Portugal: Part One....

For years I had been promising Suzette and her mom that I would go with them to Portugal, undeniably known to many as the land of wine.  I never seemed to have the money nor the time off, but mostly the money.  Well, in 2005 I started an ideal job that would allow me both the time and the money to travel.  Yes, I had become a public school teacher.

My new-found fortune as a public servant allowed me to book the long-awaited trip to Portugal that I had only dreamed of for the last 11 years.  It was the summer of 2006 and I was finally going to experience what I had been hearing about for years.  Truly I had no idea what I was in for.  However, not at all to my surprise, I fell completely in love with it.

That summer, I figured I knew what was best when it came to booking travel reservations.  Sue offered the services of one mysterious Mr. Mello, her family's travel agent who seemed to work travelling magic for them (they always seem to manage to book flights, cancel them, and then end up flying first class).  But I wasn't having any of that.  I knew what I was doing and so I bought plane tickets through various websites from various airlines.  What could go wrong?  Turns out, a lot could have, but luckily nothing did, except one mishap with luggage on the way back, but that was due to a faulty bag bought on Mission Street.  After that experience, I know why people usually stick with one airline while traveling.  Anyway, with all of my infinite wisdom, here is a rundown of my flight itinerary to and from Portugal that summer:

• San Francisco to Charlotte through Dallas via American Airlines (for a brief visit with the family who fattened me up with loads of cheese for my summer vacation - Thanks Gab...)

                     

 Take note at how much cheese my sister deemed appropriate for her lasagna.

• Charlotte to Boston via Continental Airlines to catch a Jet Blue Flight to Philadelphia, PE.

• Boston to Philadelphia via Jet Blue Airlines (thank god for the thunderstorm in Boston that allowed me to make this flight!)

• Philadelphia to Lisbon, Portugal via U.S. Airways (There was a plane on the tarmac that had slid off the runway just before we were to take off.  It was raining.)

• Lisbon, Portugal to Philadelphia via U.S. Airways (my luggage burst open and everything was all over the place on the conveyor belt, dirty underwear and all) 

• Philadelphia to Boston via Jet Blue Airlines (luggage duct taped to death, which received suspicious looks from security, especially since this was like a week after the shoe bomber prevented me from loading my luggage up with wine.  Asshole.)

• Boston to San Francisco via U.S. Airways (After I returned, I thought back on this trip's itinerary and really didn't know what the hell I was thinking.)

Between various airlines, airports, and luggage corrals on my way there, I had made it without incident.  Now, all I needed to do was meet up with Suzette and her sister Christine - both of whom are as reliable as a Fiat (which will be the topic of another blog entry soon to come...).  I used the restroom after barely making it through customs (Sue's father's joke "You're so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown" would have been appropriate at that time).  That was a photo finish for sure and to this day I credit the public restrooms in Lisbon Airport as the sole reason I feel more comfortable with using public restrooms.  With shocking disbelief, Suzette managed to call me on my cell phone and tell me of her whereabouts.  Christine was circling in the rental car, waiting for us to emerge from the terminal.  The flight was a red eye, which means I didn't get any sleep that night.  I was exhausted, but I was in a new country.  I couldn't sleep now.

We headed to the hotel room in the Avenida neighborhood of Lisbon, which I gather stands for "Avenue" as it was near a big avenue.  See?  I know Portuguese.  The first thing I noticed as I got out of the car was the smell of exhaust fumes.  Sue told me to get used to it.  We went to the hotel room which was perfect for two 5 foot tall Portuguese ladies but quite small for a 6 foot 1 inch oaf.  I soon learned that smaller was the norm, and so I got used to it pretty quickly.  I showered, we ate, and then we were on our way.  I think I slept most of the way because I don't remember much of the ride from Lisbon to Arcos, which is in the northern part of Portugal, and the town where the village is located.  I do remember passing the Cintra Brewery, however.  (Cintra Beer is the Pabst Blue Ribbon, or should I say, WAS the Pabst Blue Ribbon of Portugal.  Just so you get a taste of what the beer was actually like.  They no longer make it.)






The next day, after I caught up on some sleep, we headed up to the village.  The ride from town up to the village was not your typical car ride.  Oh no.  This was a life-threatening thrill ride.  The roads were barely wide enough for two cars the size of shoe boxes to squeeze by one another.  And then there were the turns.  You could not see any oncoming traffic around the turns on the way up to the village.  You had to rely on two things: the driving skills of the crazy people behind the wheel driving at full throttle, and your horn to alert oncoming traffic that a crazy person was behind the wheel driving at full throttle and was coming upon the turn.  The first few rides to and from the village made me change my underwear, but soon enough I felt comfortable with the ride and assumed that everyone driving must know what they are doing.  Kind of like what you force yourself to think when you get in the back seat of a cab.  Do you buckle up?  You know you don't.  It almost seems rude to buckle up, and also, part of the thrill is forgoing the belt.  






