Museums of Ponta Delgada

MApparently, the main central museum is closed. ("Todas as portas 'ta fechada"). I remember a tremendous selection of Natural specimens, including skeletons of  preternatural fish & weird marine mammals. 

Across the street, there is the Art section of it and a few blocks away is the Sacred Art Museum.

The Art section contains many different rooms (a guide kept having to direct me to the next area) including a room of sculptures by a single artist, a larger collection of paintings, artifacts and natural specimens. The 2 headed calf was my favorite.

Museo de Arte Sacre did not allow any pictures, which is a crying shame, because it has a tremendous wooden altar which should be seen by everyone. It is filled with carved detail and in situ, cannot generally be examined or fully appreciated during a mass. 

No matter how you feel about religion, visit this museum (and any other churches). There is something incredible about wide open spaces; the architecture triggers something of wonder in the brain. 

Biblioteca e Arquivo Municipal de Vila Franca do Campo

I arrived in one piece yesterday morning, more on all that later.  (My amazing Tio picked me up at the airport, I slept, I tried to get over jet lag, i had a fresh fish at A Favorita, I slept some more, I had some sushi with my cousin and today I saw some whales & golfinos, more on that later too)

Tonight, I had the honor of attending the opening of a new library in Sao Miguel.  There was a marching band and a priest giving his blessing (the entire room recited Pai Nosso for good measure)

My uncle is a Person of Note, and was especially invited to witness the opening. The above before & after picture is especially indicative of the transformation.  History is made modern.

Social Anxiety About Not Being Able to Communicate

In my American life, I have a fair amount of social anxiety.  But I am also fairly good at trying to overcome it.  Go to a party and talk to people who are by themselves too.  Or hang out by the food. Conversation can be easy, once you open your mouth.  Being funny is optional, but possible.

In Portuguese, I'm stumped by the easiest questions.

"How are you?"
Proper response: "Tudo bem!  Tudo bem!!"
My response: . . . . . (big smile & nod)

And to be completely honest, I've been able to fall back on my built-in translator.  My Mom.

She is not coming with me this time.

Prior to this trip, my biggest achievement in getting around by myself is taking the ferry to Pico by myself.

I am writing this before I have left American soil. By the time you are reading this, I will have landed this morning and (hopefully) will have already survived  several interactions on the plane, the airport and Ponta Delgada.

Social anxiety plus not having language plus jetlag.  Sometimes it's hard to do what you are most afraid of.

Boa sorte!!

My President Just Used the "N" Word.

This is a record of the words I am learning in Portuguese, and more specifically, how they are used, especially in the Azores.

Perhaps because I am leaving on a jet plane tonight, I have been especially aware of the meaning of words most commonly used in public in my American life.

Starbucks.
McDonalds.
Confederate Flag.
Church Shooting.
Gun control.

And now, the ONE word that cannot be said in America today (unless you have some legitimate African-American heritage, and/or you are the President), was said on a PODCAST.  By the President.

In context, it was about the conversation on "Race", which America may or may not be having at any given moment.  African Americans have been treated like criminals (for years, decades, centuries), it's been on video repeatedly.  Last week, someone killed 9 African Americans, after listening them do a Bible Study.  For an hour!

There has been a ridiculous controversy about why a Confederate flag is still flying in that state.  It is the same reason that streets are named after racist generals.  It's a symbol that stands for SO much more than just a few words of explanation. Words are symbols, they contain deep significance.

He can only shake his head so many times.   It's not just gun control.  It's not just the white "supremacysts".  It's not just that the Republicans are still biased against him (or that they are ALL racists, or conservatives or whatever).  There is the moment, early on in his presidency, during a State of the Union, where a Southern Conservative yelled "You lie!'.  And everyone who is familiar with the Southern dialect also heard what wasn't said.  "You lie, boy!" Another word used to demean African American MEN, used by Southerners for generations.  (And yes, nobody is allowed to heckle the President.  Ever.)

"It goes beyond it not being polite to say n-----."

He's tired but hasn't given up.  And now he has taken the conversation to another level.

SATA Only Wants Married Women to Travel

"Mrs. Rose"

This is how SATA identifies me.

Even though I am not married. The only other option is "Mr"

The choices they could offer could have more diversity.  I know all sorts of sites that include options for identities including Transgender, CisGender, Pan-Sexual and even non-human designations.

Registering for my ticket, online, it is the main thing I remember.  And that makes me angry, outright, furious and annoyed.  It is WRONG.

