Uma mensagem para voces

Uma mensagem para voces Ola, esta mensagem é para o casal que tenho encontrado hoje no autocarro para o Dover. Que mundo pequeno. Então, em baixo pode ver a minha casa, numero 16. Dentro, é um labirintinho de quartos, escadas... estou mutio, mutio contente ali. Não quero sair o mundo de Rua da Adiça. Se voces quiserem, o meu e-mail é charlottemanicom@hotmail.com, podemos manter contacto. Abraços, e espero que têm chegado bem em bruxelas. Até jà!

volta triste

Hello everyone. Everyone who reads this blog will know what has happened, and why I have had to return to England for a few weeks. Two Mondays ago, my Dad was in a motorbike accident and he died that day. So my Mum, somehow, managed to come to Lisbon to tell me what had happened. And so I have come home to be with family, friends and to help mum and to stay until the funeral. How odd this world is. I still do not quite believe it. That something so sad could rip into our lives so suddenly.
I don't really want to write at length about it because all of you know how I feel and I have a special relationship with all of you and I tell you about it. But, for the blog's sake, I want to explain what has gone on.
To be back in England, with the grey, with this death and change... wow, I was a lucky girl in Lisbon.
I will write later on when I am back there and life there starts again, albeit with a diferent style.

Rua Da Adica

My house has a myspace. I did not even know it.

Look:

http://www.myspace.com/ruadaadica

And this video is the sounds of the street outside my balcony. It is a theme tune enough.

What am I doing these days? Procrastinating. It is terrible, I really need a kick up the bum. I really am not achieving anything, just playfighting in the rain (to the point of lying in the puddles. the rain is like a tropical monsoon here), cooking, reading a bit here and there, talking, daydreaming --- the next entry will be full of amazing achievements.

University.

The fact that it is like George Orwell's 1984:

.. forced me to write the famous "War is Peace..." quote in the bathroom...

Smoky Sunday

It is 13:56. Having got in at 4:45 this morning, i optimistically set the alarm for 10:30, only raising at 12:30. The sun was trying hard to shine and the usual elderlies were shouting on the street. I got out my i-pod, picked my soggy trainers from the balcony (rained last night? – or the cat again?) and ran off up and up and down and around and to the Jardim do Torel and up and down again, talking to a tramp, doing handstands, hearing the thunder coming. It started to rain, little warm droplets on my muscles, and people gathered under the trees on the cobbled streets. The hazelnut-roaster continued to roast, the smoke drifting down the street. Rua da Prata, full of restaurants, was buzzing as ever with tourists shovelling their lunches in under large brollies. All the waiters start to smile because I have become a regular runner there, I suppose. Up and up, getting close to home now. It is a real Sunday, a raining Sunday. Peoples balcony windows are open, perhaps they are having a Sunday lunch with their families. In my street all the old men are starting up their Sunday Sardine barbeque and the street is hazy with fishy smoke; or the sardines are lying in silver piles, eying hopelessly up to the sky, caked in salt and ready to be roasted. The artist downstairs has covered his floor in sand now. I come in, get in the shower, make a coffee on the gas stove to the sound of the neighbours TV. Now i have an hour before the protest in Martim Moniz against the new Immigration plan of Sarkozy. I am doing some research on it now.

This dog on my street had had a little bed made for him!!

The manifestation was fantastic: there was a great turn out despite the clouds and occasional rainfall. There was such a mix there: Africans, Indians, Portuguese, old, young... there was a real energy going on with a samba band keeping the rhythm at the back and a group of African guys shaking various beaded instruments in a frenzy of rhythm and shouting. Coming down the main street of Baixa, it started to pour down, with heavy fat drops. The samba band pounded on and the crowd shouted and danced. The stream of people carried on down into Praca do Commercio, energized, for speeches and art displays. By this time it was 17.00 and I had not eaten all day. Me and Toni were soaking but happy, hungry but energiful, and we went home, to the cat and Ana and the little flat, with a baguette and cooked up a storm with bowls creamy pasta and bread. It has been a wonderful, wonderful day. Now I am going to sleep with the sounds of applause outside the window for something in a bar nearby and Zul (cat) next to me.

A Visit to Senna's House.

Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wW9hgMUsVUw (ignore cheesy video. This song is EVERYWHERE -- especially in one car that always parks up outside my window in Alfama. And then I see that Senna has it!)

