Rosh Hashannadox

Lisbon's synagogue is a gated community. Literally. A plainclothes security guard stands watch outside the entrance with two policemen nearby. The entrance is a flat wall with a Jewish star and the words "Shaare Tikva" in Hebrew and Portuguese. Beyond the wall you can see the top of the building itself but not much else. A few weeks ago we stumbled upon the synagogue in one of our many walks and learned the hard way that they don't just take in anybody. Sarah and I had enlisted Tomas to translate for us so we could find out when Shabbat services started and the guards were polite but stern.

"Who are you?" It took a lot of hand motions, Portuguese, and what we hoped were innocent faces to convince them to give us any information.

Fast forward to erev Rosh Hashannah. We knew we wanted to attend some portion of the services being held for Rosh Hashannah. We didn't get out of class and home before services had already begun, so we decided to postpone until the morning. That, plus we hadn't quite figured out when services were and we couldn't very well call the synagogue while they were busy sounding the shofar. So we had a quiet night. We successfully cooked dinner (again!) and had apples and honey with which we "toasted" to a sweet new year. Tuesday morning we found our way across town, conveniently forgetting our map and having to rely on pure directional sense. We made it there shortly after the beginning of services, spoke a little Portuguese to the security guard who then asked to see our passports to verify that we were in fact American students studying in Lisbon.

I was raised in the Reform practice, so you can imagine my surprise when the security guard said "Women upstairs" and closed the front gate on us. Raised eyebrows, hesitant breaths and then the inevitable question: Are we at an Orthodox synagogue? Yikes.

I mean, I'm all for new experiences and Lisbon has been nothing but full of them. And even when it comes to religion I'm open to learning new things and even trying out different customs. But if my Portuguese is awful, then my Hebrew is abysmal and I wasn't sure I could sit still and quiet for the several hours that the service would be.

We debated for a long time. We had peeked into the upper gallery and couldn't see anyone, realizing that most people probably wouldn't show up right on time. We weren't dressed for an Orthodox service. It felt like there were a million reasons to not go in. So naturally, we ignored all those reasons (I mean, it was a service. It's not like we were deciding whether to jump off a building...) and tiptoed into the room. A sign on the door had said "guests, tourists and non-members: please don't sit in reserved seats."

All the seats were reserved.

Luckily, including the two of us, there were only 6 women so we had plenty of seats to choose from. We stayed for an hour, most of which we spent craning our necks to see if there was even a full minyon (ten men) downstairs. A woman sitting next to us asked for our help in translating the Hebrew above the ark. Alas, no surprise, I couldn't translate. I'm getting so used to be hopelessly lost and confused. I can't decide if I'm happy about that or not.

Despite being underdressed, on time, and totally lost in the Hebrew chanting, it was an experience and I'm glad we went. Especially glad since we went for a walk around Lisbon and skipped into a pastelaria called "Venetia" and feasted on raisin biscuits and lemon iced tea framed by a mural of Venice--the obvious choice for the Rosh Hashannah feast.

We wandered around the city, for it was a beautiful day, and talked about home and tradition. It was the only time since I've gotten here that I have felt like I was really missing out on something. UT football season, starting junior year, living with my roommate in our apartment, being with my friends from across the spectrum...I've happily been able to let these things slide into the background and truly immerse myself here. But sitting in the dorm kitchen eating apples and honey under cold fluorescent lights just doesn't compare to being surrounded by family and friends and copious amounts of delicious home-cooked food. For a 24-hour period I really wished I was at home.

Sarah also did some research and discovered that the synagogue was Sephardic. For those of you non-Jews, this basically translates into customs and practices that I have never been exposed to. It's like everyday drinking your same cup of coffee and then going to a different coffee shop and discovering that your same coffee tastes different somewhere else.

That was a horrible analogy but I really can't think of a good way to explain it. Forgive me. I used all my creative energy trying to think of all the things that I will be able to do without embarrassing myself once I learn enough Portuguese. On the bright side, the rabbi at our service spoke Portuguese twice and both times I understood.

"Page 106"
"Page 113"

How about that? Also, in my last post I believe I said that the only way life could get better is if the dorm installed a pastelaria downstairs. Well, guess what.

It opened yesterday. Ciao!

BENFIIIIIIIIIICA

Forget everything you ever knew about cheering at a sporting event and toss it out the window. Run it over with your car. Feed it to the dog. It can't help you.

Saturday night we went to Estadio da Luz to watch Benfica vs. Sporting Lisbon, Lisboa’s two main futebol clubs. We had spent most of last week collecting information to better prepare ourselves for things like riots and accidentally falling out of the stands and onto the field and potentially causing mass chaos. One can never be too careful about these things. This is what we came up with:

1. Don’t wear green and yellow if you’re sitting in the Benfica section. Forget your personal preferences and go with the masses.
2. Don’t bring food.
3. Don’t forget your ticket.
4. Wear comfortable shoes.
5. If there’s a mob scene, hug the wall.

Well, there were no mob scenes. In fact, if it weren’t for the riot police stationed around the stadium I might have said that the locals were just pulling our legs. But the comfortable shoes were a great piece of advice, since we spent the majority of the night on our feet screaming and dancing and doing the wave. But we’ll get to that in a minute…

We had to leave a couple hours before the game because we (correctly) assumed that the metro would be crowded. With our spare time to kill, we ran around like tourists looking for Benfica scarves, the ultimate accessory. Forget what color you’re wearing on your shirt. What color are you wearing on your arm, or around your neck, or hanging off your bag, or waving in the air? Giant thunder clouds rolled in right as we made our way to the stadium so we were looking forward to a night of getting soaked, but luckily our nosebleed seats were well-covered. The roar from the stadium could have easily been confused with thunder, though. Even an hour before the game the noise pouring out of the stadium was mind-blowing. We were walking around the outside trying to get to the right gate and we got stopped, along with hundreds of others, by the police. They had created a barrier around a few of the gates. Turns out they don’t let the Benfica fans and the Sporting fans just filter in on their own time because they don’t want to open the door to potential mobs. I was just stunned. How cool! I mean, potential danger aside, I thought that was just so cool that they had riot police and a whole system to keep people separated at a futebol game. In the states, soccer games never draw that kind of riotous crowd, sure. But even American football games don’t require entire police squadrons at each entrance complete with face shields, night sticks, and the whole deal. Once inside the stadium, the Sporting fans were delegated to one section and police guarded each row from the Benfica fans surrounding them. I would not want to be supporting the away team at a Benfica game…

Our seats were on the third level so, surprise! We climbed lots of stairs. Honestly I had been getting worried that I’d go a whole day without climbing at least 100 stairs. Thank you Benfica for fulfilling my needs. We spent the 45 minutes before the first kick learning all of the cheers. Well, attempting. We figured out that one of them was saying “SLB! SLB! SLB!” for Sport Lisboa Benfica, the official name of the team. And then we screamed “Benfiiiiiiiiiiiiiiica!” in response to the very enthusiastic announcer. And we danced and sang along with what we thought were the right words to “Sou Benfica.” Honestly, I could be way off on that, but those are the words I sang. (Sou Benfica=I am Benfica)

By the time the game actually started I could already feel my voice going. But who cares? This is Lisboa! This is Portugal! This is Benfica! Every strained vocal cord reminded me of how unbelievably cool a place I am in. And every five seconds the game reminded me of this too. It began with an eagle—Benfica’s mascot—flying around the stadium. Giant posters with the players’ pictures dropped down around the perimeter and spewed confetti everywhere. We strung out our scarves like banners and head-bopped along while everybody sang what I can only assume is the team’s anthem or something like that. And the cheering was so loud for this part alone that I didn’t even realize the game had started until almost 10 seconds in.

Remember how I told you to forget everything you know about cheering? You don’t know anything unless you know how to cheer like the Benfica fans. The crowd was constantly cheering. Every time Benfica took possession the crowd erupted. Every time they got close to the goal the crowd erupted. Every time Sporting screwed up, the crowd went nuts. I have never heard such enthusiastic crowd response in my life and unless I find a way to make it to Brazil, I don’t think I ever will hear anything like it. When the cheering had died down to a dull roar, some section would start shouting “Ben-fi-ca” or “Benfiiiiiica” or “SLB!” and it would start all over again. Some guys in our section started the wave and after a couple of tries, it circled the stadium at least five times. They also sent a wave of feet-stomping, which added even more noise to the mix. We waved our scarves around; we screamed insults at the ref when we didn’t agree with a call (or just when everyone around us started screaming and flicking off the other team). Here, instead of booing, they whistle. Loud, high-pitched shrieking whistling. Even more than wanting to be able to speak Portuguese, I wanted to be able to whistle like that.

