And so we moved to Raleigh.
We found our happy place...a place of good spirit, sunshine, chirping birds, children playing outside, delicious restaurants, culture, fun, great neighbors, diverse people...I can go on and on. The transition has been astounding. It was surprisingly easy and our lives are as different as they can be from State College.
a day in the life of us: I will wake up to the "chirpy, chirpy, chirpy, chirp" of a happy bird in our lush backyard. It's easy to roll out of bed when the cool morning air filled with the aromas of a thousand different flowers breezes into our open windows.
I pull on my running clothes and hit the bike trail. No need for music. I'm filled to the brim with the sounds of birds, the spring colors, my neighbors also exercising. I open myself to the day and feel the incredible potential of the hours until I will again sleep.
The kids will be up or at least Marcos will be. He showers and dresses on his own now. Jenna sneaks into our bed quietly in the early morning and snuggles in for some more sleep until I get home to rouse the troops.
Showers, lunches, breakfast and more. The morning rush is on. Duarte and Marcos will hurry out the door to ride their bikes to school. Of the school year, Marcos has ridden in a car to school maybe 15 times. He is proud of his earth friendly commute. So is Duarte as he continues his own commute to campus.
I get Jenna off to pre-school and I roll into work around 9:00. Teaching this year has been a dream. I've enjoyed the feel of the classroom and the content and the students. I feel I am my best self when I step into a classroom and endeavor to teach even the most reluctant minds.
I'm working part time and so I leave early. At 3:00 I pick up Jenna, drive home and arrive to The Circle (the name of our street). There is always a group of almost 10 kids looking longingly at our car...waiting for Jenna and waiting for Marcos who will soon arrive by bike. Marcos is the unofficial leader of the pack. As soon as he is out, the creativity begins. I've seen it all... bike races, obstacle courses, quidditch matches, baseball, petshops, micro-wars and more. I love that our children can enjoy the freedom to play and to imagine and to develop relationships with a group of children.
As for the adults on the street, well that's another story. We also enjoy our time and freedom and creativity. A 5:00 glass of wine, mojito, or beer generally starts the evening cocktail hour. It isn't uncommon for more neighbors to slowly approach with their own bottles and soon we have an impromptu dinner party, wine gathering or social. The cars driving up and down our street have to fend for themselves as there are wild children and happy adults meandering in and out of the traffic areas.
If it is a dinner party evening, then we gather under the majestic beech tree which serves as a sentry for our home and yard and place in the world. I call the tree "Albus" after Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter. Albus is the tree of life. It's branches are strong and reaching. Life is abundant in it's thick trunk and lush foliage. Food tastes better and wine goes down smoother under it's nurturing branches. Oh, the conversations Albus has absorbed....
Duarte and I, daily, marvel at this new life - so much like a vacation.
We did it, we got it SO right!
Friday, May 20, 2011
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Portugal
May 30, 2010
Chaves, Portugal
This past year has been the hardest and most complicated of my life. In October, Duarte was asked by North Carolina State University to apply for an Associate Professor position in the Parks, Recreation and Tourism Management Department. The idea of leaving our home in State College, PA for a completely new and unknown life sent me into a dizzying spin of confusion and anxiety. Duarte applied with the intention of only exploring other options for us. We decided that if the place and the job didn’t seem right, well, then we wouldn’t have to leave. In the interim between D’s application and the time he was invited to interview (which turned out to be 4 agonizing months), I learned that I had Grave’s Disease - which is an autoimmune disorder that affects my moods, my heart, my hormones, etc. This explained years of anxiety and depression and thus I started working on treating my disease.
In March, everything hit all at once. Duarte interviewed for the position and loved Raleigh and was thrilled with the job. We visited Raleigh as a family and we were all enamored with the small town feel of the big city. It felt like a place where we could be happy and of course the warmer climate was also inviting after a long, cold winter in State College. We zipped back to PA. Duarte accepted the position. The next couple of weeks were a blur of house cleaning, de-cluttering, listing our home for sale, announcing our resignations to our work places and of course searching for a home in Raleigh. It all worked out with our home selling quickly. Finding a home and negotiating a home was a long, tasking process but it is done and we are happy with the home we selected.
It seems impossible that I can sum up such a year in a few sentences. I felt every minute and every second of each decision. I still feel like we have made the right decisions. No regrets. But I am tired. This year took a lot of strength; more than I thought I had.
Now…we are in Portugal and I have never enjoyed time off as much as I’m enjoying my time now. We arrived here on Friday morning with three suitcases filled with clothes. All of our problems – we left behind. Ahhhh… Portugal is beautiful. It smells good, it tastes good, it sounds good. It pleases all of my senses. My kids are happier here then any other place in the world. Duarte and I are strong together now after our year of hardship. Our marriage is solid.
And so I’m letting go of a year of stress. I’ll be drinking, eating, sleeping, laughing and loving life with my family for the next three weeks. A moving truck will arrive in front of our State College home two days after we arrive and thus I’m sure we’ll be jumping into another crazy year of unknowns. And so I choose to live fully in this moment. It is so, so good.
