I've been duped

I’ve been duped. Madeira, Portugal
May 24, 2009


I'm sitting in an open cafe in Madeira, Portugal. It's a bustling Sunday morning and I'm listening to the clang of church bells and the sounds of tourists breakfasting at tables beside ours. Duarte, Lipe and I are visiting Madeira for a long weekend without the kids. It is an odd thing to suddenly be on vacation and to know so little about the place where I'm visiting. Lipe has set up the entire weekend and I'm along for the ride. So, when I heard we were going to a tropical island way out in the Atlantic ocean - “an island like Hawaii” Duarte and Lipe said, I packed my bathing suit, a paperback and some shorts. I was duped.

Yes, this is an island like Hawaii. It’s very tropical with many banana plantations, black stones, volcanic peaks and EVERYTHING is on an incline... up, up up or down, down, down. But this is not a place to lounge on the beach. There really aren’t any beaches as the island is so rocky and steep. This is an island where people come to hike. Hike! Who goes on vacation to hike? Imagine my surprise.

Yesterday, after a winding drive up, around and through the mountain, I found myself at the highest elevation on the island away from the warmth, sunshine and blue skies in cotton shorts and a synthetic t-shirt. It was about 40 degrees and we were up in the clouds - no sun to be seen. We hiked through lush forests with about 500 other tourists to some pretty incredible waterfalls. Though the scenery truly was remarkable - the tourists were a big turn off for me.

Our hunger was great after 5 hours of hiking and so we sought a nice meal. We drove to a fishing village and had dinner on an outdoor patio overlooking the ocean. We ate “caco” bread and I enjoyed a meal of swordfish with bananas and “ponchas” and “nikitas” to drink. The meal was perfectly satisfying and I anticipated the day being over until we got a phone call. A friend of LIpe’s invited us over for dinner! Lipe wasn’t truthful and told him we hadn’t eaten because he didn’t want to offend the friend. So the next thing I know, we were sitting down for another huge Portuguese meal. It is offensive to hosts in this culture to refuse anything and to not take second helpings. As I mounded up my plate, I cursed Lipe for his deception. We waddled out of their ocean-view apartment around 1:00am. - filled to the top with food and wine.

Today the plan is to hike once again. Apparently today’s hike will be “very exposed.” I’m concerned about this as yesterday’s hike did not have this demarcation and there were times when the path was only 2.5 feet wide with a drop off so steep, I could not see the ground below (guard rails are “not typical.”) Keeping up with these adventurous Portuguese men has proven to be more than I bargained for. I’ll let you know how I fare today. I’m certain there will be some stories to tell.

Later…

Yes, I have a story to tell, damn it. Thirty minutes into our hike today, I realized that my overwhelming sense of vertigo was not to allow me to complete the planned 3- hour hike. This hike consisted of a 3 feet wide path with a light wire “guard rail” on either side. This flimsy guardrail was all that stood between the hiker and depths too far below for me to glimpse or fathom. I promptly bailed on the boys and decided to try my luck driving on this ridiculously steep island. I don’t know what was more risky the hike or the drive.

Lipe compassionately insisted that the drive would be easy and that I could “just meet them at the other peak” where they were hiking. He said – “just get in the car, go left at the first intersection and then look for signs”. He also said that the drive would take an hour and a half. Have you ever jumped in a car turned left and then seen a sign that points to your destination when the destination is over an hour away? Once again, I realized, I had been duped.

Lipe has a Portuguese speaking GPS navigation system for driving. Thinking I was being so crafty, I tampered with her to find the British speaker named Anna. Anna (aka: Matilda, dad!) and I quickly became enemies. She is a know it all who will not divulge information when I need it, nor is she trustworthy and she doesn’t tell me when I am wrong. I hate Anna. It would be hard to go into precise detail of all that occurred during the 2 hours Anna and I were together. I will say that I circled a little village more than 14 times before I gave up and cried. Also, I drove up an incline so steep it would have been better to have used a ladder and when I was half way up this hill (in first gear) another car came down the opposite way and I had to BACK UP!!!! F$%& Anna!

I’m now on the balcony of our hotel room hoping the acid reflux I experienced during my outing will soon go away. I called Duarte and Lipe and told them they were on their own for getting home. I wonder if they will make it back today? I wonder if I care?

For now, I’ll drink my beer, look out at the ocean and be so grateful for a peaceful moment in this ridiculous “vacation.”

A Very Good Day

Tuesday, April 18, 2009
To stay up into the wee hours of a new day with loved ones and watch from our very own window the last bit of light fade from the sky is a rare and treasured occurrence. Lipe joined us after we put the kids to bed for a night of pondering the meaning of life while sipping aguardente and musing over the perfection of that exact moment in time.

