listener. I could feel the words she sang. The fourth singer was the most unique in that she was the dishwasher who came from the kitchen to sing. She was a thick, motherly woman with kind eyes and a sweet voice. She dressed in the simple, checked dress of all maids and dishwashers in Portugal and wore slippers on her feet. Her performance though admirable was unpolished as she constantly cleared her throat between verses in the songs. This was Fado! We ate a delicious meal and shared a bottle of wine and every now and then caught each other’s eye across the table and whispered our marvel at how beautiful this experience was.
Our second night in Lisbon had its own magic. We met up with Duarte’s longest friend “Paulo” and his girlfriend “Patricia” who live in Lisbon. We met at their chic apartment overlooking the skyline of Lisbon. From their apartment, we walked to Duarte’s favorite restaurant in Lisbon called “Casa de Alentejo.” On our way we stopped at a small, city garden and gazed out at the buildings and river spread out beneath us. Paulo and Patricia are great for sharing really interesting conversation with and so it was easy for us to get side tracked here and there being philosophical or inquisitive about any given topic. We finally moved on from this beautiful garden only after a security guard found us and informed us that the garden had closed and been locked since our arrival. He was kind and jovially escorted us out when he realized we were really not intentionally being menaces.
Casa de Alentejo is a very special place. The large building which now forms the restaurant was originally a Moorish palace dating back many centuries. Inside the original tiles adorn the many rooms of the house that have become the rooms of the restaurant. This is a restaurant with tremendous ambience. Because it is so unusual the average tourist would have a hard time finding it and if they did I suspect that they wouldn’t know how to navigate through the strange building. We selected a table on the second floor that overlooked the open courtyard of the majestic house. We dove into a nice bottle of wine and ordered a few traditional dishes to share. Once again the chemistry of our friendship blended well and the conversation was enjoyably stimulating and engaging.
Following our late night dinner we headed for a traditional, after-dinner drink in Lisbon called “Ginjinha.” This shot of cherry liquor served with or without cherries is offered at a well-known, walk-up bar in the street. Small groups of friends leisurely stand about outside with their shot glasses enjoying the strong, sweet drink. Music filled the air as the street performers wisely entertained the indulging crowd.
At 1:00am we pondered the thought of ending the night but decided that one more stop would finish the night nicely. Patricia led us to a place where the sound of loud jazz was pouring from the dimly lit, below-ground bar. Concerned about the music deterring us from our conversation, we headed to the back of the bar where the music was a bit more muted. Patricia noticed a door in the back and went to explore. She found a huge garden behind the bar with a few tables and chairs – perfect for such a night. We enjoyed the warm night air and talked and talked until 2:30 in the morning. Nobody knew we were back there.
At last it was time to get to bed. We said our goodbyes standing outside of a taxi in the middle of Lisbon. As with every city, Lisbon has its own unique charm and character. We tapped into some of its magic during our time there. We can’t wait to get back to explore some more. Portugal truly is a wonderful country.
Monday, May 7, 2007
Mother's Day
May 7, 2007
Mother’s Day in Portugal.
Mother’s day in Portugal is celebrated one week earlier than in the United States. I’m not sure of the reasoning for the date and why it is different here but I think the holiday itself has something to do with Mary…the mother of Jesus. Regardless, it was a beautiful day and my family had many unexpected, non-material gifts for me throughout the day.
Mother’s day began dreamily in the spare bedroom of our little house in Sao Lourenco. In fact, my day began quite a few hours later than it usually does as I was sequestered in the quietest space in the house where the cheerful singing of Jenna waking up and the more energetic Marcos barging into the room were safely on the bottom floor. I slept until 9:00am when Marcos finally came into the room to rouse me from my sleep. I was awakened with a hug, a kiss and a four year old’s determination to open the shades “to help me wake up.”
Considering the very comfortable lives we are living while in Portugal there aren’t many other ways to be spoiled. Duarte and I decided to indulge ourselves with a very long bike ride. Our longest ride yet was from Chaves to the next bigger village over called Vidago. Duarte and I have a tendency to get a little lost on these ventures so after climbing two, grueling mountains and scrambling through some thorny brush we made it to our destination three and a half hours later. My legs were screaming and I was happily yearning for a table full of food at Quinta da Mata to satiate my empty stomach.
Back at Quinta da Mata we had a wonderful meal waiting for us as I had hoped and two happy kids playing on the patio. I love such afternoons at Quinta da Mata. The whole family was there just hanging out enjoying good food, drink and conversation. The adults took turns playing with Marcos and Jenna. The patio has four big, granite walls to keep the kids from running off. They spent the entire afternoon kicking the soccer ball and pushing around their toy trucks and tractors.
Along with Lipe and Susana, we took Geninha (Duarte’s mother) out to dinner to one of Geninha’s favorite restaurants “Don Pinto”. The food was excellent as well as the wine. Marcos and Jenna have become friends since our arrival to Portugal. I am not sure if the reasoning is because Marcos has few kids his age to play with or if it is because Jenna is now bigger and more interactive. Regardless, they like each other and it is wonderful to watch from a mother’s point of view. In the restaurant (where people are much more tolerant of children than in the United States) Marcos and Jenna ran around and played and laughed. They seemed like brother and sister for the first time to me today.