I have just come back from a day at Senna’s.( Senna is the guy that worked on the farm with me in the summer: a very strong, charismatic Cabo Verdian who is studying Philosophy and Politics here in Lisbon). He lives in Cacem, out in the suburbs of Lisbon. I took the train out onto the line towards Sintra. The train was filled with white, black, old, young people, with hundreds of children running around the place. The woman and her children twins running in the slanted light of the station to catch the train. The train pushed its way out of Lisbon under the hot grey sky. The concrete sides of the track were patterned with fat tropical graffitis. Groups of skyscrapers, like clumps of weeds, grew up either side and up the hill-sides, with a thousand windows looking out over each other. Skyscrapper after skyscraper. Calm eyes of the man opposite of me, the fiddling of the fat African lady with her shopping bag. Arriving at Cacem, Senna found me. I sat on a cafe step and watched a gypsy couple, old and wrinkled, with skin like leather bags, ask a lady to help them buy a ticket from the machine. Perhaps they could not read. The way I could see the back of the gypsy lady’s patterned headscarf, turning towards her husband’s face as if to ask if they were going to get the ticket. His beige trousers, ironed down the middle and his hunched back. They seemed so helpless.

Me and Senna wondered up and up through the area, past the tall building and the bustling shops. Every so often there is a low house with a African-like veranda where, perhaps, an old lady is watering the plants. There is space here, some fountains and some modern community constructions to clamber on, etc. Up and up we go to Senna’s flat. He shares it with an old man, and his half-CaboVerdian son (11) and another young man who is an Electrician, Edgar. The old man was so welcoming. Slight and with a cigarette hanging in his mouth, he chattered away in (relatively good) English. He used to work on the ships. He had been all over the world. His shy son, PJ, enters and is reluctant to talk. The little kitchen overlooks a community centre, a basket ball court and more flats opposite. The TV in the sitting room is on: Senna’s room is simple with the bed diagonally on the floor and full of bits and bobs, including a collection of lamps on the floor covered over with coloured cloths. Kizomba is playing here. Edgar the electrician enters and departs, with or without the dog he has. Edgar’s parents live in London now. He is 19. PJ came here when he was 7, his mother is still in Cabo Verde. Senna says that his father gives him a lot of love here. “Pae?”.

I started making two lemon cakes with Senna in the kitchen (because he loves that cake). We were all involved in getting tins and scales and the old man said he wanted to have tea with his cake at 5 o’clock because that was “the time of tea”. After Senna taught me some Kizomba dancing and PJ kept passing to watch and laugh nervously at my attempt. “Listen to da music with your hear-rt”, said the old man, cigarette bobbing up and down on his lip. The white tiles on the floor and the walls, the sounds of the TV, the cooling day and the people outside wondering around the streets. The €1.50 tag on the packet of tea, neatly rolled and pegged up. Me and Senna ate Senna’s beans and rice that he had cooked and sliced into the cake, washing it down with Spumante, that is a champagne-like drink.

We watched his photos of Cabo Verde with the Kizomba playing. His friends, all so muscular and smiling. The animals wondering around the streets, the low varandered houses, the electricity wires collected up to one pole on the side of a street full of old jeeps. Bays with huts and palms and dark sand. His friends collecting the fish, his sister pounding the corn with a stick as big as herself, the old concentration camp from Salzaar’s time. Senna was a leader of a community centre there that started juntos maos, an idea to form a co-operative group and all help each other in the community – to all work on one farm and then move onto the next together, not each at their own. He was “peopleSenna”. Senna of the people. I felt sucked into the photos, into that life, for a while. Into the heat and the dry dry earth that is so hard to work, into the way they were all smiling in the pictures, the way the group of little nephews had filled a white sack with plastic bottles to float it in the sea... that kind of life, I felt sucked into.

Time to go home: we wondered down to the train station again back onto a bustling train of various races and ages and sizes. Back it went through the suburbs, plonking me right in the middle of Lisbon. I rather missed the house when I got back. The way that everyone had come from some other place, the way they all had family other sides of the world, and the way they came together in a little Cacem flat on a Saturday night to eat lemon cake and the affection of it, especially between the father and the son. The son’s starry pyjama bottoms I saw when he was peering quietly out over the street. I feel pressured to go out now but love to think that they are sitting there now in their flat, in silence, perhaps watching the TV together, the blue flickering light reflecting on their faces, as the rest of Cacem goes on, all in their own little space, yellow boxes for windows, in the Portuguese night.

Italian Blast

Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SmVAWKfJ4Go

Leaving behind a pile of school work, I set of, feeling rushed, hot, spontaneous, nervous, happy... to the airport. It was the first time leaving Lisbon and it made me think about my feelings when I was arriving in that airport.

Anyway, off we went. Read the United Nations Charter in Portuguese on the plane and fell asleep. The plane, by the way, was delayed because some Napoli Football hooligans had smashed up the incoming plane. So I arrived very late to two gorgeous friends at the airport, armed with a drum and a guitar and little hats ready to sing Ring Of Fire (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRlj5vjp3Ko). But I was the last one out of the airport so they were floating around with their instruments alone. It was all rather comic.