Chaves, Portugal
This past year has been the hardest and most complicated of my life. In October, Duarte was asked by North Carolina State University to apply for an Associate Professor position in the Parks, Recreation and Tourism Management Department. The idea of leaving our home in State College, PA for a completely new and unknown life sent me into a dizzying spin of confusion and anxiety. Duarte applied with the intention of only exploring other options for us. We decided that if the place and the job didn’t seem right, well, then we wouldn’t have to leave. In the interim between D’s application and the time he was invited to interview (which turned out to be 4 agonizing months), I learned that I had Grave’s Disease - which is an autoimmune disorder that affects my moods, my heart, my hormones, etc. This explained years of anxiety and depression and thus I started working on treating my disease.
In March, everything hit all at once. Duarte interviewed for the position and loved Raleigh and was thrilled with the job. We visited Raleigh as a family and we were all enamored with the small town feel of the big city. It felt like a place where we could be happy and of course the warmer climate was also inviting after a long, cold winter in State College. We zipped back to PA. Duarte accepted the position. The next couple of weeks were a blur of house cleaning, de-cluttering, listing our home for sale, announcing our resignations to our work places and of course searching for a home in Raleigh. It all worked out with our home selling quickly. Finding a home and negotiating a home was a long, tasking process but it is done and we are happy with the home we selected.
It seems impossible that I can sum up such a year in a few sentences. I felt every minute and every second of each decision. I still feel like we have made the right decisions. No regrets. But I am tired. This year took a lot of strength; more than I thought I had.
Now…we are in Portugal and I have never enjoyed time off as much as I’m enjoying my time now. We arrived here on Friday morning with three suitcases filled with clothes. All of our problems – we left behind. Ahhhh… Portugal is beautiful. It smells good, it tastes good, it sounds good. It pleases all of my senses. My kids are happier here then any other place in the world. Duarte and I are strong together now after our year of hardship. Our marriage is solid.
And so I’m letting go of a year of stress. I’ll be drinking, eating, sleeping, laughing and loving life with my family for the next three weeks. A moving truck will arrive in front of our State College home two days after we arrive and thus I’m sure we’ll be jumping into another crazy year of unknowns. And so I choose to live fully in this moment. It is so, so good.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Chili Bean Morais
Chili
June 30, 2009
On Saturday after returning from 6 weeks in Portugal, I stopped by my friends’ house to pick up Chili (our dog) where she had been staying while we were away. My friend who just left town mentioned that she thought Chili was sore because she had been limping since the day before. When I arrived to the house, I was surprised by how severely Chili was limping.
I took her home with hope that she was only sore from playing. Groggy and jet lagged, I spent the day on the couch trying to make sense of the local time and place. By the time evening rolled around Chili was in bad shape. Chili was shaking uncontrollably, panting, drooling, loosing hair and unable to move around without a big limp. I was worried. By 10:30pm, I was convinced something serious was wrong. I called a friend to accompany me to the Animal Emergency clinic because my only other experience in such a place resulted in my childhood best dog being put to sleep. In addition, I was so bleary eyed and exhausted, I wasn’t sure I could hold a conversation with the vet.
We were relieved when the doctor dismissed Chili’s ailment as only a pulled muscle. She gave us some painkillers and home we went. On Sunday, Chili was not improving. In fact, I thought she seemed worse. She could no longer put weight on the leg and she was still losing lots of hair and shaking. Chili wouldn’t eat, drink or go to the bathroom. I spent time on the phone with our vet and decided to take her in on Monday for x-rays.
I did my best to ready myself for the likelihood that Chili might not come home from the Veterinary appointment. I could see that she was in a great deal of pain. It was hard to see such a good friend suffering so greatly. I carried her outside to go to the bathroom and when I put her down she collapsed. Instead of returning to work as scheduled, I stayed home and held Chili and spent what I thought might be my last hours with her.
At the vet, the doctor had a difficult time discerning what her ailment might be until he took x-rays. The films revealed severe arthritis that she has likely had her whole life. We saw bone spurs and broken bone spurs. He said there really wasn’t much that could be done for such a bad case of arthritis. He prescribed some heavy-duty drugs and we decided to see how she would do with them.
I brought Chili home and watched her lethargy and her inability to move. I looked into her sad eyes and went over and over in my head how putting her to sleep was the fair and kind thing to do. Of course, it was impossible to truly be at peace with such a decision. I was struggling with this mentally and emotionally. Duarte had been out of touch through all of this and I also felt like I couldn’t make the decision without his input. Chili is his “first child” as well.
My father emailed a few hours later and reminded me that dying is a time for the soul to move on to another place. He encouraged me to hold Chili and love her and let her know she had been a good dog and then tell her it was okay if she wanted to go on. And so I did just that. The words came in gentle tones through tears and sobs. I held my beautiful old dog and remembered some of her best moments. Chili loved to chase sticks and balls, she liked sit up on the front of our raft with her legs hanging over the edge, in the river she likes to ride the currents and catch eddies, Chili is a bed hog dog.