After dinner we went to the “Termas” area of Chaves. The Termas area is actually the main reason the city of Chaves was created and in Roman times the city was actually named Aquae Flavius after the hot mineral water spring that bubbles up in the center of the city. This water is known to be healing water. There is a spa in Chaves that utilizes the water exclusively for those in need of healing – a doctor’s prescription is required for admission. Outside of the spa there is a hot water spring where most of the inhabitants of Chaves stop by frequently for a cup of the hot water after a meal. The water is said to aid digestion and heal all kinds of ailments and afflictions. We all went to the spring to have a cup of the sacred water and enjoy the last hours of the day together. The kids ran free while we sat upon the old granite steps and savored the warm night air and a hot cup of water.
After our hot, late night drink, we drove back to Quinta da Mata to drop off Geninha and Filinto. As we were preparing to pull away, Marcos rolled down his window and called his grandfather to the car. When Filinto came back over to the car, Marcos leaned out of the window and squeezed him so tight. There is much love between those two.
The day ended late when we carried two sleeping kids from our car under a sky full of stars. We tucked each of them into their cozy beds and kissed their sweet faces. My mother’s day was filled with glorious moments of love, adventure, family and a little bit of sentimentality. I am grasping tight to these beautiful days. They are some of the best I have ever had.
Mother’s Day in Portugal.
Mother’s day in Portugal is celebrated one week earlier than in the United States. I’m not sure of the reasoning for the date and why it is different here but I think the holiday itself has something to do with Mary…the mother of Jesus. Regardless, it was a beautiful day and my family had many unexpected, non-material gifts for me throughout the day.
Mother’s day began dreamily in the spare bedroom of our little house in Sao Lourenco. In fact, my day began quite a few hours later than it usually does as I was sequestered in the quietest space in the house where the cheerful singing of Jenna waking up and the more energetic Marcos barging into the room were safely on the bottom floor. I slept until 9:00am when Marcos finally came into the room to rouse me from my sleep. I was awakened with a hug, a kiss and a four year old’s determination to open the shades “to help me wake up.”
Considering the very comfortable lives we are living while in Portugal there aren’t many other ways to be spoiled. Duarte and I decided to indulge ourselves with a very long bike ride. Our longest ride yet was from Chaves to the next bigger village over called Vidago. Duarte and I have a tendency to get a little lost on these ventures so after climbing two, grueling mountains and scrambling through some thorny brush we made it to our destination three and a half hours later. My legs were screaming and I was happily yearning for a table full of food at Quinta da Mata to satiate my empty stomach.
Back at Quinta da Mata we had a wonderful meal waiting for us as I had hoped and two happy kids playing on the patio. I love such afternoons at Quinta da Mata. The whole family was there just hanging out enjoying good food, drink and conversation. The adults took turns playing with Marcos and Jenna. The patio has four big, granite walls to keep the kids from running off. They spent the entire afternoon kicking the soccer ball and pushing around their toy trucks and tractors.
Along with Lipe and Susana, we took Geninha (Duarte’s mother) out to dinner to one of Geninha’s favorite restaurants “Don Pinto”. The food was excellent as well as the wine. Marcos and Jenna have become friends since our arrival to Portugal. I am not sure if the reasoning is because Marcos has few kids his age to play with or if it is because Jenna is now bigger and more interactive. Regardless, they like each other and it is wonderful to watch from a mother’s point of view. In the restaurant (where people are much more tolerant of children than in the United States) Marcos and Jenna ran around and played and laughed. They seemed like brother and sister for the first time to me today.
After dinner we went to the “Termas” area of Chaves. The Termas area is actually the main reason the city of Chaves was created and in Roman times the city was actually named Aquae Flavius after the hot mineral water spring that bubbles up in the center of the city. This water is known to be healing water. There is a spa in Chaves that utilizes the water exclusively for those in need of healing – a doctor’s prescription is required for admission. Outside of the spa there is a hot water spring where most of the inhabitants of Chaves stop by frequently for a cup of the hot water after a meal. The water is said to aid digestion and heal all kinds of ailments and afflictions. We all went to the spring to have a cup of the sacred water and enjoy the last hours of the day together. The kids ran free while we sat upon the old granite steps and savored the warm night air and a hot cup of water.
After our hot, late night drink, we drove back to Quinta da Mata to drop off Geninha and Filinto. As we were preparing to pull away, Marcos rolled down his window and called his grandfather to the car. When Filinto came back over to the car, Marcos leaned out of the window and squeezed him so tight. There is much love between those two.
The day ended late when we carried two sleeping kids from our car under a sky full of stars. We tucked each of them into their cozy beds and kissed their sweet faces. My mother’s day was filled with glorious moments of love, adventure, family and a little bit of sentimentality. I am grasping tight to these beautiful days. They are some of the best I have ever had.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Mountain Biking with Emily
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.
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 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?
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