So, over the next few days, I got to see into Italian family life; two beautiful families with a lot of warmth and love... and food. Flavio’s house was built by his father over 20 years. It is one of the most beautiful houses I have been in, with creamy yellow walls, nooks and crannies, flowers, silky curtains, a hundred instruments, stars in the trees and sofas abound. The level of hospitality there is a hundred times the usual English style; giving welcoming gifts (perfume), flowers and 3 massive meals, driving you to the airport 2 hours away... this kind of hospitality shocked me in a way. The dog Xibo is a character indeed and is very bold. His Mamma cooks a lot and keeps the house very clean and he has two brothers, one is a dentist and one is still at school. So I just sat there, trying to pick out words in Italian and they trying to speak English all laughing a lot. We often went to Marco’s house, a ten-minute drive away. He lives above his grandmother’s shop with his mother and father who are also so warm and kind. And a dog too, a great big chocolate bar of a dog. Their houses, both, are full of ornaments, embroidery, televisions. It is all so comforting.

So, what did we do? We drove around on Motos, flying about the streets down and over the green mountains along the coasts. The mountains look like lush green felt, they have steep sides, thick with trees and slightly obscured by mist. The coastal towns near there are just stunning, look at the picture below to see what I mean. We took coffees and watched as the waves crashed and splashed the town’s edge. It was fantastic. I sang all the way home, trying to spit on Marco;’s moped and clinging on to Flav.

I sat and watched Flav play the drums. Il Flav, lei fa un movimento lovely quando lei gioca i tamburi, lei il sospetto su le sue spalle un po'ed alza le sue sopracciglia e spinge le sue labbra insieme. And I love it. That was terrible Italian because I translated it on the internet. Ah well. So I got a lesson at the drums. Then we went to a Communist festival in the back of a social centre where lots of bearded Marx-looking men were drinking wine and debating under a big red flag. Flav played in his more gypsy like band that has an accordion and a clarinet. In fact he played for hours and hours. Serena and Marco and Serena’s boyfriend came too, we had pizza in a real buzzy Napoli place. Thin, crispy, fresh, slimy...

And what else? Oh a hundred things. We drove to Florence and walked around the wonderful little streets, over the bridge full of jewellers. Ate pizza, looked at the cathedral and the people wondering around. Felt inspired and arty, studied the hands and the hair and the boobs of all the marble figures. We went to Pisa one night. Due to the incredible fee of 15€ to go up the Tower, we sat out on the cool marble and looked up at it. For the first time in 3 months, I smelt that lovely smell of coming-winter, with the orange-lit streets, the night air with that cool edge and that sweet-ice smell. I felt very happy. We saw Carrara, an Anarchist Centre, with flags and boards and graffiti calling for an Anarchist rule.

(The photo above is a terrible attempt at the cliche Tower of Pisa photo that went rather wrong.)

(Need another song? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwFYUFnTD9Q) One day we went to the open-mine of Carrara marble. It is funny, the green mountains I was talking about. They stretch out for miles, and then one or two look like they are covered in snow. But on closer inspection, you see that it is actually marble-mining, and whole sides of the mountain have been chopped into 90-degree angles blocks, shining bright white like a mouthful of teeth. It is so surreal. Marco’s father is a mechanic there for the machines there. So he drove us up in the white dust-covered jeep after work. It was a cool Saturday afternoon, the air was cool and fresh and the mine was empty, the great monsters of machines sitting there, still. It was utterly silent and the smooth white sides reflected off each other. Marco’s Dad showed us all the machinery, the diamond-line that cuts the marble, the dangerous machinery. Many people die in the mine. In the winter when it is icy, they still have to work. I was feeling very angry about the whole situation, the injustice, the disregard for the workers’ lives, the great blocks of marble with buyers’ names already scribbled on... the plastic cross swinging from the mirror of the car.

It is amazing to think this was Michelangelo's stone. But at the same time I felt so sad that this is what Man was doing to the earth, hurting both nature and men alike for what....

And about food. Food, food, food... I feel much heavier.. the mums really pile it on to you. But it is good, homemade, real stuff. We ate so well everyday. And Fla... fla, i know you are reading this so it will sound like I am writing it for you. But I am not, because Fla – and Marco – were so so gentle and kind to me always asking what I wanted, always driving me everywhere, always paying. Flavio is calm and constant and I felt so very safe and predictable and content with him; three things that I feel that I lack. And just to have someone to hug, someone to look forward to who will touch you back, always something to look forward to, I cannot quite explain.. that I loved. A lovely excitement. What else? How dark the bedroom was: I never knew what time it was. I was so out of time. Hot milk and biscuits for breakfast. Marimba sounds (of Fla). The roadsigns. The feeling of the helmet on my head on the Moto. Little sharp coffees. Smiling. Photos, everywhere, of every family member and every saint.
Lisbon return was somewhat tearful. But the gang waiting at Gate number D45 were so Lisbon .. a few punks, a gang of Senegalese chatterers, a music student with his Mozart books, tapping away. The descent into the city was a stunner and I was reminded of that first descent. The sun was a golden slant over the city that caught everything in its way. I got home, feeling odd. Cat had pissed in my room. I unpacked all the homemade wines and jams and the mountain of cakes and chocolate and Iced Tea “to keep me going for the journey” and made some couscous, talked to Pappa at last, and saw a film with Tony about immigration, which instantly put my worries into proportion. Woke up the next day, with a whole lot of work to do and my soul still in Italy, and felt a pang. But, come on, Charlotte! It is all ok. I am going to stop being such a mop and get a grip. Time to get into Uni mode, to start working for real. And hope to see it all again soon. Ouch!