No goals first half, but lots of standing up to scream at the ref and lots of close shots. I was absolutely blown away by the physical duress of the players. The goalie effortlessly punted the ball straight to the other side of the field, landing just a few meters from where the Sporting goalie was standing. Every penalty kick happened so quickly; these players don’t waste time positioning the ball. They thought fast, they moved fast. It was all a blur, emphasized by the fact that I had forgotten my glasses. Typical. And then in the second half, something amazing and terrifying happened.

Benfica scored. Twice.

I say terrifying because the first time, I was mid-sneeze when they scored and the explosion of sound sounded like an actual explosion. I screamed because I was so startled by the wall of red that fired up around me in my half-second delay to start cheering. I’m pretty sure I got brushed by a few scarves but it didn’t matter because I was accidentally brushing mine across the Sporting fan sitting in front of us as I waved frantically in the air. His girlfriend was outright smacking him with her Benfica scarf. He was a bit miffed. The second time I was a little more prepared and was on my feet so fast I nearly fell over. The goals set us off into fresh rounds of all the cheering and singing, and in the corners of the stadium they set off giant red flares and threw them onto the field.

An adrenaline rush beyond all measure. It is beyond my literary/human power to find any more words to describe the experience. When the game ended, 2-0 Benfica, we took our time filtering out of the stadium and stopped for a spontaneous dance party and photo shoot in front of the empty field. A few people stared, but we were by no means the craziest or dumbest-looking fans there so we didn’t attract too much attention. The main entrance/exit to the stadium area is a long tunnel covered in red and white tiles and as we walked through, we whipped out our scarves for another round of fresh singing.

On our way back to the dorm some guy rolled down his window and said “Benfica!” when he saw our scarves. And in the front lobby a boy and girl were getting their keys and I shouted “Benfica!” to Sergio the security guard. The boy in the green Sporting scarf turned around and glared.

Victory. Another utterly wonderful day in Lisbon. And my window shade, which has been broken for two weeks, is finally fixed. It doesn't get much better than that.

Ate logo!

p.s. It actually could get much better than that if the residencia installed a pastelaria downstairs, but that's really all I can think of. Ciao!

No pause for faux pas

Friday morning I headed out to the Mini-Preco to pick up a few things for the weekend, and on my way out I accidentally set off the alarm because I had forgotten to cut the security tag out of my new purse before I left the United States. Exactly why the alarm went off this time and none of the other times I’ve been to mini-preco, I’m not sure. It was extremely embarrassing. They pulled everything out of my bag and kept asking me questions in Portuguese that I tried my best to understand. They rescanned everything to make sure I wasn’t stealing, including my half-empty bath and bodyworks lotion, my chapstick, my glasses case and my cell phone.

My cell phone. Yeah, as if I could steal a cell phone from a tiny grocery store where they don’t sell cells. I was absolutely mortified and all the elation I had felt from successfully finding everything I needed evaporated muito quickly. It’s times like those that make me wish I could instantly be fluent in Portuguese instead of struggling from day to day to make simple sentences. “It’s ten in the morning. How are you today?” just didn’t seem to cut it.

But despite that episode, or maybe even because of it, Friday was an absolutely perfect day. It was the kind of day that only comes along every so often, when you least expect it, when all the pieces fit together and even embarrassing moments become downright funny. It was the kind of day you couldn’t ever plan no matter how hard you tried, and I would say that it was probably one of the top ten best days of my life. It really began Thursday night when one of the guys’ host family hosted a potluck dinner for us. The family lives in a 19th century building in a pretty part of town so the house was a little creaky, a little old, and full of character. It was also huge for a Lisbon apartment, complete with an outdoor backyard and garden space. Sarah and I made breaded honey mustard chicken tenders with homemade honey mustard sauce and committed the faux pas of bringing them over in *gasp* a Ziploc bag. (we didn’t have a serving tray and didn’t want to run the risk of tripping over someone in the metro and sending poultry flying everywhere) Our hostess looked at the bag, which I unceremoniously pulled out of my purse, and raised her eyebrows. Apparently, nobody carries food in a bag here.

Sidenote: The cooking of the chicken tenders was in itself a huge accomplishment for Sarah and myself. Earlier in the week we had managed to screw up cooking rice and had nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to turn on the gas stove, so we were extremely proud to come out of there with no cuts or 1st degree burns. I also did all of the grocery shopping in Portuguese and located the grocery store on my own without getting lost. Like I said, a huge accomplishment.

End sidenote, end faux pas. Once we got past the Ziploc culture shock, we feasted. We drank homemade sangria, sampled Portuguese meat pastries called croquettes, danced enough to make the floor shake and caused the CDs to keep skipping. Our host and hostess had invited some of their own friends over so we also had the opportunity to meet a lot of people. One woman I met was Jewish and I learned about a community in Portugal that is so isolated that they managed to escape persecution when the Jews were excommunicated from the country at the turn of the 16th century. As a result, the community still practices the traditions of the 16th century. Muito interesting. I want to attempt a visit but I’m waiting until my Portuguese gets a little (more) competent or existent.

The evening was a wonderful success and as we were leaving, we had the inspired idea to go to the beach the next day since we didn’t have class. I have to say, one of the greatest things about this city is the ease with which I can make decisions to go to the beach. At home it takes serious advanced planning, figuring out where to stay, when to go, who will drive and pay for gas, blah blah blah. Here, we don’t have to deal with any of that. The beach can be done in a day, or even an afternoon. And that is just what we did.

We got there early in the afternoon and decided to explore Cascais for a little bit instead of hitting the sand right away. It feels more like a Mediterranean town than a European one. The roads are covered with worn and familiar tiles, the houses are white with colored doors and roofs, some covered with azulejos. There are so many palm trees it should be illegal to not feel like you’re in paradise. We sat for an early lanche in a café looking out at the coast and then plopped down in the sand for some well-deserved sunshine and relaxation. When we finally decided that frostbite was worth the experience, we all joined hands and ran screaming into the water. The familiar sensation of going numb from the waist down signaled that it was time to become cold-blooded or get out. I chose the latter and enjoyed the afternoon sun and the disappearance of my goose bumps.

I took off my watch for the day and was surprised to see the sun going down after what seemed like only an hour. Time flies when you’re in heaven. We wandered through Cascais to find Santini, a famous gelato place, and then after having dessert, realized we were hungry for dinner. We found an Italian restaurant called Restaurant Taj Mahal. Wait, did I say Italian? I meant Indian. No, I meant both. Indian/Italian restaurant, with take-away available. In theory, two great cuisines. In reality, I was afraid to order pasta because curry and alfredo just don’t go together. The downside to the restaurant was that the bathroom was through a beaded curtain and up one step that of course I didn’t see and went flying. Typical. Other than that, it was a pleasant evening in which we kept congratulating ourselves on such a brilliant idea and marveling at how absolutely perfect the day had been. But it wasn’t over! One of the top ten most perfect days of my life still had hours left in it, because the Portuguese are nothing if not night owls. We eventually took the train, the metro and the stairs to go back to the dorm and sneak our friends in (no guests after 10, unless the guy at the front desk likes you) wash all the sand out of our hair, visit Annia’s homestay, see Elsbeth get locked out of the metro, have a Portuguese guy tell us we’re on the wrong side of the platform for our train (we weren’t) and locate our friends in the maze of Bairro Alto. We eventually ran into someone we had met the night before at the potluck and along with his friends we single-handedly started the dancing at the Jamiroquai bar. They had one CD. Can you guess which one it was? Granted, the bar was big enough for about 20 people and with all of us throwing our arms around, it was a wee bit crowded. But it wouldn’t be Bairro Alto without a little bit of sweat and uncomfortable physical contact with strangers so we took it in stride. In BA, if you’re smart about it, you can meet some really cool people. I was talking to a British guy who was asking me about the election and told me he was jealous that I had the ability to vote for Barack. And then I said something about Sarah Palin and he just looked at me. “Who is Sarah Palin?”

(Me: Laughter. To the point of tears.)

I mean, it was an interesting moment. It’s a totally different perspective to be viewing the US election, not to mention the economic crisis, through a foreign lens. Most of the minor details from my life at home seem unimportant here and it’s easy to just not read the paper (because I can’t), so I feel pretty removed from all the frustrating things going on at home. I think if I ever went into politics I’d want to be a foreign ambassador because it’s just more interesting from this side of the pond. Also, who wouldn’t want to live here?

At a very late hour that I won’t record because my parents read this (Hi mom and dad!) we started drifting out of the maze to walk our friends home and then take a cab home. It was our first successful ride where we were able to tell the cab driver exactly where to go and not get taken for a joy ride around town. I also had another pirate moment and found a silver ring wedged between two cobblestones. It would fit a man roughly the size of a small lion and it’s a little misshapen and scratched, but it makes a nice addition to my arggghh collection. Like I said, one of the most perfect days ever. Tan, tired, relaxed, blissfully happy.

Sidenote: If you’re having any doubts about studying abroad, just come visit. But pack for a while, because you won’t want to leave.