Just as I finished my thoughts and words of love, Chili stood up (which she hadn’t done willingly in 3 days), turned her back to me and then breathed out a defiant “humph.” Well, I thought. This is something. So I got up and gave her a piece of cheese. She had been refusing food for days. Now she enthusiastically gobbled up the cheese. Then I gave her some chicken. She also gobbled this up. I pushed her dog food towards her. Amazingly, she stood up and ate it. She drank her bowl full of water after 3 days of not drinking. She went outside on her own and went to the bathroom!
I left her downstairs when I went up to bed. I was up there for a few minutes when I heard a bark. I went down to see what she needed. Chili pushed past the door that closed her into the kitchen, RAN past me and went all the way up the stairs on her own! Go figure.
Today Chili is excellent. She greeted me with a wag of her tail, she went to the bathroom on her own, ate all of her food and waited impatiently for me to throw her a stick (which I would not do).
And so – Here’ to the Dog who will not die! Our miracle dog! I love you, Chili Bean Morais!
June 30, 2009
On Saturday after returning from 6 weeks in Portugal, I stopped by my friends’ house to pick up Chili (our dog) where she had been staying while we were away. My friend who just left town mentioned that she thought Chili was sore because she had been limping since the day before. When I arrived to the house, I was surprised by how severely Chili was limping.
I took her home with hope that she was only sore from playing. Groggy and jet lagged, I spent the day on the couch trying to make sense of the local time and place. By the time evening rolled around Chili was in bad shape. Chili was shaking uncontrollably, panting, drooling, loosing hair and unable to move around without a big limp. I was worried. By 10:30pm, I was convinced something serious was wrong. I called a friend to accompany me to the Animal Emergency clinic because my only other experience in such a place resulted in my childhood best dog being put to sleep. In addition, I was so bleary eyed and exhausted, I wasn’t sure I could hold a conversation with the vet.
We were relieved when the doctor dismissed Chili’s ailment as only a pulled muscle. She gave us some painkillers and home we went. On Sunday, Chili was not improving. In fact, I thought she seemed worse. She could no longer put weight on the leg and she was still losing lots of hair and shaking. Chili wouldn’t eat, drink or go to the bathroom. I spent time on the phone with our vet and decided to take her in on Monday for x-rays.
I did my best to ready myself for the likelihood that Chili might not come home from the Veterinary appointment. I could see that she was in a great deal of pain. It was hard to see such a good friend suffering so greatly. I carried her outside to go to the bathroom and when I put her down she collapsed. Instead of returning to work as scheduled, I stayed home and held Chili and spent what I thought might be my last hours with her.
At the vet, the doctor had a difficult time discerning what her ailment might be until he took x-rays. The films revealed severe arthritis that she has likely had her whole life. We saw bone spurs and broken bone spurs. He said there really wasn’t much that could be done for such a bad case of arthritis. He prescribed some heavy-duty drugs and we decided to see how she would do with them.
I brought Chili home and watched her lethargy and her inability to move. I looked into her sad eyes and went over and over in my head how putting her to sleep was the fair and kind thing to do. Of course, it was impossible to truly be at peace with such a decision. I was struggling with this mentally and emotionally. Duarte had been out of touch through all of this and I also felt like I couldn’t make the decision without his input. Chili is his “first child” as well.
My father emailed a few hours later and reminded me that dying is a time for the soul to move on to another place. He encouraged me to hold Chili and love her and let her know she had been a good dog and then tell her it was okay if she wanted to go on. And so I did just that. The words came in gentle tones through tears and sobs. I held my beautiful old dog and remembered some of her best moments. Chili loved to chase sticks and balls, she liked sit up on the front of our raft with her legs hanging over the edge, in the river she likes to ride the currents and catch eddies, Chili is a bed hog dog.
Just as I finished my thoughts and words of love, Chili stood up (which she hadn’t done willingly in 3 days), turned her back to me and then breathed out a defiant “humph.” Well, I thought. This is something. So I got up and gave her a piece of cheese. She had been refusing food for days. Now she enthusiastically gobbled up the cheese. Then I gave her some chicken. She also gobbled this up. I pushed her dog food towards her. Amazingly, she stood up and ate it. She drank her bowl full of water after 3 days of not drinking. She went outside on her own and went to the bathroom!
I left her downstairs when I went up to bed. I was up there for a few minutes when I heard a bark. I went down to see what she needed. Chili pushed past the door that closed her into the kitchen, RAN past me and went all the way up the stairs on her own! Go figure.
Today Chili is excellent. She greeted me with a wag of her tail, she went to the bathroom on her own, ate all of her food and waited impatiently for me to throw her a stick (which I would not do).
And so – Here’ to the Dog who will not die! Our miracle dog! I love you, Chili Bean Morais!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Home
Home at last
June 27, 2009
What a journey it is to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Airplanes make travelling easier and faster but I feel worlds away from Portugal now.
