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."
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.
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