During the day, weekends here are a quiet affair. Since the weather is still beautiful, lots of people head out to the coast and lots of others go shopping and visit the city’s historical sights. But other than that, the roads are relatively empty. I spent most of Saturday afternoon lanche-ing with Elsbeth at our pastelaria where we tried a new meat pastry and devoured a tarte de nata (think pastel but in pie form instead of philo dough. Heaven.) We practiced our Portuguese with the teenage boy behind the counter who laughed at me when I said “Coke Zay-roh” instead of “Zero.” Honestly. Is that very encouraging? No. Thank goodness for Elsbeth, who pumped me full of courage and pastel enough to try again. Lanche consumed most of the afternoon and then we headed back to get ready for…the futebol match!!! Anything that awesome requires its own post so stay tuned. In the meantime…

Honorable Mentions

• In some parts of the city, the police ride Segways. In Praca do Commercio, a giant open plaza that used to be the market center in medieval days, one can rent Segways. I plan to do this before I leave.
• I know I keep going on and on about everybody being so relaxed but I have to mention it one more time. The pigeons here are very relaxed. Annia accidentally kicked a pigeon because it didn’t start flying away until she was standing right next to it and its feathers were brushing her leg. And sometimes we see dead pigeons in the road, because they see cars coming and think, “Hmm. Car” instead of relying on instinct and flapping out of the way. If I had any desire to have an annoying squawking bird as a pet, I’m pretty sure it would be easy to catch one because they are either phenomenally dumb or phenomenally lazy.
• Our dorm is in the direct flight path to the airport and we are close enough that when planes fly over their landing gear is already down. I watched one yesterday and realized that I have never seen the underside of an airplane that close up. Luckily, the planes roar overhead every 10 minutes so I have plenty of opportunities.
• Our campus has a large outdoor seating area that is usually always packed during the day. There’s a pastry café, good for lanche, and there’s also a beer stand. In the afternoons when I’m exhausted from class and totally focused on taking a nap, other students are focused on standing in a long line to get a beer. Definitely not something you’d see on very many U.S. campuses. Culture shock?
• I haven’t seen a single gas station in Lisboa. Granted, I don’t drive, but I walk everywhere and still haven't seen one.
• Few female students at UNL carry backpacks. They bring big purses but more often than not just carry their notebook in their arms like I had to do in junior high when we weren't allowed to use backpacks.
  
• A lot of the people we meet expect me to have a cowboy accent when I say I’m from Texas. Honestly, what does the world think of us? It’s not like I expect every British person I meet to be wearing a bowler hat and carrying crumpets in his pocket. One guy at the futebol match said the following: "You are from London?" Me: "Nope, Texas." Him: "Your English is very good."
  

…Um…what?

And the final honorable mention: There is a group of African guys that lives on the first floor below my room that believes Sunday afternoons are a great time for throwing parties. There are little atriums built into each hallway that cause all of the sound to drift straight up and it is quite loud. Lots of yelling and clapping and stomping on the floor. How anybody is supposed to study is beyond me. Yesterday they got into an argument about whose soccer team was better and when they decided they couldn’t solve it, they turned on the music. Today they brought chocolate cake into the lobby and shouted about something. I'm hoping that tomorrow we'll have pony rides. And now they're standing outside my window howling at airplanes.

Honest.

Welcome to Harry Potter University

I woke up this morning in the same manner as I have for the past three mornings: early. We're talking before-the-alarm-goes-off early. My window shade has been broken for about a week now so the rising sun comes through my window and forces me out of my REM cycles. Granted, at 7 am when I've been waking up the sun either hasn't been up yet or it's been foggy so I really can't complain too much. Today I woke up and decided to try something new. Instead of shutting my eyes for the half hour before my alarm and inevitably drifting into a comfortable semi-sleep that would leave me more tired, I got up. Totally worth it--I've been watching the sunrise over the palm trees and it's beautiful. Everybody both in and out of Lisbon talks about "the light" here. I didn't quite understand it until we went to Porto and got some perspective. Lisbon is always sunny. Sure, there is fog in the morning that weaves between the seven hills, and there have been some rain clouds that have rolled through but these pass and the sun still manages to find its way down to the ground. Even walking through the narrow alleys of Alfama, the oldest part of the city where the buildings are so close you can often reach out on both sides and touch, it is still sunny. Porto was nice but even when the sun shone it wasn't quite like the near-blinding light that floods my new city daily. It's so bright in the afternoon when I'm walking back from class that the light reflects off of the sidewalks to the point where it looks like the sun is shining from underneath and just reflecting on the sky. And go figure, my sunglasses broke and I haven't been able to replace them yet. Pictures alone can't really capture it, but it makes total sense why Lisboners have lanche and sit outside for hours, and why every cafe has at least a few chairs outside, and why store owners stand in their doorways, even when you're inside browsing.

There's nothing like a little natural beauty to pull you out of bed for a long day of school. Since I finally have a few minutes where I don't feel rushed (as if I could ever be coherent about much in the mornings) I'm going to shoot off some headlines of my first week of school. There is always so much going on here that I am falling seriously behind.

• I never mentioned the fact that I have a suitemate. Her name is Tatiana and she is from Sao Paulo, Brazil. For a residencia that doesn't do personality profiles and roommate matching, they managed to get one thing right. I love her. She is extremely friendly and she is a great person to live with--very thoughtful. The other day she brought back brigadeiro, this Brazilian chocolate treat that causes angels to sing when you bite into it. Seriously. We decided that for the first month we will speak English so she can practice but once I learn enough Portuguese to say more than "Hi. It's 4:00. The weather is nice. Where is the bathroom?" we are going to start speaking Portuguese. It's helpful for both of us, since Brazilian Portuguese is a little bit different from the european version. She also brought a blow dryer. I haven't really needed to use it because the wind blows my hair around every morning, but it's nice to know that it's there in case of a real emergency (like getting honey in my hair and having to do an emergency washing...might have happened)
• Yesterday after school, Elsbeth, Annia and I headed over to our pastelaria for an early lanche. One of the owners is an extremely tall man who likes to wink at us. When we walked in a bunch of construction workers were taking a break so it was a) very crowded and b) very crowded with the same men who whistle at us when we walk to school. So our friend Senhor Tall came over and pushed us through the crowd to a table and took our orders and brought it all to us instead of making us go through the wait-at-the-counter ritual. Very sweet. He tried to pull a fast one on me and tell me that my Coke Zero was 5euros, but we learned numbers the other day and common sense is, fortunately, the same in every language. Funny guy, that one is. Probably not as funny as we looked though, writing postcards, eating pastries, and cheering with the construction workers whenever one of the teams playing on TV scored a goal. Successful afternoon lanche.
  
• One of the nice things about Lisbon is that even though there is no SuperTarget, we do have a wide selection of cheap "everything" stores. We call them the Chinese stores because they are all owned by Chinese families, but they sell just about everything you need. And just about everything you don't. For instance, I have bought laundry detergent and soap there. And a dishtowel, a mirror, a rug and a desk lamp. Normal stuff. I have also found, but not purchased, a small martial arts toy that kicks when you push the button, a giant novelty colored pencil that weighs about 3 lbs., a cherub angel lamp that is missing one of its arms, and a Hello Kitty lipgloss set that has been badly translated into English. The stores are quite tiny and the shelves are literally packed full from floor to almost-ceiling. The stuff is cheap--my rug cost 3euro, my mirror 1euro, and even the giant silver candles that looked like wands only cost 1euro. (They might knock the price down since mine and Annia's Harry Potter duel knocked off some of the glitter) We go to the Chinese store for everything. It's a little eclectic (my literature notebook has a picture of a woman on a cell phone and it says "Modern Life!") but we save a lot of euros, especially since we'll be throwing out most of the stuff when we leave. It probably won't even last until December, but we're getting good at becoming creative with things that break. (My mirror has flower petals made out of broken mirror pieces) We also have to be very careful when we go in there because it's easy to buy a lot of stuff you don't need and just invent a use for it later.
  