Bad airplane food, expensive drinks, fast food, loud Americans all welcomed me back to the land of plenty. I’m in America – the new world. It is a fast, clean society that focuses too much on work and too little on people.
I’m dazed and confused being back here. Of course everything is familiar and comfortable. It is nice to know exactly how to speak and move about while I’m out among the public. It’s so easy and I can do it all on my own. I’m glad for the new (but short-lived, I’m sure) perspective travel has given me. My house seems bigger and cleaner. My movements feel assured. My relationships with friends are truly appreciated. My American life overall seems more interesting than it ordinarily does. But being here contrasts so sharply with Portugal that it is difficult to even really consider one life while living in the other.
I woke up early this morning due to the difference in time. The first thing I did was call Quinta da Mata to check on the kids. Filinto answered the phone and we spoke a little bit. This was a first time occurrence for he and I. Speaking Portuguese on the phone has been challenging for me over the years as I’m unable to use body language to support my poorly pronounced words. We finished our genial exchange and then Filinto passed the phone to Geninha. Suddenly I couldn’t speak at all. This time my inability to speak was due to my feelings of longing. Upon hearing her voice, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t make the words squeeze through the tightening of my throat. I miss them.
I went out for an early morning run today and even this challenged me culturally a little bit. When I run it Portugal I head out to run among a culture who views me as an oddity. They see an athletic woman wearing a baseball cap and shorts running through their community. I am the only person who does this, I am certain. There are not other woman runners who run pass their houses or who run pass the shepherds and their sheep on the mountain. To make things more interesting for the people I pass, I always call out “Bom Dia!” (good morning). This is the typical greeting Portuguese exchange anytime before lunch. I am very adamant about this greeting as I want them to relax when they see me and I want to be familiar those people I see regulary. Today on my run I passed a number of people out for morning exercise and over and over again I called out “Bom Dia!” I could not change my greeting as it has been programmed so well into my head. The people I passed were a little puzzled but less so than those whom I pass in Chaves, I’m sure.
I could go on and on with all of the small things I’m marveling over – for better or for worse. Here are a few…
My dog is INSIDE the house with me.
Our tap water tastes really bad.
I can take a shower instead of a bath.
No one is staring at me while I grocery shop.
Food is expensive.
I don’t have any desire to eat American food. I may starve until Duarte gets home.
I have the freedom to open my computer without imposing on anyone.
It’s humid here.
The roads are all made of asphalt - which is much smoother but less interesting than granite roads.
I have my own cell phone.
I can talk and listen and express myself.
I loved catching up with my friend yesterday. She helped me process a little of what I experienced. It’s not healthy to live without friends.
I was able to get a haircut today and explain in detail to the best hairdresser in the world what I wanted to have done. He understood me.
There is not a swimming pool in my back yard.
Air conditioning feels artificial and cold.
There is not enough (or any) wine in my body.
I miss soup and olives.
I don’t have to hug or kiss anyone I greet.
I have time to myself.
I have to cook, clean and work.
I have more than 4 outfits from which to choose my clothes.
The dollar is worth a dollar.
I’m not full….but I’m really hungry.
I went to bed at 9:00 p.m. last night.
There are no church bells.
I need an espresso and there are none of any quality that I’m aware of in State College.
My shoes do not have animal poop on them.
Part of my heart was left behind in Portugal. It hurts.
June 27, 2009
What a journey it is to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Airplanes make travelling easier and faster but I feel worlds away from Portugal now.
Bad airplane food, expensive drinks, fast food, loud Americans all welcomed me back to the land of plenty. I’m in America – the new world. It is a fast, clean society that focuses too much on work and too little on people.
I’m dazed and confused being back here. Of course everything is familiar and comfortable. It is nice to know exactly how to speak and move about while I’m out among the public. It’s so easy and I can do it all on my own. I’m glad for the new (but short-lived, I’m sure) perspective travel has given me. My house seems bigger and cleaner. My movements feel assured. My relationships with friends are truly appreciated. My American life overall seems more interesting than it ordinarily does. But being here contrasts so sharply with Portugal that it is difficult to even really consider one life while living in the other.
I woke up early this morning due to the difference in time. The first thing I did was call Quinta da Mata to check on the kids. Filinto answered the phone and we spoke a little bit. This was a first time occurrence for he and I. Speaking Portuguese on the phone has been challenging for me over the years as I’m unable to use body language to support my poorly pronounced words. We finished our genial exchange and then Filinto passed the phone to Geninha. Suddenly I couldn’t speak at all. This time my inability to speak was due to my feelings of longing. Upon hearing her voice, my eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t make the words squeeze through the tightening of my throat. I miss them.
