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.

Painting Walls, Cycling Bikes, Loving Friends

Bacalheiro The day of painting at the Bacalheiro club was an interesting one. It was a prerequisite to have a funny haircut. I didn't have that - but I did have energy to paint away. I have not done any hard physical "work" in a while. So we got to painting the walls and bars and things. Most people working there are from other European countries. Jazz played from the radio, an endless stream of rollies were folded and licked and smoked, and occasionally I would chat to one of the workers. One of them from a village in Valencia joined me in having "saudades" for nature, etc. We all sat down to a big vegetarian lunch among the paint-splattered newspapers.

Phee
That morning, out of the blue, I recieve a call from Phee. Woo! He is coming to Lisbon in 3 hours, he says! Sure enough, he arrives 3 hours later. How surreal to show him my world here. It really makes you evalutate what you have got when you are showing it to another person.
So, what did we do together?
-- Ate supper at Marco's house with other Italians.
--Barrio Alto, of course. With the spaniards, etc.
--snoozed and slept and chatted about life and love.
--Feria de Ladra: the biggest market in Lisbon, that is full of RANDOM SHIT... battered dolls with eyes missing, one shoe, plastic guitars...
--Phee fell in love with PASTEIS DE NATA! Ya!
--Played guitars in parks.
--Ate at the usual restaurant... forever full of familiar faces and characters, with the tram rattling by. Traditional dishes which Phee ate with vigour!

--Went to Graca Miradour.

--Took a train to Cascais, a chocolate-box beach town where you can rent bicycles for free and cycle them to the next beach. Half-naked cycling, picnic lunches (tuna with chickpeas), singing.

--Pasteis de Nata de BELEM! (After hitchhiking there with a Portuguese chatterbox)

--Cooked fishy dinner, Bruno came over, Terraco bar (with the most stunning views of Lisbon).

Now we have one last day.

I am going to make a palm tree out of a big cardboard tube, and I will document my progress.

Until the palm tree!

A Portuguese Bar

In Porutgal, the population eat out in restaurants more than any other European Population.

To me, a real Portuguese bar is long and thin in shape, and lit up with florescent tubes. There is a glass cabinet holding sweet and salty pasteis / salgados and a great whoppping shiny coffee machine. The waiter / owner is always dignified, old, male and intense. They are informal and chat for hours. They have a pot belly. There is a lack of Health and Safety. The clinetel is made up of the elderly folk who sit and eat for hours. Tableclothes are paper and the menu is always the same. Tasty, heavy, REAL food... bacalhau (cod) cooked in everyway possible, other fish, steak, beef, caracois (snails). Arroz doce (sweet rice for pudding) and the little pastries I was talking about. Coffee is cheap, small, and strong and is gulped down in 30 seconds. These are most authentic in the countryside where white concrete buildings house such bars in blistering hot towns of sand and olive trees.

They do not believe in Fruit and Veg in these places much... perhaps a mixed salad if you are lucky. For fruit you are better going to a fruit stall, managed by similar styled staff. Like this.

On the other end of the scale, there are some pastelarias that are swish, and have a hundred types of pastry. My favourte is parra com creme, that is sheets of sweet flaky pastry in a sandwhich shape filled with custardy cream. Look at this place below. This is where I had breakfast on my first day.

Policia Portuguesa

The police have struck me as particularly informal.
1. passing me and a friend on a hill, two of them called "cuckkooo! He-ee-looo! Cuckoo!" while on these funny buggy-things.
2. They smoke.
3. one police car was thumping out a beat, like "boom,boom,boom,boom".
4. On reporting a collapsed man in Barrio Alto, the police came over to where he was and just shoved him about a bit before leaving.
Hmmmm......

The Oddest Festival

(Above is a video made in the dark, so it is just the THEME TUNE of this Blog Entry. Just listen to it while you read... it is a famous song, I think from Argentina, that is being sung by Javi and Maria).

Well well well.

Saturday Night we had a big get together in a big airy flat in Alfama, the most adorable district of Lisbon. The house was full with 20 people, all blabbering away. Jesus was the cook and managed to coat all the meat (for the barbeque) with sugar instead of salt. He also had in stock a special liquor he creates by heating rum with sugar and coffee and water and leaving it for a week. This was very enjoyable. I met Humi, a gentle Japanese girl staying also until Janurary. I met Miguel too, a large, warrior-like Spaniard from the Basque Country who was very funny and told me all about the Basque situation.

Marco gave me a whole bag full of arty things that his friend left him behind. It was like christmas.