• We started school this week. All of the CIEE classes are held in the same classroom, which gets a little boring. However, it's impossible to fall asleep in class because my professors are interesting and there's serious construction going on in the classroom below us and next door to us. Have you ever seen that commercial where the couple has just arrived at their hotel and they're trying to talk but every time they open their mouth someone starts drilling very loudly? No? Well, this is what happens in class. The professor starts talking, there's a loud bout of drilling, the professor starts shouting and then eventually has to stop and wait for the drilling to stop. It does, he restarts, and then the drilling starts again. It's hilarious. Probably not for my professors, but for us it's quite comical. How we will learn anything with that racket going on, I'm not sure. But then again, the giant palm trees outside my window are equally distracting...
• Yesterday, the daytime front desk guard, Rosa, whom I adore, tried to engage my help on the phone. She only speaks Portuguese, and she needed to talk to someone in English. She knows I speak English (she knows everybody by face and first and last name and can get you your room key without you even saying anything) so she said "Fala ingles!" and I nodded my head. "Sim" I said. And that was about as far as I got. She started speaking to me slowly in Portuguese and using hand signals to explain what she needed me to say on the phone. What I understood was: "Can you speak english to someone on the phone for me? Doctor, shrug shoulders, cross arms (either cold or angry) Doctor. Please?" Turns out, a girl who doesn't speak Portuguese had needed a doctor so a friend had helped her get one to come to the residecia. The doctor had shown up and waited around for a while and the girl never showed. I was supposed to try calling her in her room and then on her cell phone to let her know the doc was there and mad that she'd been waiting so long. Sadly, I could not translate this. A very nice bilingual student overheard Rosa and me attempting to communicate and offered to help (in Portuguese and then in English, but I understood the Portuguese slash the nice gesture. that's the same in every language too) Rosa is wonderful. I hope to speak enough Portuguese by the end of the semester to have real conversations with her like most of the students in the residencia.
• And now I come to a topic where words alone cannot fully express what I want to convey. We started school this week at the Faculty of Social Sciences, which is basically the liberal arts campus of the New University of Lisbon. And since school started, there are naturally a bunch of freshmen who are also just starting school. And there are a bunch of older classmen who think this is a perfect opportunity to abuse their status as upperclassmen. As we learned Sunday night when a friend of ours woke up all the freshmen in the middle of the night to give them a set of fake rules for dorm life, hazing is not illegal here. Granted, the kind of hazing they do here is not like the hazing that has caused so many lawsuits in the U.S. On Monday when we got to school, we saw large groups of face-painted freshmen being herded around by upperclassmen. At lunch, all of their hands were tied or ziptied together and they had to eat in unison and stop every few minutes to raise their hands, collectively, and start cheering wars with the other groups. Unfortunately, we did not know what was going on and sat right in between two tables full of freshmen, getting caught smack dab in the middle of decibel central. It was like camp color war except that everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves and there weren't any kids crying in a corner because they had to play soccer instead of basketball. This went on all day. And onto the second. And even onto the third day of class. And it extends beyond school. We were downtown the other day and we saw groups of freshmen being paraded around town (to get pastries, no doubt!) with their faces still painted. I don't think that all of the freshmen are involved in this process but I'm not sure. I know that my friend Jose at the dorm was in charge of dorm hazing. They made up these fake rules about curfew (we don't have one; the freshman have one at 10:00), no one can wear anything revealing, so the freshman have been wearing jeans, close-toed shoes and shirts that come all the way up on their neck and at least cover the top part of their arms. According to the fake freshman rules, they're not allowed to invite anybody over or to have anyone in their rooms other than themselves. (Not even same-sex friends) They're allowed to drink but only one drink per week. And they're only allowed to have drugs if they have exactly 10 grams. The whole thing of course was a joke but the last one was particularly funny for the upperclassmen/confused Americans because in the middle of the first night the upperclassmen put bags of powdered sugar under their pillows and then woke them up, accused them of having drugs, pulled them out of bed and then threw them a party and took them out on the town. Like I said--probably not hilarious for the freshmen, and I'm probably a bad person for saying this, but I found it highly amusing. It's not like the hazing at universities at home where they hack away at self-esteem and force students to do really dangerous things like put your feet in ice water and see how long they can stay there without falling off. They don't discriminate against anyone in particular and they treat the whole thing like a giant carnival. And since they are all separated into groups, kind of like orientation, it seems like all the freshmen are really getting to know each other. It actually seems really fun and we asked Jose the other night if we were eligible to take part. We are not freshmen, but we're new to the university. Not enough to qualify. Oh well. We learned our lesson though. We started sitting in a different part of the cantina so we can at least hear something other than screaming. I bet that to anybody not witnessing it live it still sounds awful, but I promise...underneath all the face paint there are smiling faces.
  
• Gulbenkian Gardens. There's a nice park/gardens right near the residencia complete with a performance hall, an outdoor ampitheater, a duck pond, cool shaded gardens etc. It's a very nice space and we go there sometimes after class to soak in the sunshine. It's creepy at night, especially when ducks fly out of the bushes towards your head.
  
• Every day on my way to class I also pass the Spanish embassy. It's an enormous salmon pink building with pretty architecture, but there's a sewer vent right next to it and it always smells positively repulsive. One must hold one's breath to survive to the other side.
  
• Yesterday I almost got run over on the sidewalk by a car that didn't seem to think the road was good enough. I was waiting for the little green man to pop up so I could cross the street and I had to jump out of the way as this car flew up over the curb next to me. Honestly: what is the point of building sidewalks if people are just going to drive all over them?
• Yesterday for my art history class we visited the Teatro Romano, the old roman theater dating back to the days when Lisbon was the roman colony Olisipo. The excavations sit under street level in the Alfama and they eventually had to call off the project because they couldn't knock down people's houses to continue digging. There were lots of giant urns on display that just begged me to climb in them, but being the respectable person that I am, I controlled myself and just took pictures instead. And naturally, being Elena, I didn't see the "no cameras" sign until after I had snapped quite a few. Sorry, museum.
  
• My literature professor sounds a little bit like Sebastian from the Little Mermaid. A little deeper and a lot more Portuguese than French or whatever accent he had in the movie, but the way that he speaks and laughs and his mannerisms all remind me of that little crab.
• There are numerous fresh fruit stands in this city including one on the way to and from school. Today I had a euro in my pocket so I stopped in to get some pears. The whole transaction took less than 30 seconds and I was on my way. So simple. So happy. Pure bliss.
  
• On my way back from class I saw a smart car parked perpendicular between two parallel-parked cars. Ah, Europe.
  

The last thing for this quick-ish update post is also about my first days of school. Last week when we had language classes we saw a few people walking around in what looked like uniforms, complete with capes. This week, with school fully in session, we are literally surrounded by them. Nobody seems to be able to give us a straight explanation of what they are, but from what I've gathered there are competing "houses" here, if you will. They're not exactly fraternities in the American sense but they are these big social groups that have special rules and rivalries. Some of them, I think, have singing groups. But one of the groups wears this signature uniform with button down shirts, ties, coat-tailed tuxedos for the boys, skirts and tights for girls, and capes that are more often than not covered in patches. The cape is as much an accessory as a piece of clothing because it's really too hot here for that, much less long sleeves, tuxedo jackets and tights. Caution, nerd attack coming on: It's a lot like Harry Potter and the different Hogwarts houses. Yes, I said it. And this is how we now refer to the kids in uniforms. Yesterday we were standing in line at the cantina and a student pushed flyers into our hands for a different group called Mata, the anti-Harry Potter group group. And a kid in the Harry Potter uniform was seen holding one of those flyers and another girl tore it out of his hand and started harassing him, I assume, for fraternizing with the enemy.

Dun dun dunnnnn.

Ok. It's not that serious. But it is a big deal and it has made my first week a crazy learning/observing/overwhelming experience. There are so many things going on at once that it's hard to keep track. A lot of the classes don't even start til next week because they don't have professors yet. Muito chaotic. I'm really glad we got some time to settle in and adjust before being thrown into the ring. Looking forward to having a little time to relax and going to the futebol game Saturday when Lisbon's two main clubs will be playing each other.


Yeah, I know. Insane.
It's going to be awesome.

Portolicious

Portolicious. The only word I can come up with to describe our weekend in Porto and even attempt to do the experience justice. But before I get there, I need to backtrack to a few things I left out. The first is that my friend Noey hurt his foot climbing on rocks at the beach so we had a fun week helping him hobble around Lisbon. European crutches are different than American crutches, so the first post-injury day was a big hassle. (Remember all those stairs I told you about?) He was able to get American-style crutches and his injury is healing pretty well but he still can't wear a shoe on one foot so he carries the crutch around to avoid awkward stares at his one-shoed, one-slippered feet. Of course, he didn't need the crutch much so we had a great time coming up with other things to do with it. (air guitar, mostly. We are all excellent air guitarists)

The second thing I forgot to mention last week was something that stereotypes dictate should come out of our neighbor to the south (Africa) rather than an urban city like Lisbon. A few of us stopped at Cortes d'Ingles (English Court) which is a huuuuuuuge mall with a huuuuuuge and muito caro (very expensive; learn Portuguese with me!) grocery store. It also has a subway stop which is convenient for grocery shopping after a long day at the beach. We walked out of Cortes d'Ingles to see a woman standing at the crosswalk with a bulk package of boxed milk balanced perfectly on her head. Whoa! If I could do that, I would've been able to buy so many more groceries! She seemed completely unphased by the 5 lbs of milk on her head, even in the wind. Some tourists passing by on a bus took pictures. We were too classy for that. (and our hands were full of groceries since we do not possess such amazing talent)

Last week the mosque near my dorm hosted a week's worth of festivities for Ramadan, which brings me to honorable mention #3: women dressing for mosque. On the stairs. These two women, who couldn't have been much older than me, were wearing jeans, tank tops and flip flops. They stopped a few steps ahead of me on the big stairs and pulled huge swaths of fabric out of their bag and started wrapping themselves from head to toe. It was a cool collision of worlds, the modern urban Lisbon woman turning to more conservative ceremonial dress right down the stairs from the mosque. Once I got to the top of the stairs I was blown away--the mosque was almost lost in the sea of bright colors (which is saying something, as it is tiled in turquoise and bright blue from top to bottom, including the domes) The metro, too, was full of women in bright dresses and head wrappings. It was a very colorful and cultural day.