I went out for an early morning run today and even this challenged me culturally a little bit. When I run it Portugal I head out to run among a culture who views me as an oddity. They see an athletic woman wearing a baseball cap and shorts running through their community. I am the only person who does this, I am certain. There are not other woman runners who run pass their houses or who run pass the shepherds and their sheep on the mountain. To make things more interesting for the people I pass, I always call out “Bom Dia!” (good morning). This is the typical greeting Portuguese exchange anytime before lunch. I am very adamant about this greeting as I want them to relax when they see me and I want to be familiar those people I see regulary. Today on my run I passed a number of people out for morning exercise and over and over again I called out “Bom Dia!” I could not change my greeting as it has been programmed so well into my head. The people I passed were a little puzzled but less so than those whom I pass in Chaves, I’m sure.
I could go on and on with all of the small things I’m marveling over – for better or for worse. Here are a few…
My dog is INSIDE the house with me.
Our tap water tastes really bad.
I can take a shower instead of a bath.
No one is staring at me while I grocery shop.
Food is expensive.
I don’t have any desire to eat American food. I may starve until Duarte gets home.
I have the freedom to open my computer without imposing on anyone.
It’s humid here.
The roads are all made of asphalt - which is much smoother but less interesting than granite roads.
I have my own cell phone.
I can talk and listen and express myself.
I loved catching up with my friend yesterday. She helped me process a little of what I experienced. It’s not healthy to live without friends.
I was able to get a haircut today and explain in detail to the best hairdresser in the world what I wanted to have done. He understood me.
There is not a swimming pool in my back yard.
Air conditioning feels artificial and cold.
There is not enough (or any) wine in my body.
I miss soup and olives.
I don’t have to hug or kiss anyone I greet.
I have time to myself.
I have to cook, clean and work.
I have more than 4 outfits from which to choose my clothes.
The dollar is worth a dollar.
I’m not full….but I’m really hungry.
I went to bed at 9:00 p.m. last night.
There are no church bells.
I need an espresso and there are none of any quality that I’m aware of in State College.
My shoes do not have animal poop on them.
Part of my heart was left behind in Portugal. It hurts.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Saudades
Saudades
June 26, 2009
Lisboa aeroporto
“Saudades” is a word the Portuguese use to express a longing for something or someone left behind. I have saudades for Portugal already.
Duarte dropped me off at the airport in Porto early this morning. I had mixed feelings about leaving as I felt ready to be home but not ready to leave Duarte and the kids behind for a week. And certainly not ready to leave such a good life behind. Portugal is a special place for me. It is my husband’s homeland. It is my family’s happy place. It is where my soul is fed what it needs.
Now I have time to sit and think in the Lisbon airport before boarding my flight to Philadelphia. I have found a sunny spot in an outside café in the exact place where Duarte and I waited to meet Geninha, Filinto and the kids after our trip to Madeira. My heart aches for Duarte and for the kids and with the memories of the expectation I felt that day as we met and then left for the beach for a week. I thought that I craved time alone after 6 intense weeks with my family surrounding me. Now I feel too alone and I desire their company, their love. I wish Duarte were here to plan another adventure that would push me to my limit once again. I really miss him.
He’s not here. It’s time to go home.
I’m speaking better Portuguese now. I can hear it. I can have a conversation. I can ride my mountain bike for hours and hours and because of this I’ve seen the tucked in life that most travelers can’t see. I know some of the smaller details about this culture. It is becoming my own. I have a Portuguese family who loves me very, very much. I am the luckiest woman alive.
How do I re-enter my American life after such an experience? How do I sit behind my desk or among my peers and just be my normal self again? I’ve been further seasoned by the difficulties and the adventure of travel, by the gifts from the rich culture and from my time away from the mundane. I am better for the experience. I just don’t want to go home. There is much to think about and to process.
Tenho saudades. This division of cultures is confusing. 6 weeks in Portugal is a long time but 10 months in American is a long time too.
Enough psychology. I need to go catch my plane and fly away. Damn it.
Txau.
June 26, 2009
Lisboa aeroporto
“Saudades” is a word the Portuguese use to express a longing for something or someone left behind. I have saudades for Portugal already.
Duarte dropped me off at the airport in Porto early this morning. I had mixed feelings about leaving as I felt ready to be home but not ready to leave Duarte and the kids behind for a week. And certainly not ready to leave such a good life behind. Portugal is a special place for me. It is my husband’s homeland. It is my family’s happy place. It is where my soul is fed what it needs.
Now I have time to sit and think in the Lisbon airport before boarding my flight to Philadelphia. I have found a sunny spot in an outside café in the exact place where Duarte and I waited to meet Geninha, Filinto and the kids after our trip to Madeira. My heart aches for Duarte and for the kids and with the memories of the expectation I felt that day as we met and then left for the beach for a week. I thought that I craved time alone after 6 intense weeks with my family surrounding me. Now I feel too alone and I desire their company, their love. I wish Duarte were here to plan another adventure that would push me to my limit once again. I really miss him.
He’s not here. It’s time to go home.
I’m speaking better Portuguese now. I can hear it. I can have a conversation. I can ride my mountain bike for hours and hours and because of this I’ve seen the tucked in life that most travelers can’t see. I know some of the smaller details about this culture. It is becoming my own. I have a Portuguese family who loves me very, very much. I am the luckiest woman alive.