Summary

Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJYZl1Ewoxk This song means A LOT! It has followed me around Lisbon... played it LOUD in Maria's car...


OK a summary is needed here because just too much has happened. Katarina has LEFT another GOODBYE. It the most surreal by far… we were spending all our time together before she left and then, “poof”, she is gone. We went to the top of the Sheraton hotel to say goodbye. It was surreal as hell. Maria was very upset indeed.
That weekend, I missed ANOTHER Erasmus party and went to the house of Maria, where her younger siblings needed looking after. They are adorable, the most caring children I have met, always asking me if I needed something, sharing everything. Maria has hammocks and clear stars and sandy roads and cork trees. Cooked bacalhau com nata and ate together and made up a song or two. It was just what I wanted. The next day, in the afternoon, I rode a moped for the first time. Wonderful! Freedom… golden light… sand. Saturday night was Cesars goodbye meal. Then a gypsy band covered in paint with a crowded room of dancing people. On Sunday I studied all day. On Monday I went to university, had lunch with the man in the jewelry shop, bought lots of things, cleaned the house, studied.
I keep meeting random people. It is easy here. Today – a masters student from London but Portuguese, a tramp from Czech republic, an angel on the bus (I will explain. Feeling a bit… blue, I suppose, on the bus to university. Wanted energy, and comfort. A German guy gets on, a bit lost. Start chatting. He collects fortune cookie slips and sticks them onto cash machines. Brilliant. Ended up showing him the university. At the end he told me to close my eyes and imagine I was in a cosy room with my Granny and she had just cooked buns and it was warm in there. Perhaps he saw that I needed comfort like that. It was surreal. Like god had sent him or something.)

Birrrrfday

18th was the day … but I got it wrong and booked the restaurant at TiNatercias for the Friday (19th). Woops. Anyhow, on the 18th there was an Erasmus meal at a restaurant, oragnised by some of the Portuguese students. They are SO SO very nice. They have been terribly welcoming. I was expecting to be handed a timetable and told to go to class. But these students have organized meals, have asked us all in the corridor if we are ok, have given us numbers to ring. They have been just fantastic. The night was wonderful with lots of chatter in various mixed up European Languages. On the Friday, I went to TiNatercia with the usual gang, minus a few members. It got going and was a great evening. We went to the viewpoint in Alfama and sat around with “champagne”.

This is my favourite viewpoint in Alfama with all the orange-lit houses stacked up against eachother looking out to the river, with occasional palms, lit from underneath, poking out and the beautiful churches towering behind the buildings. Then we went to Bairro Alto, Usually we all get separated but we stuck together and even made it to the brilliant tree in Praca do Principe Real where we all clambered up and sat in the branches. The night ended in Jamaica, an odd but great club, a little Jamaica-coloured, stuffy place near the dock where you have gypsy music, bob marley and reggaeton back to back.. you don’t know what to expect. I felt really happy at the end of the night: all these friends from such different corners of Lisbon, together, and staying together and keeping the spirit up all night. I felt very happy indeed!

Had to Escape

Theme tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZ88oTITMoM

I do not know what came over me – I know I ought to have gone out and socialized and made Erasmus friends – but I just couldn’t face it. So on Saturday night me and Miguel took up Tiago on his offer and ran away to his farm in Leria. The bus pulled in at 2am and we went back to lovely Tiagos house where his mum was finishing making cakes in the special bread oven. In the morning we went for a run, Me, Tiago, Senna and Miguel, around the valleys and then had a huge huge huge lunch with lots of MEAT at a local restaurant. We then walked and travelled the area, seeing some caves and some old shepards huts in the wilderness. The sun was setting and the sky was purple, with a great chalky disc of a moon, shining bright, with cows grazing in the field… and I took a big deep breath, knowing that this was the last little drop of summer. It was beautiful. I love the countryside. What a summer it has been. I cannot condense it in a few thoughts. It is so long and varied. But that moment, with the moon and the cows, was the last real drop of summer. WE drove back to Lisbon, me fast asleep of course, and went our separate ways.