That's that. Even though I could go on forever about Lisbon, I have a new best friend named Porto and it's time you guys met each other. Our excursion to Porto began at the unfathomable hour of 8:30 am. Because we couldn't leave without getting a pastry, this required us to wake up extra early; obviously, it was totally worth it. We took the metro to the train station and then took a short ride on a double-decker passenger train to the Oriente station, which is really cool because it has these giant steel beems that crisscross everywhere. I can't explain it. Google: Oriente station, Portugal. To a girl born and raised in Texas where public transportation is all but nonexistent, the concept of all these passenger trains, much less a double-decker train, was muito exciting. But it didn't compare to our national train, which looked much like the inside of an airplane complete with a dining car. Whoa! Ok, you're not impressed. Fine. Well maybe I should tell you then that the train to Porto cuts north across half the country, alternating between spectacular views of the Rio Tejo and the Atlantic Ocean and small traditional villages and small vineyards and small stations covered in azulejos and beautiful hills covered in tiny cottages and ancient churches. Or that after a few hours when you arrive in Porto, the train speeds across one of the many bridges spanning the Rio D'Ouro and you're suddenly hundreds of feet above sparkling water flanked by traditional tiled houses rising all the way up to the old convent and the many, many wineries. Or, that when you finally arrive, the people in Porto are even more relaxed than Lisbon. I know--I didn't think it was possible either.

Porto is Portugal's second biggest city, but in comparison to Lisbon and other major European cities, it's not much more than a moderate quiet city and therein lays its charm. It feels more Euroean than Lisbon because of the British presence (the Brits discovered the method for making port wine) yet it is still overwhelmingly Portuguese. Tiled sidewalks, bronze statues, narrow streets and a hardcore calf and quad workout. We checked into our hotel, Hotel de Paris, which is a century-old house that used to belong to a very rich family. We walked around Porto to a diner that served franceszinha, Porto's trademark sandwich. It's the Portuguese version of croque monsieur--bread, steak, sausage, bread, melted cheese, spicy sauce. And, naturally, french fries. Someone started a rumor that there was animal tongue in the sandwich and I promptly lost my appetite, even after Eduardo, one of our program directors, earnestly convinced us that there wasn't. I'm still doubtful. I mean, I'm all for new experiences, but...*shudder* I'm not that adventurous. No meal is complete without a pastry and our Porto diner had a different selection than our usual Lisbon haunt. No worries--they had plenty of pastel de nata.

We walked through an open-air market whose building dates to the 19th century. The market is both inside and outside of the building, which has scaffolding to hold it up because it is so old. Every year the city threatens to tear it down for hygienic and beautification reasons and vendors and customers alike chain themselves to the scaffolding in protest. The Portuguese are apparently very passionate about their fresh fruit, fish, and flowers, some of which were fake. (I learned this when I bent over to smell a beautiful flower and the water droplets on it were hard) We visited the Torre dos Clerigios, a giant watchtower to which a church later attached itself. The tower is one of Porto's tallest structures with lots of stairs, so obviously we had to climb it. The stairs were only a foot wide with no handrails, but the view was spectacular. Treachery vs. beauty. Not a bad trade. We also visited this really cool bookstore that has a complex twisted wooden staircase going up through the middle of the store. It has a shelving cart on a track that runs through the store and incredible woodwork. The only title I recognized was Le Petit Prince, in Portuguese, and I have no doubt that the owner was un-thrilled about the 11 Americans running around and wanting to slide down the banisters of the staircase/playground. We didn't, but it was on my mind. We passed the original building of the Portuguese stock exchange, which no longer exists, and then went to the church of St. Francis, an ancient gothic church that was renovated in the 18th century. Portugal was very rich in the 18th century from its Brazilian colonies, so they covered the entire church in gold-leaf wood carvings from floor to very, very high ceilings. It is estimated that about 1 ton of gold coats the entire church. How anybody was ever supposed to pray with all that gold shining in their eyes, I have no idea...

When we exited the church, we stumbled upon a wedding going on next door just outside the chapel. A long red carpet had been laid down and the bride and groom walked slowly out of the chapel accompanied by the wedding march and followed by their wedding guests--wearing old-fashioned penguin tuxedos. No joke. The bride's veil and train were the size of a small boat and the couple looked phenomenally...unphased. As if this huge procession, the white dress, the eternal vows were all minor events in an otherwise normal day. I've never seen such a stoic crowd at a wedding. The only guest who seemed thrilled to be there was a young girl who had taken to jumping back and forth across the bride's train while her mom tried to grab her wrists and prevent possible catastrophe. The guests all threw roses as the couple turned around and reentered the church. At first, I thought this was some bizarre Portuguese custom or perhaps a do-over; maybe the guests had forgotten to throw the rose petals so the bride wanted to start over from the beginning. But Eduardo told us he'd never seen a wedding like that. As the couple reentered the church, a few of our group started clapping and we all joined in enthusiastically. And by we, I mean the Americans. The guests clapped lightly, almost as if they were bored, and then they all hugged each other and started to leave. Now, I've never had a wedding of my own, but I'm absolutely positive the last emotion I would be feeling is "Eh, whatever" or "Are we done yet?" or just plain old apathy. Clearly, this bride did not share my sentiments.

We left the puppet bride and groom and headed to the Ribeira district right on the river for traditional Portuguese dinner (french fries and rice and meat) We were getting ready to leave when we heard drumbeats outside. A local community marching band was playing in the street so we ran outside and started dancing. Despite the pre-pubescent boys staring at us, we thorougly enjoyed our 15-minute spontaneous dance party. And none of us fell in the river. Always a plus.

We eventually made our way to Rua G. Paris, Porto's main bar scene. In Lisbon, Bairro Alto is the main nightlife scene. It's a grid of 18th-century alleys dating back to the post-earthquake building program and the streets are still tailored to the 18th century. This means they're not wide enough for anything more than one car or one crowd, yet both try to simultaneously exist which leads to a lot of pushing, honking and general logistical nightmares. The biggest challenge is getting into any kind of building, be it a bar, restaurant or house. (Yes, for some crazy reason, normal people actually inhabit the houses in that district) In Porto, the crowds were not quite as dense and they tended to shift away from the bars and into the street, which is much wider than BA's alleys. All in all, a slightly less chaotic environment, and, ultimately, a much more pleasant experience when trying to stick together with the group. I still managed to trip and go flying headlong into an unsuspecting local, but like all Portuguese, he didn't seem to care about anything, much less a projectile American tourist. A successful, albeit exhausting, day.

Day 2 was a bit longer, if only because we were utterly exhausted from Day 1. Our directors told us we had a 10:30 appointment at Casa da Musica, an utterly modern performance hall and Portugal's only auditorium devoted to being an auditorium (as opposed to a theater, opera house etc) Naturally, we were running late. Naturally, nobody seemed to care. The building itself is a giant irregular septagon-ish pod sitting on a giant plaza of marble where kids like to skateboard. I was skeptical. Touring a music hall? Why on earth would we come all the way to Porto to see a stage and auditorium? I will tell you. We came because it was part music hall, part playground. The building seems to cater to everyone's need. They offer free babysitting in a room dubbed "the purple room." The floor was padded in giant purple cushions, the room was light by dark purple lights, the floor was made of recycled tires and was...purple. The room overlooks the auditorium behind windows in the shape of waves. These actually helped sound-proof the auditorium but in terms of the kiddos in the purple room, it reflects the purple lights in a way that makes it look like giant purple stars are dancing in front of their eyes. We automatically felt relaxed and calm. I'm convinced that in 5 minutes we would've all passed out and slept until dinner. Our tour guide explained that the color of the room and the lighting induced relaxation. So of course, to rejuvenate us after our near collapse into sleep comas, we went next to the sala laranja, or orange room. When walking into the orange room, one walks past several motion detectors which triggers tribal and jungle and animal noises. The room's main and only other feature was a giant ramp going up into the corner, covered in bright orange carpet. we ran up the ramp and started rolling and sliding down, having races, pushing each other and pretending to surf. Orange is supposed to motivate and energize people. It also helps you retain information, as you can see since I am remembering all of these things that we did in the orange room. Like I said, Casa da Musica is a giant playground. Employees are encouraged to use the room, too, when they feel sluggish during the day. All in all, a very cool building. It also had multiple bars scattered around, one suspended in the air that swings when more than 100 people are in/on it. The whole building is made of silver metal so each of the rooms' and auditoriums' unique color schemes really stood out. Not a bad way to spend one's morning, rolling down an artifical hill and cartwheeling across the motion detectors to set them off in order.