How do I re-enter my American life after such an experience? How do I sit behind my desk or among my peers and just be my normal self again? I’ve been further seasoned by the difficulties and the adventure of travel, by the gifts from the rich culture and from my time away from the mundane. I am better for the experience. I just don’t want to go home. There is much to think about and to process.
Tenho saudades. This division of cultures is confusing. 6 weeks in Portugal is a long time but 10 months in American is a long time too.
Enough psychology. I need to go catch my plane and fly away. Damn it.
Txau.
Sao Joao
Sao Joao
Porto
June 2009
I hit over 3000 people on the head with a hammer during the Festa de Sao Joao in Porto on Tuesday night. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun! Since I have known Duarte, he has told me about this festival and he has always been disappointed that we have scheduled our flights to leave Portugal a couple of days before this celebration. This year we timed everything right and enjoyed an incredible night of laughter, celebration, friendship, drinks and discovery.
I know little about who Sao Joao (Saint John) was and why he is so celebrated but I do know that the summer months are a time when Portuguese celebrate their local saints. Each village or city has a saint that protects their region. Sao Joao apparently is the saint protecting Porto. The celebration is historic and part of the celebration involves tapping people on the head with a long garlic flower. Since thousands travel to Porto for this celebration, the flowers have evolved into plastic hammers with accordion ends that squeak when tapped. Therefore there are thousands of people celebrating in the streets of Porto tapping each other on the head with hammers. There are sardines being roasted on small grills throughout all of the streets so the air smells like sardines. The night was alive with squeaks and laughter and eating and drinking.
Our celebration began at Duarte’s uncle’s house in Porto. Lisa and Alex (friends we met in State College who now live in Madrid) and their kids joined us. We had a magnificent dinner and drinks in the garden while the kids ran around after each other. Then we left at 11:00pm to join the party. Ceu stayed at the house and watched the kids.
We took the metro to the Ribiera area of Porto where the heart of the party takes place. We purchased our hammers and of we went to tap people on the heads. I could not have guessed how much fun it would be to do this. I laughed as hard as I have ever laughed. It was totally fine to tap people on the head AND it was what you are supposed to do. Oh, I loved the endearing expressions on the many faces I tapped. It felt so friendly. It felt like I made so many people smile and there was an intimate connection with everyone there.
We converged on the Ribiera where we somehow made it front row to the
“Brittany Spears of Portugal.” We danced and laughed and of course tapped people on the head. Soon after, an amazing spectacle of fireworks took place over the river. It was a fantastic show. We walked up through the old, twisting streets of Porto after the fireworks and found a small bar tucked in among the little houses. We drank caiperinhas and settled in for a while not even thinking about the hour. Duarte hung out outside with the local men grilling sardines and Lisa and I caught up – enjoying such a night out.
Before we knew it, it was 3:00a.m. and we still had a way to travel before we were home. We passed through the crowds celebrating and lifting paper hot air balloons into the air. We laughed and danced and continued to tap people on the head. At 4:00 a.m. we were finally in bed still giggling from the night. It was a night to remember and certainly it could not be easily have been forgotten as our children were up at 7:00 a.m. ready to play the very same morning.
A Festa de Sao Joao fui muito bom! Eu quiero ir otra vez.
Porto
June 2009
I hit over 3000 people on the head with a hammer during the Festa de Sao Joao in Porto on Tuesday night. I don’t know that I have ever had so much fun! Since I have known Duarte, he has told me about this festival and he has always been disappointed that we have scheduled our flights to leave Portugal a couple of days before this celebration. This year we timed everything right and enjoyed an incredible night of laughter, celebration, friendship, drinks and discovery.
I know little about who Sao Joao (Saint John) was and why he is so celebrated but I do know that the summer months are a time when Portuguese celebrate their local saints. Each village or city has a saint that protects their region. Sao Joao apparently is the saint protecting Porto. The celebration is historic and part of the celebration involves tapping people on the head with a long garlic flower. Since thousands travel to Porto for this celebration, the flowers have evolved into plastic hammers with accordion ends that squeak when tapped. Therefore there are thousands of people celebrating in the streets of Porto tapping each other on the head with hammers. There are sardines being roasted on small grills throughout all of the streets so the air smells like sardines. The night was alive with squeaks and laughter and eating and drinking.
Our celebration began at Duarte’s uncle’s house in Porto. Lisa and Alex (friends we met in State College who now live in Madrid) and their kids joined us. We had a magnificent dinner and drinks in the garden while the kids ran around after each other. Then we left at 11:00pm to join the party. Ceu stayed at the house and watched the kids.
We took the metro to the Ribiera area of Porto where the heart of the party takes place. We purchased our hammers and of we went to tap people on the heads. I could not have guessed how much fun it would be to do this. I laughed as hard as I have ever laughed. It was totally fine to tap people on the head AND it was what you are supposed to do. Oh, I loved the endearing expressions on the many faces I tapped. It felt so friendly. It felt like I made so many people smile and there was an intimate connection with everyone there.