The village, which I'm sure has a name, was a throw-back straight out of the 16th century.  The roads were unpaved, the buildings were made of stone, mortar, and wood.  Water had to be captured from the hillside for drinking, cleaning, and irrigation.  Food was grown, raised and killed by the villagers and shared among each other.  And a lot of the old people had one, maybe two teeth.  It was unlike anything I had ever experienced, except maybe Plymouth Plantation or Old Sturbridge Village.  But that was fake.  This is real.  I was in love.






Thanks to my "trust-worthy" guides, Suzette and Christine, I was able to get the dirt on all the villagers.  Turns out, everyone in the village did nothing but gossip.  Another reason I was in love.  Here are some of the more interesting tidbits of information I received on some of the characters I was introduced to (I don't remember everyone's names, so nicknames or descriptions will have to do):  

                                                   
                                         Justina wearing a wig.


Justina (the village whore): Justina lived next door to Casa Medeiros (Sue's parent's house) in her employer's house (she was a housekeeper).  She seemed to always be around, and rumor has it that she had a little somethin' somethin' going on with Sue's grandfather in the past.  Rumors were also going around that she had the hots for Dennis, Sue's father.  I never saw her pull anything, but you could tell she was definitely up to no good.  That slut.

                  Lady, Matt, and Tia - in Tia's kitchen smoking chourico.


Tia (the coolest woman in the village): Tia, which I think means "aunt" in Portuguese, is Sue's mother's aunt who lived down the road.  She seemed very matriarchal and was the center of attention wherever she went.  Maybe she was the center of my attention because I absolutely adored her.  I have this burned-in-my-mind image of her walking down the street barefoot, holding an upside-down dead chicken in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.  Yup.  She had just killed dinner.  She proceeded to show me how you kill a chicken by moving the knife back and forth in a sawing motion across the skull while the chicken hangs upside down over a bucket to catch the draining blood.  I love Tia.

                                              Donna Corga


Donna Corga: One night I went inside the house for probably another beer, and upon my return, Lady was nowhere to be found.  Her cousin, Donna, however, was sitting in the lounge chair, expecting to be waited on hand and foot.  God, she was a handful.  She looked a lot like Lady, but way more pushy and rocked a mullet, which I swear was a wig.  She stayed for a bit, but she had to go (thank god).  After she left, lady magically appeared out of nowhere.  They had just missed each other just as Superman always seemed to have missed Clark Kent.  Strange.  

                                                 Petusha


Petusha (the flea-ridden mutt): Petusha was the best dog in the village.  She ruled the village, coming and going as she pleased.  She wasn't pretty, but she had loads of personality.  And she liked her belly rubbed and spanked.  

                                                 The cat.


The Cat: What a bitch!  


The younger village whore: I don't remember her name, but she had an instant crush on me and immediately started to flirt.  Rumor had it that she did this with everyone in the village who had a penis.  It turns out that she was mentally retarded, according to Sue.  


The Portuguese Ninjas: These are the ladies who outlived their husbands and dressed all in black to "mourn" them.  It was (and is) my belief that they killed their husbands off so that they can become members of this elitist club.  They mainly hang out, stare at tall, blond Americans as they walk by, grow beards and mustaches, gossip, and go to church.  Sue made it a point to find the hairiest ones and have them kiss me as they greeted me.  What a "See You Next Tuesday", if you catch my drift.


Random little girl: She was walking through the village one day as we were walking through, barefoot and carrying two jugs of wine.  She was chubby and had purple lips from drinking what she was carrying.  I think she was 12.  Sue stopped to talk to her in Portuguese.  A minute later, Sue introduces me, and said, I quote, "Matt, this is my little friend.  Now kiss her!".  Again.  That little "See You Next Tuesday".  






Gossip was the driving force behind everyone in the village.  Everyone had something to say about everyone else.  It was all about image as well.  How could it not be if gossip was running rampant.  You had to look good in the eyes of the other villagers or else you were an outcast.  One example that explain the crazy lengths the villagers would take this...people would hire "wailers" for their family member's funerals because after all, those who had the loudest wailing at their family member's funerals would forever be talked about in "Times Square", and remembered as loving their dead relative the most.  AND THEY WOULD TALK ABOUT IT FOR YEARS!!!!  A side note: "Times Square" was the center of the village which consisted of a bar, the post office (which was never open), and a general store (which housed the post office, and therefore by default was never open).  By far, the most interesting bit of gossip I heard while milling around the village was that Dennis, Sue's father, was THE best clothes hanger in the entire village.  No one hung wet clothes to dry quite like Dennis.  This elevated him to rock star status among the villagers, but true to form, Dennis remained humble amidst all the quiet accolades.  I witnessed his craft first hand.  And besides, how could 100 villagers be wrong?