After the Casa we had lunch at Piolho D'ouro Cafe. Literal translation: Golden Lice Cafe. We didn't find out the literal translation until after we had eaten. They served me french fries with my canneloni and a crazy woman came begging at our table for a coin to buy herself booze. Pretty much your average Portugugese meal. Not.

That afternoon we went to the Serralves estate, a century-old estate with a 40s modern villa, rose garden, farm and (modern) art museum. Museum entry is free because Portuguese cultural societies are trying to cater to the young and get those generations interested in their national identity. Our guide informed us that they often throw parties at the musuem to draw in the younger crowds. I can't really imagine what it would be like to have a dance party in a museum but apparently the Portuguese can. I wasn't crazy about the museum but they had a great cafe with delicious pastries so we sat down for lanche (late-afternoon snack/pastry time) and enjoyed the scenery as a late afternoon downpour rolled in across the lush green estate.

Later, after power napping at the hotel, we went to a place called "Chic Dream." Think thick wooden beams and stone stairs--like an old tavern, maybe--mixed with colorful lanterns and candles and lots of plants and tables crammed together into every available space. This is chic dream. I happened to be sitting next to a decorative (?) oven built into the stone wall surrounded by a dozen tiny mirrors that I kept accidentally threatening to knock off. The food was muito delicious but even better was the fact that we stayed for a mere 4 hours, relaxing, sipping on sangria and eating fish and dessert until we were stuffed. And then all of a sudden, the lights went out and we were pitched into semi-darkness. Luckily, I have four other senses that helped me figure out what was going on. You know how birthdays at restaurants are usually loud, obnoxious, exciting affairs where everybody sings and claps and some people love it (me) and some people hate it? Well, much like the world's most boring wedding that we had observed on Friday, this was the world's most boring birthday. The lights had gone out to celebrate this birthday, and we hear half-hearted singing from 2 people across the room, which was really only 10 feet away; it just sounded further because they were whispering like their voiceboxes might break. They sang for a few seconds and according to our Portuguese speakers, it didn't even sound like happy birthday. A few people clapped, so we of course joined in energetically creating twice as much noise as everyone else just between the few of us. And then the lights came on and it was as if nothing happened. How anticlimactic. If you're going to plunge everybody else into darkness mid-bite, you should at least make it exciting and worthwhile. I do not believe that staring at a piece of cake while someone whispers "happy birthday" is a good enough reason to involve the entire restaurant. I know I've been totally thrilled with the relaxed atmosphere and attitude of the Portuguese people, but the birthday "celebration" bordered on (a)pathetic. Still, I felt very authentic to be witnessing a local birthday "party."

From there a few of us headed back to the Rua G. Paris for capirinhas, one of Portugal's more popular cocktails full of limes and sugar that drifts down to the bottom of the glass making the last few sips taste like really delicious Juicy Juice. (No worries mom and dad. We were just experiencing the culture) When we turned down the street, we were nearly blinded by bright lights hanging from trees in the middle of the road. Well, we thought they were trees. Turns out they were fake trees hung with lightbulbs hanging from poles sticking up behind actresses standing on platforms 8 feet in the air. Yeah, I know. Overwhelming. The actresses were wearing giant dresses that stretched all the way to the ground and their faces were painted to match their outfits. They wore giant hats. The two on the ends in matching silver shark hats and the one in the middle a giant white feathered balloon-type...thing. Every few seconds they moved into a new pose, never changing their faces. I bet they'd be really good at poker, because I made ridiculous faces at them and they completely ignored me. Apparently they were part of some promotional thing going on at one of the bars. Whatever they were, they were very tall and very bizarre. So naturally, my friend decides it'd be a good idea for me to get on his shoulders to go talk to the girls and try to break their silence. After a little persuasion from the group, I was suddenly up in the air while my support pushed through the crowd towards the platforms. Everybody was either staring up at me or staring down at Annia and asking, in Portuguese, "What are they doing?!" I honestly have no idea, because by the time we reached the platforms the girls had disappeared into their dresses and their crew had started dismantling their trees. Muito disappointing, but exhilarating nonetheless. Bonus: being up in the air got me above the cloud of smoke drifting from hundreds of cigarettes. Score!

Luckily, nobody in Porto knows who I am.

Sunday morning we ate breakfast in the garden of our hotel, a very European and refreshing thing to do on a Sunday morning. It being Sunday, pretty much the whole city was shut down but we wandered around a bit anyways. The malls were open, and even though they were pretty generic, I did find a beading shop where you can pick out your beads and the staff gives you ideas on colors and patterns and they help you make your necklace in the shop. Or you pay extra and they make it for you. Not entirely dissimilar to bead shops in the states, but this one was totally aimed at girls and young women my age. I didn't have time to make a necklace but it was still a cool discovery. We ate lunch outside and even though we were cutting it close to our departure time, still ordered dessert and played sudoku and drew portraits of each other on our paper placemats. All the fun caused us to miss our train but what do you know...it was not a big deal. "Oops. Missed the train. Guess we'll just take the next one."

Seriously. In the US if you missed your train or plane or even the first ten minutes of your TV show (for us non-TiVoers) you'd be more inclined to fume, stress, cry, tense up, curse, pout, sigh. Here, we miss the train to take us halfway across the country and the reaction is "Ok. We'll take the next one. Who wants to get a pastry?" We spent our extra hour lounging around the train station and getting harrassed for taking up more than one seat per person (no naps in Portugal) We also went on a wild goose chase looking for a bathroom and when we finally found one, a very strange thing happened. I was leaning against the wall outside waiting for my friend and a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly was leaning next to me. Another man walked up, tickled the man's belly, shook his hand and then went into the men's bathroom.

What?!



What?! I didn't even know how to process that information. So I waited for my friend and then left, telling her the story and saying "YEAH! What was that?" after seeing her reaction. The rest of the day was not so eventful. I talked to friends most of the train ride and marveled at the speed of the train (200 km/h) and how quiet it was inside such a fast-moving piece of machinery. Arriving back in Lisbon, I was bummed that such a great and relaxing weekend had to end, but pleasantly surprised to find that I felt a sense of return. It was the first time I'd left the city since I got here, and even though I've only been here for a few weeks, it felt like a homecoming. We hadn't used the metro in a few days either, so it was nice to whip out my wallet and tap through the stiles to start climbing the stairs.

End of Porto weekend. I have SO much to write about from this week but this post is long enough and I have 60 pages of reading to do for class tomorrow so I think maybe it is time to stop. Ate logo! (See you soon)

I bet Marques de Pombal didn't climb the stairs

Lisbon is built on several hills. According to legend, the number is 7. They copied Rome. According to reality (and about a thousand years of urban development) the number is much, much higher. Lisbon offers funiculars (emphasis on fun) to ride down and more importantly, up, some of these hills but not enough. For example, I could go for a funicular near the dorm, where I walk up 60 stairs every time I need to go to the street that goes to campus. And then another few flights behind the mosque. And then the uphill incline. All of this to go to my room, which is on the second (european; third American) floor--but where is the fun in that?

I will tell you. The fun is in the panting, the burn in my legs, the sweat that coats your body even though it's only 70 degrees and the wind is blowing. If you haven't climbed any stairs lately, no worries. I've got you covered. And your whole family. And probably your whole block. Today, for "fun," we climbed up the 7 stories to get to the CIEE office so we could get ID photos. Then we walked all the way back down to the basement to fill out our forms for our student IDs. Alas, the one English speaking ID card guy had gone upstairs during our absence, so we turned around and went back up. By the time we filled out the forms to get our student IDs, we had completed a full day's workout. We rewarded ourselves with a trip to a pastelaria (pastry shop). The pastelaria rewarded us with the cheapest and biggest pastries we've found yet. The words pastel de nata might not mean much to an American, but to an American in Lisbon, these are the words of angels sent to us from on high (at the top of the stairs) Our new heaven also comes with happy and helpful staff that didn't scowl at us or act impatient as we debated between bolo creme chocolate or pastel de nata; between cafe and sumo laranja. Breakfast for 1euro 60cents. Who can complain when we have so clearly found the answer to all our prayers? And better yet, even one rich, creamy, delicious and almost sinfully good pastel de nata cannot invalidate all the exercise. Because as soon as you're done eating, you start climbing again.

Buns of steel. That's what they really should have called this program.

Other things they could have called it include: the beach is only 20 minutes away. View of pre-earthquake 17th century aqueduct. Constant sunshine.