We converged on the Ribiera where we somehow made it front row to the
“Brittany Spears of Portugal.” We danced and laughed and of course tapped people on the head. Soon after, an amazing spectacle of fireworks took place over the river. It was a fantastic show. We walked up through the old, twisting streets of Porto after the fireworks and found a small bar tucked in among the little houses. We drank caiperinhas and settled in for a while not even thinking about the hour. Duarte hung out outside with the local men grilling sardines and Lisa and I caught up – enjoying such a night out.
Before we knew it, it was 3:00a.m. and we still had a way to travel before we were home. We passed through the crowds celebrating and lifting paper hot air balloons into the air. We laughed and danced and continued to tap people on the head. At 4:00 a.m. we were finally in bed still giggling from the night. It was a night to remember and certainly it could not be easily have been forgotten as our children were up at 7:00 a.m. ready to play the very same morning.
A Festa de Sao Joao fui muito bom! Eu quiero ir otra vez.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Bike Races
Bike Races
June 19, 2009
On our second day in Portugal, we signed up for a 25 km mountain bike race in Chaves. We are not typically competitors in any kind of race except the annual Red Mo canoe race in central PA and another kayak race Duarte enjoys at the Cheat River. Our reasoning really was to try something different and to be around others with similar interests.
The race itself turned out to be more fun than we anticipated. The starting point was in the center of downtown Chaves early on a chilly, foggy morning. We arrived to see 200 mountain bikers completely decked out in spandex with some pretty elaborate mountain bikes. There were very few women in the crowd –less than 10 to be certain. This really wasn’t surprising in this patriarchal society where mountain biking and even exercising has only recently become a trend but it was disappointing nonetheless.
We took off with the crowd with an excited start. The course raced through Chaves on its brand new cyclovia that snakes all around town. Passing was aggressive and difficult on the path packed full of bikers. Being a women in this race made me feel tough and strong. The men didn’t like being passed by a woman. I was competing against a lot of testosterone and yet I was stronger than many of the men competing. About half way through the race Duarte said that I would likely be the first woman to finish. What a surge that idea sent through me. I loved the idea that I could be a leader or a role model to the kids and mothers watching on the side. I loved the idea that in this small town, I would be known as a tough woman who could keep up and even ride better than the men. I powered on through the mountain section of the route even faster with these thoughts.
Despite my determination, I really needed to pee. Duarte was aware of this but what could we do? We kept on pedaling and passing some of the other bikers who were becoming weary. On a steep ascent Duarte passed some bikes on the left and I passed the same bikes on the right. Each of us was unaware that the other had done so. I assumed Duarte was behind me so I kept pedaling. Duarte assumed I was behind him so he stopped and waited thinking I must have stopped to pee. Eventually I realized he wasn’t with me or even in sight. So I turned my bike around and went looking for him. After 10 or 15 minutes apart we reunited to learn our mistake. How frustrating! We took off determined to make up time.
We passed a few of the people who gained on us and we started to feel better about our mistake. With this peace of mind, I did finally stop to pee this time with Duarte nearby. We pedaled towards the end of the race and realized we didn’t know where the course ended. One, two, three, four, five times around the roundabout before we finally figured it out. This mistake cost us even more time.
In the end we finished 15th and 16th. I was the first female finisher. I was so proud of us but also disappointed that our mistakes cost us an even better position. We sort of caught the competitive bug and decided we would register for even more races if the opportunity were to arise.
Indeed, we did register for another race. This time it was to be a three-hour, pairs, endurance race to begin at 9:00pm on a hot summer night (last night) and to end at midnight. We decked out our bikes with lights and prepared for what we thought would be a race similar to the first one we competed in. We were wrong. We arrived to the exact same starting place – this time the square was filled to the brim with masculinity, testosterone and competitiveness. Both of us realized we were way out of our league. Not only was the competition steep but there was only one other woman among the crowd! Admittedly, I was intimidated.
We did a reconnaissance lap and found the route to be fast and challenging. The route was 6 km through the city that had been closed off completely to cars so we could race up and down the old streets of Chaves. It was a beautiful route and it was dark and it had some tough turns and steep hills. Each lap took about 15 minutes to complete. Duarte and I would alternate – each taking a lap on the route. We had to tap the other to start the next lap – relay style. We were competing again the other woman and her partner as they were the only other “mixed pair.”
For three hours, Duarte and I alternated routes around the dark city. We didn’t talk at all as we individually raced to the meeting point and off the other would go. I liked pushing myself hard but found the race disappointing with so much machismo around me. The men absolutely could not tolerate me passing them. I passed many on a hill or on a long flat section and then – always- they would push themselves past me just as we came into public view at the meeting point. I did like that the spectators noticed me as one of two women and called out encouragement each time I passed.