Uni began again on Monday. It has been a week of sorting out timetables and admin, basically. The classes are so different to Nottingham. There is no presentation or any color. Just white rooms, a black board, a desk with a teacher who talks super fast. I cannot understand much at all but hopefully this will change! The Erasmus students seem lovely.. we have already had about 15 coffees together outside.

University Starts

So on Friday I had a meeting at university. I did my very first commute. This involves leaving the house, out past the artists gallery, past the café already full of old men getting boisterous and the calmer café across the street with the women sipping cafezinhos. I follow the cobbled hill down past the cathedral until I com near Praca do Comercio. Here the bus 60, filled with students, old people – in fact every kind of person – picks me up and takes me through Santos and Ajuda (best tree in Lisbon – great umbrella of green over tables where old men are playing cards) until it drops me off at the Uni. It is an odd place – on the edge of the biggest park in Lisbon, with no other houses, just university buildings. They are all very futuristic, white, with corners that cut into the blue sky. The meeting was brief but comforting. They seem supportive and eager to welcome Erasmus students. Our group is rather small, with French, Italian, Slovakian, German. Two Italian guys are clowns, they are very outgoing and funny. The professors, all speaking in English, are very dignified and look like Roman Gods. After the presentation we took lunch together and found out a little about everyone. It was a surreal situation – my summer has been so long and diverse and tiring in that sense, to be plonked down among new Erasmus students, my friends for the next 6 months, was very surreal.
The uni seems very posh and there is wireless internet everywhere, café tables, an endless hubbub of people talking, diverse students, etc.

Train to Lisbon

(Linda having gone, we have no camera... so this is the only photo I have of me and Katie. It is called the sun fish...)

Katie and I got the train to Lisbon and the dynamics changed once again. In Lisbon, we ate a Casa do Alentejo, of course, and we sorted out her braid at the market, and wondered to a miradouro. We ate a massive Indian Curry and Katie talked about India, I felt like I had done a small trip in India with her, with Bollywood TV in the background.

We then took the train south (she had a flight from Faro). Her friend Jorge was staying with his grandfather and his great uncle for a while in Olhao, a town near Faro. The apartment was so charming because it was run by precedent and routine. Each item in the house had been carefully placed and all kitchen appliances had their little place, the cigarettes here, the can opener here. Jorge’s grandfather and his brother lived together here and ran a screw \ nail shop in the day time. Jorge was very hospitable and took us out for ice-creams the first night on the shore where all the young people of Olhao were chattering in bars. The next day we went to the big fish market, where Olhao people were working away slapping and cutting fish, and then to the boat to an Island (I forget the name) – where there was just a little row of houses, and just a perimeter of beach all the way around the island.

So then came the day when I had to say goodbye to Katie. I am sick of saying GOODBYE! It hurts so much. I had to leave early to get forms and things in order of the university meeting the next morning. The train pulled away from the station and off I went to Lisbon, leaving Kate for another few months. How odd to have this relationship where we are forever being put and pulled apart.

Porto

The next morning, after a call from Hedda in Australia, we set off North. At the bus station, we decided to take a bus to Porto, directly. The bus went up North and north. This landscape I prefer. It becomes more hilly and green. Some forests have ruler-straight, thin trees. I must find out their names. Anyhow the bus worked its way up to Porto and arrived in the afternoon.
I had been told that Porto was a rather dull city, and I did not expect much.

The coach worked its way through the industrial outer areas and then, puff!, you are on the arching iron bridge, and Porto explodes in front of you, with the river winding hundreds of feet below you, and the steep banks stuffed with houses, windows, balconies, palms, overgornw gardens… unbeknown to us, we had arrived during the “RedBull AirRace”, and so Porto was holding 1 million people that day. We went into the super-ornate centre and decided, after some camp tourist advice, to go to the coast. We did not have much time, the sun was coming down. We hopped on the train and stopped at somewhere that looked rather nice, (Linda – “yes lets get off here… it looks like Italy”) called Granja. After some hopeless wondering about, and after coming across a rather concrete seafront, we had a lucky strike. A family offered to drive us to the local camp site at Espino. So off we went, and set up tent in a small campsite near the sea. Again, our 3-member team came up with a great meal, vegetable skewers and all. Afterwards we walked to the sea, through the graffitied walls and the passing train in the night and the orange lights. At the seafront we sat at a bar and had coffees. The waitress seemed offish but later bought us coffees and cake because it turned out it was her last night in Portugal – she was off to study in Switzerland, to become a doctor. The coast had that special smell that hits the bottom of your lungs, and the city was slumbering on the coast with the rail line in front of it. We went home, with the surreal sound of the circus in the next field, and slept.