It especially makes me uncomfortable to think that in some kind of emergency, they will contact my family (A MINHA MAE!!/MY MOTHER!) and tell them that a "Mrs. Tammy Rose" is missing.

"Mrs?" they will think.
"Did she get married and not tell me?"
"Where is her husband?"

The options in Portuguese just don't translate.  "Senhor" and "Senhora".  Apparently, the people who run the site have ignored "Senhorita", even the ones in Portuguese.  (Do young Portuguese women NOT order their tickets online?)  I suspect that it is only a holdover and that not enough women have complained enough.

Or that everyone just laughs about it.  And I am just being a sensitive American.

Strange Symbols

This afternoon, as I was taking out the beach towels for the summer season, I found one with strange numbers on it.

37* 42' N

I've seen cartoon characters or place names, but thought this was especially obscure. And subtle.

The beach towel itself was huge, even as far as beach towels go.

A minha Mae percebeu logo. 

My Mom knew right away. It is the coordinates for Santa Maria.

Of course. (???)

We have lots of Sailors and Air Traffic Controllers and TICAs in the family (I'm just a mere "wanna-be"). Is this a strange code that everyone else knows?

(Well, now you know too.)

When I was done, I decided to take a shower. My Mom tried to stop me.

"You just ate!"

"So??"

"So, you can't take a shower!"

"Why not?"

"You'll have a stroke!"

"Who says this? Vovo? You? All of Portugal?"

"Everyone! How many languages do you speak?"

"One. Barely."

"You'll get in the shower and get a headache and it will affect your brain."

"Does this come from the same theory about not swimming after you've eaten?"

"Yes. And you won't be able to go to Portugal. I should've said that first, that way, you would listen to me!"

This is my Mother's reasoning. 

Vovo's commandments, then worry, then frustration, then guilt. 

I wanted her to come. She doesn't want to go. She just doesn't want me to leave her.

(If I don't post tomorrow, then the stroke part will have come true!)

She's brilliant.

Inherent Portuguese Environmentalism, Of Whales and Poison Ivy

My Mom believes in living in harmony with Mother Nature.

From my earliest memories, she'd point out wildflowers to me.  She has a talent for knowing what plants are good for tea to help with digestion.  And she can also find a four leaf clover in any patch of grass, oftentimes she will find several.  Even my Vovo would be called an "herbalist" nowadays.

She allows everything to grow free, except for Poison Ivy. A few weeks ago, she tried to help a friend cut down a vine.  And even though she was careful, she suffered the consequences for weeks. Mother Nature won again.

"Respect for Mother Nature" is the creed of every Portuguese fisherman.  Just when you think you have control over the ocean, it turns around and reminds you who is really in charge.  Moby Dick comes out of the experience of many fishermen, including ones from the Azores that Melville had met during his travels. That link contains a marvelous quote from the author from modern fishermen recalling being on the ocean (and whaling):

"his last words to me were: “Foi uma vida maravilhosa” – it was a marvelous life."

If you want a more authentic Portuguese take on the islands, try Raul Brandao.  He is known for As Ilhas Desconhecidas (1926).

Just for the record, I consider myself a tree-hugger, a nature-lover.  However, I have spent the day trying to beat back the jungle of weeds around my Mom's house.  There are patches of Poison Ivy around the edges and I want to keep them at bay. I do the weeding as regularly as I can, and am always overwhelmed.

As much as I am a supporter of the Environmental Movement, I am certain that Mother Nature will outlast us all. She definitely won today.

Identity Politics: African Americans and Guns

The American News Cycle is weird.  You notice it most when you are about to see it from the POV of the rest of the world.

Guns have been in the news too much and in America, they have been responsible for the MOST shootings of "high income countries".  Guess who is ranked #2?? In this graphic, America has 4.5 deaths per 100,000; Portugal has just under 1/100,000.

There have been major shootings.  14 since Obama has been President. There was video about kids at a pool party, and an officer pulled a gun on them (the African-American ones).  Coming out of a YEAR of black people getting shot by cops AND it being talked about.  Before that, it was happening, but it was NOT talked about.

(Another thing that is barely being talked about in the American press is that the Dominican Republic is DEPORTING anyone of HAITIAN heritage on 6/16/15. Regardless of where they were born. 200,000 stateless people. Hispanic vs "Black". Is ANYONE paying attention?)