Sunday ---

We set off to "Alcacar do Sal", to a festival that has been postered and flyered and advertised around Lisbon for weeks. A festival promoting social awareness, that is free, that has a big line-up... and we arrive in this little Alentejoan town. It contains three things.

1. Mosquitos.

2. Perverts.

3. Dust.

The people of the town seemed unflustered by the idea of a huge festival taking place and several bars said that they had "run out of bread" and had no food to sell. So we sat around (Me, Maria, Lily, Katarina, Javi, Jesus, Cesar, Humi) and ate burnt sandwiches and beers. Erecting a tent in the "camping area" (actually just a hot dusty patch) was no laughing matter and by the time the music started we were already exhausted.

The music was some kind of traditional spanish music, but the dancers did not keep in time and kept frowning at each other, and the presenter kept apologising for things. The plastic chairs were filled solely with 80+s. After chilling on the grass with a guitar, the music improved until reaching its Electro Peak which I thoroughly enjoyed. It was all so dusty. I would sit and play the drum a lot in the middle of the dancing. After the party we sat by our cars with the guitar and a drum. Sleep was hot and interupted by mozzies. By 11am we were out of this hell hole and on an odd beach where none of the buildings were finished and the shops still had plastic coverings on all the tills. They had no food in them either. We were starving and reached a tiny town with a proper Portuguese Bar (see the next entry, A Proper Portuguese Bar) and an intense waiter, and gorged on Bife, Peixe, etc.

It was an odd weekend for sure, but I have not laughed so much in a long time...all the odd people dancing there, Javi's reactions to the whole situation, the jokes cracked and the converstaions had.

I read the paper, practised poi... this kind of thing.

Tomorrow I begin work at Bacalheiros, helping them to paint the walls. This is a communinty centre type place with lots of art and left wing films and music. This is the link, in portuguese I am afraid. http://bacalhoeiro.blog.com/

FIRST FOUR WEEKS: algumas coisas.

Theme tunes. Please follow the link, openning it in another tab, and listen to these songs as you read the blog.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Is3pwbkLXwU

and when that is finished, this one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wV5k3zjSifI.

These are both songs that my house mates have shown me.

Pictures

Left: This is the view from my flat. This is the Number 28 Tram, which trundles all the way from Campo Ourique to Graca or Martim Moniz, through some of the most charming areas. It is, however, crammed with tourists.

Right: Old man doing exercise on a park's bike.

OK, let's start.

The house.

Haaa! Well. It is the topsyturvy house. The washing machine needs a "nappy" in order to work: the kitchen is, hence, often just one big puddle, the kitchen table frequently tips over, the side of the sofa pings off if you hold on to it.. it is all funny. THe house is very communal indeed, I have not eaten one lunch alone. And if you are going to live with Italians, get ready for some FOOD. A normal lunch would consist of a plate of pasta with courgettes and onions, followed by meat and potatoes (on the cleaned plate), then salad, pudding, coffee and a sweet. This is just lunch. Everyhting revolves around meals, socially-speaking. It is quite incredible. I have tried to contribute with cakes and a measly attempt at a Greek lunch. They are such giving, warm people.

Serena -- Italian. just finishing erasmus. Mature, fun, kind, popular.

Thiago -- Portuguese. Studying Philosophy. Quirky, interesting, kind, fun.

Franchesco -- Italian. Finishing erasmus, in Journalism. Wise, collected, giving.

Then

Marco arrived -- Italian, just finishing erasmus. Crazy, funny, energetic, giving.

and later (afer Serena left)

Miguel - French/portuguese. Finished Erasmus and now starting work here in Lisbon. Funny as hell, charismatic, especially when drunk.

So now i am the only girl in the house. But in August, Miguel (maybe), Franchesco and Marco are leaving and a Brazillian guy and a Portuguese girl are arriving. He is a painter and she makes and sells things. Thiago is very keen on the house being more productive, artistically, including body prints on the walls, a serious stencil making job together, which we wil put on Lisbon walls, and such things. I tell you, some of the stencil work in Lisbon is just great. I'll talk more about that later.

The rest of the building is inhabited solely by mad people. The old woman who chases her dog with the wonky eyes, the other one who feeds the deaf cat in the courtyard, the druggie, blah blah. It is a loopy place. The balcony is dangerous because sometimes the dog upstairs pisses down onto it. And at about 5 every day the dog sings along to the church bells, too.

The people of Lisbon

It is odd. When travelling, I have found it quite easy to place labels on people or make generalisations about "The English", "The Cubans", etc. But when you start living somewhere it becomes more difficult every day to define them.