And so the day began and further opened to even more incredible moments that I want to remember and savor.

Duarte and I escaped for a few hours on our mountain bikes. We explored the ancient landscape and looked out upon spring all around us. The hills were alive with birds singing and flowers blooming, water trickling and fresh green meadows as far as the eye could see. The fragrance of lavender filled the air as our pedals brushed the purple flowers along the old, gravel road.

Being true to our way of exploring, we found ourselves lost on an old path off a more well-traveled road. Instead of turning around, we pressed forward and carried our bikes to the top of the hill. From above we looked down upon a field of tall, green grass swaying with the breeze. Within the grass were pockets of white chamomile flowers. We rode down through the shoulder high grass. I laughed with the swimming feeling I was experiencing. The grass gently brushed my legs, my arms and my body and the air was filled with the calming scent of chamomile. I couldn’t tell where my tires were going and just held on with a bit of adrenaline pulsing through my body.

After a deliciously hearty lunch at Quinta da Mata, Geninha and I took Jenna shopping. Jenna likes clothes and she likes shoes and she liked just about everything in the store. Her adoring grandmother indulged her with whatever her little heart desired and we walked out of the store with an entirely new wardrobe for Jenna who is only three years old. She looked pretty good in her white sunglasses, soft cotton – “gypsy” dress and her pink Hello Kitty shoes.

Just before dinner we stood in the driveway in front of Quinta da Mata. The sheep had come in as they normally do towards the end of the day. Duarte and his father were talking and I was watching Marcos and Jenna wrestle in the grass. I looked up and noticed 6 young sheep frolicking up and down the hill. They looked like dogs as they chased each other with youthful vigor. It was incredible to watch the silly sheep play so carelessly while their boring elders scrambled to eat a few more bites of grass before going to bed.

After dinner, Filinto walked up the hill to put the sheep into the barn for the night. Marcos ran out after him and they walked hand in hand to the barn to accomplish their task. My heart filled with love for this incredible life our children get to live and experience.

Portugal reminds me to slow down and open my senses and enjoy a day and all of its gifts. Today I felt the love of my family, I smelled the fragrance of wildflowers, I was touched by long, soft grass swaying in the breeze, and the music of a thousand birds filled my ears. I lived this day well. And now I’ll descend our spiral staircase to our dark little bedroom and count the church bells until my eyes will no longer stay open. Ate mana.

A Better Place

April 17, 2009

Arriving in Portugal this time has felt extraordinarily different from the many other times we have arrived in Portugal. Walking into Quinta da Mata was like walking into my own home. It felt so familiar and pleasant. Instantly I felt the love of home and the smell of an old place and I knew there would be many good days ahead.

What has changed is me. Another year has passed with it trial and tribulations. Our every day battle for balance and peace is puzzling as we find it here so readily. Duarte and I are frequently at odds with one another at home, there are so many things to be done, and the kids have needs. In Portugal, all of this dissipates and we become very different people - Happier, more agreeable people.

Duarte and I are enjoying laughter and easy conversation. We hop on our bikes and travel over the varied landscape and talk and talk without any tension whatsoever. Marcos and Jenna are free and independent. Marcos KNOWS Quinta da Mata. He is the master of his own big world here. He can hike about the farm, pick cherries from the trees, catch big air on his own bicycle ramps and cuddle up in a chair with his dog “Bella.” Jenna finally seems old enough to be a kid here. She and her grandfather hike up to the chicken cages and gather warm eggs from the chickens. Her eyes twinkle from this experience. She is so happy.

My heart is full of love and peace and balance. Portugal is good for my soul. I’m very glad to be here.

2 days remaining

2 days remaining.
June 18, 2008

Two days remaining. Everyone feels the time as its passing grips our hearts. We arrived to the breakfast table this morning to find Geninha’s eyes red and swollen from crying. She watches Jenna closely – memorizing every detail of her precious granddaughter. Filinto has let work go to play soccer with Marcos or to take him for an ice cream or to play in the pool. Duarte also seems to be feeling the tugging of his heart strings. He will be leaving his mother, his father, his brother and his homeland. His eyes tear easily- which is unusual for me to see. And how can I not feel anything? I feel it all because my senses are more aware. I hurt for everyone. OUr kids are so happy here – we are all so happy here. We will be leaving much behind. This is a place full of love. How fortunate we are – but, oh, how it hurts to say goodbye.

The Smell of Portugal

6/14/2008

Morning
Damp rock, dew on green grass, damp earth, manure

Late morning
Mint, wild roses, lunches being prepared

Afternoon
Hot earth, dusty rocks, dry grass. Lavender,

Evening
Sweet chamomile flowers, green grass, cool rocks

Nighttime
Wine on the end of a cork, Cool air, grass, blossoms, fresh ironed sheets that have been dried in the sun.