In the morning, we went for runs on the beach and set off to Porto. At Porto we left our bags and wondered around the city. It is rather shockingly poor, with some terrible housing, and even some “shacks” right in the centre. We got lost in the alleys, watched the planes, walked the bridge, took a supper at a river-side restaurant. On the way to the hostel we stopped at a Shisha bar and relaxed deep into the cushions and reminisced about the trip. The hostel was clean and impressive, and within a few hours it was 6am, and time for Linda to catch her flight. We went off to the airport to have a little breakfast and say goodbye. It was sad (again!!) to say goodbye to a third of the team. We had made a good group, making direct decisions and speaking our mind. We had also been free and happy, and had had some really sweet, funny and special moments. So Linda went off back to England. She is in Corsica now with Soph, I think.

Setubal Bound

Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WedRDYmtvX4
(but wait for the intro bit to finish in the song above)

Early the next morning we all set off, our bags brimming with tents and sleeping bags and odd bits and bobs. The weather was not too good but, in true English fashion, we pushed on too Setubal, taking a lumbering coach to the little city. Here we bought couscous and veg and set off to Arrabida. Leaving a second bus, we followed a road that curled round a wooded bay that pushed a green mound right into the blue sea and hid little golden patches of beach. Off we went, chattering away, with our homes on our back, until we followed a small overgrown path down to a little bay where there was nothing except dog prints in the sand and a view of the coast stretching away. We walked into the woodland that met the sand and found a sandy platform among the trees, where we set up the tent. After a free naked swim in the cool clear water and some relaxing in the sunshine, I went walking in the wilderness. I crouched under the plants and looked up to the orange cliffs through the green leaves with the blue sea on the side hitting the rocks. I felt so hidden in nature and so happy! Then we set up the barbeque. Amazingly, within an hour, we had a hot plate of couscous with vegetables with bread and fruit, watching the sea-sky slowly cooling down through the colours. We drew on our packs of cards. We daydreamed. It was fantastic. We had a silent disco on the sea shore with the lights of the city in the distance before going to sleep.

The next day, we took showers on the next big beach and got back to good old Setubal for a coffee and caught the bus (only just) via Lisbon to Coimbra. It began to rain. Boo hoo! At Coimbra, our “tough travelers” side dissolved as the option of a Youth Hostel arose. So we checked in and set off into Coimbra for an internet check up and a meal in a Tasca. Coimbra is beautiful in areas but lacks the energy that some places in Portugal has.

Mackers

Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WedRDYmtvX4

Katie arrived at 5 am – to hug her and Linda in Lisbon bus station in the cool night was a surreal moment. We stayed in Lisbon for 3 more days. We relaxed in the Centro Cultural de Belem´s gardens, where there is super-fat mossy grass and olive trees and people doing Pilates and reading. We went to TiNatercias again, of course, and markets to get dreads. All the while settling into the new house, adjusting to the dynamics – it was all pretty intense. Still in English time, we would go to bed early and get up early, all curled up together in the bed. The smell in the bathroom was still a source of concern. Marco left on the 3rd September. It really felt, once again, like a foundation had been pulled out from underneath me. He was dreading returning home and the farewell at the airport was painful. (I have since heard from Marco that he has got a job as a director of a small paper and is coming back to visit in October.) One day when Katie was at the beach with Bruno, me and Linda did some serious planning, with the map unfolded on the floor and the laptop on the side. With some kind of route planned out, we set out to buy saucepans, grills, babywipes, among other things.

A surprise under my balcony

In the Cabo Verde Restuarant
Ahh! Haa haa.
At marcos
Near the beach, got to on bikes!

Gosh what a long time since my last blog. I’m terribly sorry. But you will soon find out why. By the way, before I start, I’m sorry, I did not have my camera for much of this part, so there is a lack of pictures.

Well, it was a sunny day. I was skyping Mum and Dad around lunch time, perhaps feeling a bit low about moving house, etc, when I heard a ring on the doorbell. I went to the balcony to see who was down there. I see some shiny black hair, and a face turns up to me.. “PAPPI! What the fuck! Paaaapi!”.. Yes, Linda Pappagallo, all the way from Italy, had made it to Number 21 Rua dos Douradores. I ran downstairs and crouched on the ground, I could not believe it. So as you can imagine this took a long time to sink in. I felt like a little bird knocked off its perch. Linda with her unbeatable energy was ready to set off. So we set out into Lisbon together, and finally I could show her everything that I had wanted to. What did we do? Terraco bar, art in cafes, botanical gardens, speaking, TiNatericas.. the usual. (Unusual – eyebrow piercing). But to share this with her felt so good. She has left now, but to know that she understands what I mean when I try to describe the rusting ceiling in Casa do Alentejo or the Portuguese Men, or the smell of my bathroom, the ambient of my friends – this feels good. And Linda can stroll along the street with me and pick up on the same ideas and sights and have a kind of appreciation. One day we took the train to Caiscais and cycled beyond Guincho up a small sandy track to a little beach far down. With our braids, the squinting sun, the surfing waves, the catches of smoke in the air, the lifeguards hut against the mountains... it was dreamy.