Well, almost constant. Yesterday we attempted our second trip to the beach and although we made it there, the sun did not seem to catch up with us. It was partly cloudy. I know. Can you believe it? The nerve that sun has. Every day thus far has been beautifully perfect, wonderfully warm. Then we put our swimsuits on, spend an inordinate amount of money on protector solar and the sun doesn't even grace us with its presence. It was windy and cool. A severe disappointment....for the wimpy Americans, at least. Local surfers didn't seem to mind the cold. I probably wouldn't either if my body had become completely immune to hypothermia in the frigid water. We had time to kill before our train tickets expired so we decided to start acting our part and visit some of Lisbon's most popular tourist spots, the Torre de Belem, the monument to the explorers and the old monastery. The tower of Belem and the monastery both survived the great earthquake of 1755, which destroyed most of the city. The city rebuilding project was headed by a man named Marques de Pombal, after whom my favorite metro stop is named. But we'll get to him in a second. We took the train (the metro doesn't extend that far, unfortunately) and got off at the Belem stop, as any rational tourist might do.

This is a good place for a side note about our company on the train. While still at Carcavelos (the beach) waiting, a couple approached us speaking English and asked us if the next train was the green line or not. In case you're curious, it's nearly impossible to figure out what color the line is because the train is green on the outside and blue on the inside. We helped the couple--who were both decked out in Hard Rock Cafe Lisbon gear--locate their final destination, the port for their Carnival cruise ship. We asked how they had enjoyed their day in Lisbon and they were shocked. "In Lisbon?! I didn't realize we were in the city!" Covered head to toe in Hard Rock Cafe gear (HRC is near downtown Lisbon) and didn't even realize they were in the city. The whole scene struck me as just incredibly ignorant. It's not like Lisbon is a generic city, laid out on a grid and full of gray city blocks. How could they have completely missed the fact that they were here? How could they have confused this capital city with the small beach towns?It made me feel very cultured and experienced. I've only been here a week and a half and I already felt a bit defensive for my new home. I felt more like a local than a tourist, which is ironic considering where we were headed...

End of sidenote. Back to the story, where we were preparing to do the tourist thing and get off the train at Belem to see the monuments. We were a little over half a mile away from the Tower when the train finally stopped. In fact, the Belem train stop is not really in Belem at all. We visited the monument to the explorers, which was actually extremely inspiring. I think the overwhelming factor was not as much the gigantic carved statues looking out to see as it was some street musicians playing "Time to Say Goodbye" on recorders and lutes and rainsticks behind us. They were dressed in some kind of colorful "tribal" costumes (they looked more like tie-dyed saris...), selling trinkets and playing the song so slowly you could hear each breath. The music was being amplified, so naturally we could hear very little but our own thoughts and the sound of the river lapping up on the stones near our feet. We contemplated the explorers who set out to defy everything the world believed in. They never knew if they were coming back. They faced impossible odds yet did not veer from their course (pun intended) I was overwhelmed. Being cheap college students, we had decided not to pay the admission to go up to the top of the monument but that decision instantly proved itself a wise one. Being on the ground, standing below and craning my neck to look up at these massive representations of some of history's bravest, I felt very small and simultaneously very brave. I didn't need yet another spectacular view of the city to feel awed and inspired by the monument. And I didn't have my camera, so I was forced to view the experience through my own eyes instead of my digital viewfinder.

An incredible experience, only to be matched by the experience that followed: pastel de Belem. Yes, that's right. There is a pastel de nata and a pastel de Belem. And there is a single bakery in all of Portugal (and probably the world) where one can purchase and devour a pastel de Belem. The bakery is, creatively named, "Pasteis de Belem" and all it takes is 90 cents to sink your teeth into a hot cinnamon-and-powdered-sugar-covered pastry. Yum. My friend Mike was dubious as we waited in line to order. "What's so special about this pastry? Is it just a giant pastel de nata?" (Mouth watering appropriate here) I cannot explain it with words. Maybe someday you will come here and try it and understand. Or maybe you will read this and think all the stairs must be somehow messing with my head. Who really obsesses over pastries?

The Portuguese. And the 11 Americans studying here. Myself included.

Pastries certainly top my list of favorite Portuguese foods. All the shellfish is a little overwhelming sometimes, but the pastries never get old. (In fact, they're baked fresh every morning and I can smell them as I walk to class) Aside from the new heaven we discovered recently with 70 cent pastel de nata, our main haunt is a cafe called Passion Fruit. It offers *free* wi-fi, delicious pastries, sandwiches, salads and fresh-squeezed fruit juice daily. Heaven. On. Earth. Except when it's packed solid at lunchtime and you have to wait 15-20 minutes to order. But you do it anyways, because you're Portuguese and good at waiting. And because it's so totally worth it. The Portuguese also really like french fries. Not the skinny McDonald's kind, but the thick, seasoned kind. According to the school cantinas, rice and french fries can constitute 2/3 of a meal. French fries also go well with fish, steak, salad, eggs, and...yes...potatoes. French fries do not go with pastries.

Moving away from pastries, even though it's hard to do...
I have already mentioned Lisbon's unique tiled sidewalks, but I failed to mention the cars that park on them. Why waste time painting parking spaces when there's plenty of sidewalk on which to park? In the narrow streets that are only big enough for one car, the Portuguese solution is to park on the sidewalk. It's great, I guess, for drivers. For pedestrians, it's a game in how much can you suck in and hug the wall as you squeeze around someone's SmartCar or Peugeot. When we were down at Belem, we saw a sports car that was parked so close to the river that one side of wheels was actually balancing on the edge of the bank, hovering precariously over the water. I made a bet that the four of us would be physically able to push it into the river. We didn't try. Moral of the story: It's not just about what car you drive. It's how you park it.

The other game that pedestrians get to play is the bus stop game. Lisbon is beautiful and the people are really nice, but whoever designed the bus stops was not very bright at all. The stops are paneled on 3 sides with thick clear plastic and usually covered in advertisements. And they consume almost the entire width of the sidewalk, leaving a passageway wide enough for 1 person. So if you're walking and you approach a bus stop and try to walk through the passageway, you run the risk of having to literally squeeze past someone as you try to get out of the tunnel. I suppose it keeps my walks exciting; the thrill of the chase for directional dominance. If you're walking with 3 other people and you enter the tunnel, the other side generally has to wait for you. Dominance. It's a pretty fun game, if you like uncomfortable physical contact with strangers. And the best part is that in these giant 20-25 person covered bus stops, there's generally only 7-10 people actually waiting for the bus while 15 people struggle for victory behind them in the tunneled passageway.

I am fairly good at both of the pedestrian games, although, as you might have guessed, it's largely a matter of luck and sheer physical duress. The same applies to climbing all these stairs and not falling down. I promised I would talk about my favorite subway stop in this post so here it is. Marques de Pombal is a very large station, where the blue and yellow lines cross. Naturally, it is very busy. It is full of a lot of ups and downs in true Lisbon fashion, but there are plenty of escalators, including moving walkways for the long tunnels. At the end of of one of the walkways is another small piece of heaven: a fresh kettle corn popcorn machine that sends delicious sweet smells throughout the whole station. The metro is pretty clean anyways, but the aroma of hot popcorn overpowers any other traditional subway smells. It's awesome. I finally gave in yesterday and bought some in a paper cone even though nobody here eats on the go. It was every bit as delicious as you might expect it to be. And for those of you doubters, it was every bit as delicious as you would never expect it to be. My other favorite subway station is Cais de Sodre, the stop closest to the coast and connected to the regional train station where you can catch a train to the beach. Each station's interior design was assigned to a different artist so every one is different. Most share one similarity, walls covered in painted tiles. When you get off the train at Cais de Sodre, you take stairs up to get to the escalator level to get out of the station. It's all open to the upper levels so the walls are VERY high and the tiles form massive pictures of a bunny running and looking at his watch. It's the rabbit from Alice and Wonderland. And he is late. (Again ironic, considering that no one here is ever in a hurry) You have the option of a moving walkway to get to the escalators on the upper level so as you move, you pass bunny after bunny and it really looks like he's running to catch a train. The metro is just so interesting. The different artistry eliminates the generic feeling that many subway stations have around the world. But even better is the fact that everyone is perfectly content just...existing. Some people listen to iPods, although it's not as rampant here as it was in London. No, people here just sit and relax. I people watch and try to guess nationalities. Lisbon is such an incredibly diverse city. Nobody looks like they belong to a particular group or race and you hear a wide range of languages on any metro ride. It's also not that crowded, even during rush hour, so you can almost always get a seat. Begging in the subway is also fairly common. Blind men and women walk up and down the cars saying something in Portuguese that I can't understand (surprise) Some of them sing and one of them even has a stomp-like routine with his cane, the floor and a tin can. It's a good beat for dancing.

We are going to Porto this weekend, the birth place of port wine. *ah, moment of recognition* Monday we start class and I stop having daylight hours in which to explore the city. Except for Fridays, when we don't have class. Bom fin-de-semanha e ate segunda-feira!