6 weeks

June 10, 2008

Our 6 weeks in Portugal are nearing completion. We have 9-days left. How did it pass so quickly?

It seems that it takes too long to slow ourselves down enough when we arrive to Portugal. Our grumpy, complex lives in State College remain with us until mid-stay and then as we realize the time is passing we grasp tightly the hours we still have. We’ve had wonderful days but it is only now that I am remembering to savor each moment. Life is moving fast.

The first week: mountain biking, cold, rain, EATING, feira, time catching up with family, listening to the church bells and remembering really special times from the year before.

Week 2: A beautiful week on the Alentejo coast of Portugal, a visit from my mom, surfing, kayaking, touring, playing with the kids, EATING, a day in Lisbon, a ferry ride

Week 3: Back to Chaves and to Quinta da Mata, mountain biking, swimming, playing with the kids, still too damn cold and rainy, EATING, a date, an afternoon at the circus

Week 4: getting bored, EATING, playing with the kids, hey, the sun is out, it’s warm,
swimming, mountain biking, exploring, a beautiful hike, a visit to Lisbon, laying by the pool and reading a book, a day trip to the beach

Week 5: A funky haircut, visits from friends from State College, feira, touring, touring, touring, drinking, touring, EATING, not exercising, laughing, celebrating our anniversary, causing a lot of conflict in our village because we put in a window, and hey, I think I understand about 80% of what people are saying around me. Could it be that I am learning Portuguese?

Week 6: my plan is to EAT well and savor the wonderful food that someone else has cooked, mountain bike for 3 hours each day, play with my children, drink good wine, watch sunsets from our new window, catch-up with my much missed ex-sister-in-law, enjoy family and breathe easy.

And at this very moment, I am gazing at the orange glow, from the sun that set hours ago, above the mountains far across the valley. I have a glass of fine port wine beside me. My children are asleep after another very full day of play. Duarte is enjoying an evening out with his brother. I am peaceful. What a wonderful feeling.

I am a Balloon

June 3, 2008
I am a balloon

Being a foreigner in the North of Portugal is not easy. I know this place well. Duarte and I dated in this region when we first met, we were married here, both of our children were baptized here and we spent 6 months of sabbatical here. Even after all this time, I feel like a stranger.

I have dark skin and dark hair, so my features look more Portuguese than American – but my clothes, my demeanor and most of all my voice gives me away. It is strange to be so familiar with my surroundings and yet not be a part of this life at all. I feel like a brightly colored balloon hovering over everyone - watching frivolously.

We drive through our village each morning and I take in everything I see as an outsider. I am enamored with our village. I love watching the horse drawn carts, the shaggy dogs, the chickens and the old ladies. The huge granite blocks that form the walls of the ancient houses amaze me. And that’s just it – I love the quaintness of it all because it is not really mine. I don’t know what each of these things means to our neighbors. Why do they have horse drawn carts? Has the rain been hard on them? What about those walls? What do those walls mean to the people I see each day?

The people of our village have lived in the village for their entire lives. Their parents and their grandparents have known little else but of life in Sao Lourenco. The relationships are solid as they have spent every day of their lives together. I watch them walk with their arms linked through the crooked streets and I know that I will never have friendships like the ones they have. The men drape arms over each other’s shoulders as they sit upon the granite stairs at the end of the day. There is a comfortable camaraderie among the people of our village. And then we drive through their chores and their routines and their reveries morning and night in our oversized Land Rover - a colorful blaze passing through their day.

At Quinta da Mata, I am a part of the everyday culture there but I know little of what is really going on around me. I miss so much about the relationships surrounding me at any given moment because I cannot really understand the language. I can sense happiness and I can sense ill-will – my senses are heightened. Otherwise, I am lost. A balloon hovering with no anchor. “Where are we going?” “What’s our plan?” “What did she say?” I miss a lot -the plans, the jokes, the anger, the special moments. I pass by employees gossiping during their coffee breaks and I don’t know what they are saying. They don’t even see me.

I know that I am the only one who can anchor myself but I just don’t put out the effort that I need to when I am not here to learn the language. I lose my motivation when I am busy and living my life in State College. Being a balloon is not my true nature. I think that I am normally a rock – very grounded, very heavy- often weighing things down. Therefore I am at odds with myself because I cannot be myself. I think I am finally understanding what it is like for Duarte who is a man of two countries – always yearning for what the other doesn’t have. I do love Portugal and the beautiful life we have here but I miss myself, my life, my ability to communicate and connect with people around me. If I could connect the two lives that I have, I believe I could be content. I would not feel the swing of emotions I feel each day. I would not be a balloon.