An Odd Week

It has been an odd week, this week. Marco left, the same day that Miguel moved house, the same day that Tiago went to the North. Suddenly I felt very alone. To top it off, the landlord has called to say that I need to tell her whether I am staying or not because there is a girl who wants my room. So all these things came at once and I was feeling rather blue and lost. Mum and Dad arrived for the weekend and it went fantastic. I think it was very hot for them but we took it easy and I showed them the usual nooks and crannies... markets, tinatercia's, Tram 28... we took the boat across the river one night for some HUGE prawns, and the view coming back from the rvier, of Lisbon shimmering gold in the night..puff, it made my heart burst. This is my new city! I cannot believe it. They stayed in a Brazillian-themed hotel and we all cuddles up in one big bed to snooze! I miss them now. Marco (Genova) has been my life-saver this week and he has not only helped me to look at some new rooms but he's occupied me too... we have been to the Aqueduct, a great exploration to the Monsantz park, to Costa de Caparica, to Tejo Bar... all this time chattering away in Portuguese and making me laugh. He goes on the 3rd September and again I will feel lost when he goes...but he says he is coming back. Like I say he introduced me to Tejo bar, which is infamous in Alfama. It reminds me of Ian through and through. It is a small basic room filled with sheet-music, guitars, drums, chess sets, books on everything from Egon Schielle to Coffee. At about 12.30 Mane, the Brazillian owner, closes the door and people gather around for the nightly poem-reading and song-singing session. It is like home.
OK guys that is all for this one. Sorry i don't have my usual energy.
Lots of love
Lotty xxxxxxxxx

My Names.

To Miguel, I am Lotzi. To Tiago I am Carlota. To Marco I am Carla. Charlotte, Lotty, Loti, Lottita, Lotinha, Charlie... what am I?

Rotalando Verso Sud

Only 10 hours later, and we were off again. With our bags stuffed into the car, this was the team (plus me):
Miguel, Marco and Tiago.

And, of course, Doblo, the car, which Tiago had bought recently. It felt so free, to get into a car and just drive off. We zoomed off south, stopping in a little white-washed village for a traditional lunch in the heat. We stopped at a couple of beaches to admire the expanse and beauty of them before returning to Sines where there was a traditional party going on. This reminded me of the one in Greece, because all ages were in the square, dancing away to “Pimba” music, which is something like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nk02oXPONW4. We bought some salami, bread, cheese, grapes, etc, and found a small hidden beach nearby with an explosive sunset (see picture) where we ran about in the sand before settling down to a dusky supper, with the stars coming out and the moon nearly full. We drove on down a small farm track to a thin beach with a river running in the middle to the sea and orange cliffs either side.
(If you are still being subjected to the Pimba song, change it for something more like this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMKHMcS7X3g. THIS SONG MEANS A LOT TO Me! TIAGO ALWAYS plays this... aww, it hurts to hear this.)
So, we put out our sleeping bags and our blankets and set up one long bed together on the beach (see pic). Again, the stars, the stars! Were so bright. We were all in a rather mellow, silent mood this day. It was quite nice just to watch the landscape and think about life.
The next day we set off again, southwards. I cannot remember everything we saw. But we stopped at many viewpoints with the most fantastic views down the coast, and stopped at several little towns and villages to sniff about. I wrote a Portuguese poem. Don’t know if it makes sense, though. Bigger towns were getting more touristic now, so we tried to avoid this. Having purchased fish and crusty bread, we set off again finding a small dirt track that bumped us down along to a ruined fort. I cannot describe this, people! It really just yank the breath out of you, I could not believe I was there. Picture a cliff edge with a beach on one side and more rocks on the other, very high up, and a sandy fort that has been ruined by time perched on the cliff-edge. At the bottom of the Fort was a terrace, about five meters by two, with a bit of shrubbery. Here we set up a little fire and cooked the fish under the night sky, with the sea air blowing and the full moon making reflection on the water, and THE STARS, of course! We set up tents and snuggled up. I swear I heard a ghost. By this time, my camera had run out of battery, que pena!

The next day we found a beach that had quite a lot of people on it so we swam around to the caves where the water was crystal clear and, under the caves, because of the light, bright florescent green. It was a classic “Algarve” landscape with blue skies and orange cliffs. Later on we drove to Monchique where there is a view across the Algarve, you can see from Faro right around to the East Coast. There is a special font here.
We caught the bus home from Portimao, because Tiago was staying on in the south. It was such a great trip, with lots of little jokes and funny times, sun and ... oh, happiness.

Farming It, Part II

Hello again.

Well more about the farm. It was great to be closer to nature again after so long in the city. The stars were so bright, I could not believe it. And with the smell of the sap in the trees and the crickets... it was great. Dirk's famous maionnese, with lemon and basil. The conversations about an eco-world, and the destruction of this world. The way everyone was so accepting of nature. When we went for a swim in the river, they just stripped off naked... being naked, shitting, all the things that we are "embarrasssed" about in our culture, things that there is no need to be embarrassed about, we accepted and in the open. This was very calming, in fact. I could imagine

that, if I could stay there a good chunk of time, I would come out a very different person.