We finished well and with only two mixed pair teams we had some prize money to collect. It turned out that in the long three-hour race, we were only 45 seconds behind the other team. It was a well-matched dual. They won $100 Euros and Duarte and I won $75. We were given a giant, cardboard check by the city’s mayor during the closing ceremony. This covered our entrance fee and all the gadgets we put on our bikes. We broke even.
We drove home at 2:30 a.m. Our bodies were exhausted, our lungs were filled with dust and were burning, our minds were racing. We talked until 3:30 a.m. catching up on the differences and similarities in each other’s race. Not surprisingly, Duarte and I had totally different experiences. It was a great and memorable evening but we finished our conversation resolving never to enter such a race again.
June 19, 2009
On our second day in Portugal, we signed up for a 25 km mountain bike race in Chaves. We are not typically competitors in any kind of race except the annual Red Mo canoe race in central PA and another kayak race Duarte enjoys at the Cheat River. Our reasoning really was to try something different and to be around others with similar interests.
The race itself turned out to be more fun than we anticipated. The starting point was in the center of downtown Chaves early on a chilly, foggy morning. We arrived to see 200 mountain bikers completely decked out in spandex with some pretty elaborate mountain bikes. There were very few women in the crowd –less than 10 to be certain. This really wasn’t surprising in this patriarchal society where mountain biking and even exercising has only recently become a trend but it was disappointing nonetheless.
We took off with the crowd with an excited start. The course raced through Chaves on its brand new cyclovia that snakes all around town. Passing was aggressive and difficult on the path packed full of bikers. Being a women in this race made me feel tough and strong. The men didn’t like being passed by a woman. I was competing against a lot of testosterone and yet I was stronger than many of the men competing. About half way through the race Duarte said that I would likely be the first woman to finish. What a surge that idea sent through me. I loved the idea that I could be a leader or a role model to the kids and mothers watching on the side. I loved the idea that in this small town, I would be known as a tough woman who could keep up and even ride better than the men. I powered on through the mountain section of the route even faster with these thoughts.
Despite my determination, I really needed to pee. Duarte was aware of this but what could we do? We kept on pedaling and passing some of the other bikers who were becoming weary. On a steep ascent Duarte passed some bikes on the left and I passed the same bikes on the right. Each of us was unaware that the other had done so. I assumed Duarte was behind me so I kept pedaling. Duarte assumed I was behind him so he stopped and waited thinking I must have stopped to pee. Eventually I realized he wasn’t with me or even in sight. So I turned my bike around and went looking for him. After 10 or 15 minutes apart we reunited to learn our mistake. How frustrating! We took off determined to make up time.
We passed a few of the people who gained on us and we started to feel better about our mistake. With this peace of mind, I did finally stop to pee this time with Duarte nearby. We pedaled towards the end of the race and realized we didn’t know where the course ended. One, two, three, four, five times around the roundabout before we finally figured it out. This mistake cost us even more time.
In the end we finished 15th and 16th. I was the first female finisher. I was so proud of us but also disappointed that our mistakes cost us an even better position. We sort of caught the competitive bug and decided we would register for even more races if the opportunity were to arise.
Indeed, we did register for another race. This time it was to be a three-hour, pairs, endurance race to begin at 9:00pm on a hot summer night (last night) and to end at midnight. We decked out our bikes with lights and prepared for what we thought would be a race similar to the first one we competed in. We were wrong. We arrived to the exact same starting place – this time the square was filled to the brim with masculinity, testosterone and competitiveness. Both of us realized we were way out of our league. Not only was the competition steep but there was only one other woman among the crowd! Admittedly, I was intimidated.
We did a reconnaissance lap and found the route to be fast and challenging. The route was 6 km through the city that had been closed off completely to cars so we could race up and down the old streets of Chaves. It was a beautiful route and it was dark and it had some tough turns and steep hills. Each lap took about 15 minutes to complete. Duarte and I would alternate – each taking a lap on the route. We had to tap the other to start the next lap – relay style. We were competing again the other woman and her partner as they were the only other “mixed pair.”
For three hours, Duarte and I alternated routes around the dark city. We didn’t talk at all as we individually raced to the meeting point and off the other would go. I liked pushing myself hard but found the race disappointing with so much machismo around me. The men absolutely could not tolerate me passing them. I passed many on a hill or on a long flat section and then – always- they would push themselves past me just as we came into public view at the meeting point. I did like that the spectators noticed me as one of two women and called out encouragement each time I passed.
We finished well and with only two mixed pair teams we had some prize money to collect. It turned out that in the long three-hour race, we were only 45 seconds behind the other team. It was a well-matched dual. They won $100 Euros and Duarte and I won $75. We were given a giant, cardboard check by the city’s mayor during the closing ceremony. This covered our entrance fee and all the gadgets we put on our bikes. We broke even.
We drove home at 2:30 a.m. Our bodies were exhausted, our lungs were filled with dust and were burning, our minds were racing. We talked until 3:30 a.m. catching up on the differences and similarities in each other’s race. Not surprisingly, Duarte and I had totally different experiences. It was a great and memorable evening but we finished our conversation resolving never to enter such a race again.
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