They are more themselves. I feel comfortable enough to sing, clap, talk with myself and even -- subtly -- dance in the street by myself. There are more mad people here, for sure, but they are also more comfortable in talking to themselves, etc. This has made me more sure of myself and now I feel freer. In England I aam too afraid of what other members of the public on the bus would think if I started to sing. That is quite common here.

On my runs I see at least 5 people snoozing on benches.

Sexual. I was warned that Portugal is nothing like Brazil in its liberties (of culture). For sure it is not AS liberal, but they are darn passionate here. In the park, at about 4pm, was a middle aged couple straddling each other on the bench kissing like the world was about to end.

One thing is that I have been shocked by is the relative poverty. Indeed, there are many many beggars and some deformaties I could not have imgained existing. As well as this, I know that I am only seeing a small segement of Lisbon. In the papers are stories of the problems in the suburbs where Gypsy and Cape Verdean communities have hit it off badly.

Very diverse. Especially gypsy, cape verdians, guinea bissauns, angolans, mozambiquans.

Portuguese people eat out in restaurants more than any other european country. Cafes, restaurants, esplanades are forever full of people eating and talking.

Parks are few and far between and as a result have many intersting characters wandering about. One of my favourite parks has several benches and chairs and old men are playing cards and sometimes impromptu rehearsals start up.

Many "hippies", many styles, many skin colours, many ages.

I expected them to be more grumpy but actually they are very friendly indeed.

More coming.....

Click on this link and listen to the first song that starts (it is called "2080") while you read the first blog.
http://www.myspace.com/yeasayer

The First Few Days

THEME TUNE: 2080 by YEASAYER

The airport
is only a few kilometers from the centre of the city. So the plane swept down over skyscrapers, the river, patches of forest, white buildings, cars. It was beautiful sure. "2080" in my ears, I felt .... well, shit-scared, to be honest. Like Xavier in Auberge Espanol says,

"When you first arrive in a new city, nothing makes sense. Everythings unknown, virgin... After you've lived here, walked these streets, you'll know them inside out. You'll know these people. Once you've lived here, crossed this street 10, 20, 1000 times... it'll belong to you because you've lived there. That was about to happen to me, but I didn't know it yet."

And there I was, on this plane, above this city, that I was about to fall in love with. But I didn't know it yet. All I knew was that I was about to shit my pants.

The hotel, My room..
Was later dubbed Poo-Room. Looked on to a slimy shaft (yaa! Slimy Shafts!) where open windows blared out TV novelas. Later became friends with the mousey lady who owned the hotel.

Que Sorte!
What luck! On the second day I rang a number on a list of numbers of "donas", that is landladies, handed to me by the school. And one of them picked up, gave me the number of a man called Thiago who lived in the house and told me to go and see it. By the end of the evening, I had the keys to my appartment in my pocket!!

So school..
Well it took place in a stuffy converted apartement near Marques de Pombal. 4 hours a day with some wonderful teachers. The classes were full of interesting characters: including those setting off to Angola with Oil Dreams. English students as well, in abundance. I know that it would have been easy to stay friends with them, but they are all leaving in 4 weeks and my portuguese would not improve with them either.
So I meet Christiana. This sounds like a cliche, but when I first arrived at the school and we all sat in the classroom to take the beginning test, I sat next to her. I looked at her once and had this image of us being close friends and we were having a squabble, for some reason, in this imagination. It was very odd... but I knew we were going to be close. And we were!

There is not much else to write about school, I am afraid; except that Portuguese grammar is more complicated than all the Latin Langugages combined, I believe. Really, the put articles in the most unnecessary places, and after some verbs they don't put one, and there is the "personal infinative" and the different forms of imperative, depending whether you are talking formally, informally, positively or negatively. There are a thousand and one rules, and a thousand and one exceptions.

The afternoons
Whizzed by. I would eat in the house with Serena, my new housemate. She is finishing her erasmus here, and is the kindest person I could have wished to have met. She is maternal, and italian in that soft, family-led kind of way. Some awesome dishes come out of the oven when Serena is home. Plus she can make those shapes out of balloons, like butterflies or umbrellas, the ones clowns do. So I would finish lunch with her and then go out into the city.
I think I have walked the length of Portugal in the first two weeks. Me and Christiana, or just me, or whoever was with me, would just walk and walk. We did the usual touristic things, saw some cutting-edge modern art and visited some great cafes.

Now for the bitesize chunks, because I don't like this style.

Introduction

It is four weeks since I started a new life in Lisboa.

If there is one thing I regret, it is the fact that I have not recorded it enough... it is a buzzing mix of events, emotions, colours, sights.... SO.. now I will try to keep this blog a more regular occurance.

Vamos!!