On the last night, Dirk said he wanted to throw a party to say goodbye. Having lived in Tents, cooked on rocket stoves and having been sparing with every resource, imagine my complete surprise on entering the house of Dirk. He had disco lights, a DJ mixer set, and speakers as big as a wheelbarrow. How SURREAL.

They were Celtics. And Mario's beliefs meant he could not hurt any living thing, including putting nails in trees or sawing live branches.

On the way home we stopped for a big picnic on the side of the road with octopus and lemon biscuts (not together obviously). Senna has declared himself a vegetarian. It was sad to say goodbye, for our "team" to split up.

Departure, departure

On Sunday, Marco's friends had to leave.

They had been so fun to be here and always wondering if we would eat with them, go with them, etc. I was especially sad to say good bye to Fllaaaaavio (I did the Best Run with him). we only got close right at the end, I regret that it did not happen earlier on. It was lovely but frustrating at the same time because it was one of those "wrong time wrong place" situations, because he was going away. I can imagine how fun and free it would be if we could be together for longer. Que pena. It hurts to be taken away. Together was those moments when you don't think about the future or the past you just think, "fuck, this second right here and right now is so so ... raaa!" You want to eat it. He was just himself, steady and kind and fun. Well I will stop there, I think that the people who know me will know what I mean. This is a video of him playing in the kitchen. I liked it when he played the drums on my legs.

The Farm
Theme Tune: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q39GlthnNVI
(This is the tune that is played during the exposition of some photos taken by someone who worked on the farm. To see this exposition follow this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VsuKcy31w0&feature=related. He was from Chile but took most photos in Brasil).



After a sad departure, the team of 5 met up; Me, Tiago, Marco, Senna and Maria (friends of Tiago's). We drove up and up into the green mountains where the air was fresh. We stopped at Tiago's family home, which is a classic family home where there are boxes of potatoes in the back room, a bread oven at the front, and roosters and kittens out under the fruit trees. We ate a heart-issimo lunch and set off pretty sharply, having collected some fruit to take with us.



Next, we stopped at a little village called Avo. This translates as "Grandfather". And it was rather suitable. It sat in a misty crevice, with a river running through and balconied houses perching over it.






We went on and on through the forests until we reached the farm of Christine and Dirk, near Oliveira de Hospital. The farm is nestled in a pine & mimosa valley which is green and green can be. It is as remote as anything, although sometimes you can hear the church bells ringing from a village further up. It is a farm on a series of terraces linked by dusty roads and crumbling steps. There are fruit trees, herbs, natural pools, vegetables, goats, a donkey, cats and dogs. There is a warehouse filled with screws and machines and wires and the table where we all sit to eat. The kitchen is a shack outdoors with rocket stoves. We only ate natural, vegetarian things, mostly from the farm itself. We had fresh goat milk each day. There are dry toilets, where you basically shit down into pine leaves. You can wash in the natural pool. The usual thing is to get up early and have breakfast, then divide the tasks and work until lunch, have a break, work again until sundown and eat supper together. The other people on the farm are "drifters", mainly, with many a story to tell. Many of them are into spiritual being and practise yoga under the trees before breakfast and bless their food before they eat. We constructed a shack around the shower and I helped to clear dry things to help prevent fire. Two years ago they were fighting fire off by themselves, and it so nearly got the farm.

PART TWO COMING ON MONDAY.

A Party At Number 21 and The Incredible Tale Of Miguel's Feet.

Saturday Night

Number 21 at Douradores was filled, on Saturday night, with various people (half of whom I did not know) for its first official party since my arrival. There were all nationalities, all ages, all types. It was ggg--rr-e---at. There was a board on the wall (there it is in the picture) where you could draw your idea of paradise or write what you would do if the world was without gravity. It ended at around 7.30 having been in various locations and after an attempt at making pancakes (and a flourfight).

The Incredible Tale of Miguel's Feet

Miguel has a skill of being able to walk on the "knuckles" of his feet. (See Picture) This is because when he was little, he had a complex about being small. This was when he was 5, I think. So, in order to raise himself to that size, he found it easier to go on the tops of his feet, not his tip-toes. So now he can hop about like this:

The Best Run

I had the best run with Flavio on Saturday evening. It was dusky and Lisbon was getting ready to change to night mode. The sky was getting grainy and purple and we ran and ran up to the top of the Marques de Pombal hill where you could see all the way down over the lights of Lisbon down into the bay. There was a great big billowing Portuguese flag at the top and a trickling fountain. We jumped in and swam about with Lisbon buzzing below.... que fixe.