(Have a good weekend and see you monday!)

They pray 5 times a day...

...at the mosque near my dorm. I can hear it from my shoebox of a room, even through the metal shades that all Portuguese houses have to block out the morning sun, which is extremely bright. It shines through the cracks, almost like a whisper saying, "Do you really want to stay in bed when you could be outside tripping over cobblestones, ducking into a pastelaria and going to the beach?"

Probably sounds like a lot for the sun to say, but I swear, this is what I hear each morning. This is my life in Lisbon. Buildings covered in azuleijos, hand-decorated ceramic tiles. Pastelarias on every corner, windows stacked high with pastel de natas, a creamy custard tart whose taste defies description. Crossing cobblestoned streets to tiled sidewalks, worn smooth by the centuries so that they're almost kind of slippery. (Goodness knows what will happen when the "rainy" season hits in November...) Attempting to speak Portuguese, walking through narrow streets barely wide enough for one car and then being amazed as commercial-sized trucks squeeze past us.

Lisbon has a different beat than any city I've ever visited. In the United States, people always seem rushed. Rushed to get through a meal, to get through a line, to get through the subway turnstile or onto the bus. Here, we do not rush. We sit. We relax. We wait. We waited in line for an hour to get our subway passes. The people in line with us seemed perfectly content to wait. Why rush? Standing in line is the perfect time to chat with friends and window shop at Baixa Ultima, the Forever 21 version of a cheap metro store. We wait for the trains to come. Lisbon's metro system is much less extensive than a big city's and the trains do not come as often. But nobody is in a hurry, so why should they come every minute? We wait in plazas, people watching and listening to the music of street musicians. "Let's meet at 8" really means let's meet at 8:30. And maybe "wait" isn't even the right word. Maybe the word I'm looking for is "enjoy" or "relax." We relax at a cafe, enjoying the sunset with a cold Coke Zero for a few hours before we head to dinner. This is almost a necessary part of life in Lisbon; if we did not relax/wait/enjoy before dinner, there's no way we could be respectfully on time to dinner. If we did not relax/wait/enjoy, we would show up at the horribly embarrassing time of *gasp* 8:00. We eat late here. It's completely acceptable, even normal, to start dinner at 10:00. We Americans thankfully have the excuse of needing to get a big table, a feat that would be impossible at 10:00; showing up at 10 implies a wait and mandates a table for 2, maybe 4 if you're lucky. Unless you want to eat inside; I can tell you that you wouldn't want to. Not when the sunset floods the sky with color and the breeze rustles your hair so lightly that you feel automatically at peace when you step out of the door. Not when you hear the guitar strains of fado, Portuguese blues, drifting out of the fado club across the street.No, you would not want to eat inside.

The streets are the life of Lisbon. The sidewalks are patterned in black and white cobblestones, ranging from the simplest diagonal pattern in one color to intricate swirls and pictures and shapes covering the hills. The narrow streets connect neighborhood to neighborhood, requiring only a short walk to completely change the vibe of a certain area. On the way you pass the drunk bum, and the man playing Edelweiss on an accordian, and the woman drawing flowers, the men juggling flaming batons. You pass bronze statues; one sitting in a cafe, one handing out a lottery ticket, all to commemorate famous Lisboners. Of course you have to take a picture with these statues; what kind of tourist would you be if you skipped the opportunity to eat a pastry in the coffee shop where intellectuals defied the regime and hung modern art, even though it was against the law? What kind of tourist would you be if you did not jump on the electric (trolley) and take tram 28 up to the Castelo de Sao Jorge to overlook the entire city, from its medieval alleys to modern office buildings?

Naturally, we wasted no time in doing all these things. We headed up to the castle on our second day, taking advantage of a block of free time to take the electric and explore. The city is built on several hills, so any journey across town includes a lot of up and down. It was worth it. Even though our feet were killing us and we, or rather, I, had to worry about falling off the ramparts, the castle was SO cool. You could almost feel what it would've been like in the 13th century, minus the stench and drunk knights of course. Exploring the city by foot is wonderful but the transportation is also convenient and just plain interesting. Lisbon has 3 funiculars, essentially outdoor tram escalators. We took one down to the bottom of a big hill just for fun, not realizing a) that the funicular would eventually stop running for the night and b) that the hill was actually much steeper on foot. Needless to say, it was a good workout and I will not be walking at anymore 45 degree angles for quite some time. It's no more than 5 euro to anywhere in the city except the airport; the cost of the cab will be cheaper than the surgery we have to get when we break our ankles tripping up and down the funicular hill.

Over everything, though, I prefer the subway. And not because it's clean and well-lit and there's a fresh popcorn stand at Marques de Pombal that fills the whole space with a delicious warm smell (although that's a HUGE bonus) I like the subway because of our passes. Instead of swiping a card through like the new york subway or the metro, the Lisbon metro uses touch passes. All you have to do is get your card close enough to the scanner and BAM! The doors slide open. And it works through a wallet and sometimes even through a purse. So you pull out your wallet, slam it down on the reader and BAM! You're in. I could ride the subway all day just to swipe my card. It is quite literally the most exciting part of getting around the city.

Ok, that's a lie. But it IS pretty cool.

Other than daydreaming about my subway pass (kidding, again) my days are pretty empty. We started Portuguese language classes today. I'm not sure "class" is the right word here either. We were slotted for 50 minutes of class. After 20 minutes of required torture (introducing ourselves in Portuguese) we split into beginners and intermediates. Incompetent vs. semi-competent. Hopeless vs. hopeful. Our teacher for the beginner class believes that immersion is the key to learning a new language. Whether or not this was her excuse for speaking Portuguese to a bunch of blank faces, I will never know. But after a few sentences she switched to English. "You don't understand a word of what I'm saying, do you?"

"No."

It was a great class, really. We learned how to pronounce the Portuguese alphabet, which is hopelessly backwards from French or English and therefore counterintuitive to everything I have been taught for the past 20 years. Fabulous. I can only imagine how ridiculous we must have sounded, attempting to pronounce nasal sounds in unison. "Nao! Irmao! Poe!" (On a side note, if you have no Portuguese experience and can pronounce these words correctly, I will give you a special prize and be extremely impressed) Monica warmed up to us and explained that she would only give us homework for our benefit but the best experience is just to meet other people and really try. She told us that in one semester here we'd probably learn about 2 or 3 semesters worth of being at home and trying to learn the language. I'm tempted to believe her, but I'm hesitant because the giant palm trees outside the classroom window are leading me to believe that I might get distracted every once in a while. Or everyday.

It's hard not to daydream here. The sun is always shining and there's always a nice breeze. It's only about 30 minutes to the beautiful beaches of Cascais, where we spent all of Saturday soaking in the sun and European beach culture. Apparently nudity doesn't phase some people here. Neither does frigid Atlantic water cold enough to give you frostbite and temporarily cut off the circulation to your toes. No worries, it's temporary. After being dragged into the water and screaming for about 30 seconds, I started going numb and then it was quite easy. I didn't feel cold; I felt nothing! I floated, contemplating the oncoming frostbite, and watched as the waves gently broke on the beach and little kids through sand at each other. At least they didn't hit sunbathers with a volleyball like those annoying Americans...

...oh wait. That was us. Whoops. Some beaches didn't allow volleyball. I can't imagine why. We wandered along the beach, amazed at the different personalities each section seemed to have. I even found buried treasure--a necklace! with a star of David!--on one of the beaches, next to an espresso spoon buried in the wet sand. I should really have been a pirate, but studying abroad is cool too. My new talent didn't last far, since little Portuguese children (whose parents believed in nudity for the whole family) had claimed the digging rights for that stretch of beach.

I think the beaches capture the essence of the country. Everyone is relaxed, soaking in the sun. The crowd is so diverse. It's multi-colored, although we have a theory that this is more because people fell asleep on the beach in May and woke up in September with a fabulous tan. It wouldn't be hard to do. It was so incredibly relaxing. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fret about. Even our stuff was safe just sitting next to our towels as we knocked the ball around and pushed our friends into the ice floes forming right off the beach.

Ok, kidding.
Again.
Sort of.

I'm kind of happy that classes are starting soon so that we don't have these endless hours to fill with shopping, walking, going to the beach, hanging out in internet cafes, eating pastries, touring the city, taking pictures, meeting people, learning, trying new foods, exploring, living and experiencing such a cool place. There's just not much to do here...

anticlimactic?

If you're already reading this blog then you must be extremely disappointed since it's empty. No worries. I leave Sunday and once I get settled in there will be plenty of reading material to distract you from school, work and any other obligations you want to put off. Come back here in a week or two. In the meantime, learn some Portuguese:

Fala ingles? (fah-lah een-glaysh?)

Do you speak English?

sim (seeng; nasal): yes
nao (now; nasal): no

Congratulations! You know just as much Portuguese as I do. Adeus!