The most recent shooting (6/17/15), in South Carolina, IN A CHURCH, has crushed me -- and some of the rest of America. The problem is--well there are MANY problems.

Here's the issue captured by an eloquent friend, Andrea Ciannavei, from a Facebook post:

Apologies and expressions of guilt to black people are meaningless.
Do not apologize.
Do not wring your hands in guilt and angst.
This is not about you and your feelings.
Do not appeal to black people to act peacefully when they are being hunted and disenfranchised from Baltimore to Santiago to Tel Aviv to Athens.
When there is not a single tank deployed in Charleston to apprehend this terrorist even though he assassinated 9 people including a State Senator and father of two.
Any sentence beginning with "Not all white people..." is a rationalization.
Any sentence beginning with "He/she was no angel..." is a rationalization.
It is all white people.
The white people who shoot and brutalize and are not unilaterally and consistently condemned at a deafening pitch by an overwhelming force of white people everywhere.
The white people who have no fear when they fly a confederate flag or hang a noose from some tree.
The white people who wear uniforms and can kill and maim with impunity.
The white people who did not make their voices heard and/or their bodies seen in Baltimore, Ferguson, Los Angeles, New York or Mckinney.
The white people who put the onus on black people to educate them about racial issues.
The white people who want to talk about race issues rather than white supremacy.
The white people who want to talk about black on black crime every time a white man kills a black man or woman.
The white politicians who are re-elected year after year despite the shit that comes out of their mouths.
The white people who ask if that neighborhood in Harlem is "safe" when they're looking for an apartment.
The white people who stay silent at the holiday dinner table when their racist relatives feel comfortable enough to let their tongues wag freely and uncontested for the sake of "peace" when really it is the pall of fear and cowardice.
The white people who do not hold other white people 100% accountable and punish them when they break the motherfucking law.
The white people who hesitate to give up even and 8th of an ounce of their privilege.
It is all white people.
Apologies are empty, it's time to act - it's been time for centuries.

‪#‎AMEShooting‬ ‪#‎BlackLivesMatter‬ ‪#‎CharlestonTerror‬ ‪#‎DylannRoof‬‪#‎whiteterrorism‬ ‪#‎AMEmassacre‬

Planning Your Visit: Less Than A Week to Go

I am VERY lucky to have so very many amazing cousins and aunts and uncles looking out for me and my travels.  They are built-in tour guides, hoteliers, and all around wonderful hosts.

Additionally, sometimes I can invite myself along on their family vacations (and sometimes not) and as my aunts & uncles get older, I get more sensitive to their needs and try to stay away from being the annoying guest.

When they are in the US, I work hard to be the good host, too.

Here's my basic guide:

1. Be pleasant and enthusiastic.  ALWAYS. 
Granted, there will be moments of being tired on the road. But unless you are injured or clinically depressed, try to be on your best behavior at all times.  (And if you are injured or clinically depressed, you need to work harder at this)
Your family might cut you some slack, but when you are dealing with strangers at a hotel-it helps to be extra nice to them and request as little as possible.

2. Do your homework about any of your technology.
Before you leave, find out what plugs you need for your devices.  Do you also need a voltage converter? (110V in the US vs 240V in Europe).  Recent laptops & phones have built in converters, but you might want to have one, just in case.  Are you sure you have the correctly shaped plug for where you are going?  Call ahead and try to get a picture of what a plug looks like.  I did this with my cousin and he laughed at the plug I had purchased.  He Facebook Messaged me a bunch of pictures of the plugs that he uses.

FYI: This is the plug for Santa Maria & the Azores.

3. Find out what your carrier charges for international calls & data.

Sometimes there are ways around surprise fees.  My Sprint carrier charges $4.99 for an international plan and calls are $.99 a minute.  Texts are $.50, but I use Whatsapp, which allows free international texting.  The Sprint people showed me the steps to turn off "Data Roaming" (complex!) so I won't be charged.  Wifi will be a godsend, but it's not just a matter of keeping it on "Airplane Mode" the whole time.

4. Pack extra things you really need.  Especially in your carry on.

Pack like you will be stuck on a desert island.  Or worse, an airport whose shops are closed.

Afraid to be stuck without aspirin? Your favorite sunscreen, SPF 70? Do you get hangry? Toss in an extra set on undies & your toothbrush. Maybe one of those wrinkle-proof shirts/dresses.

This is great if your luggage gets lost, your flight is delayed or you are just looney after a long trip.  Better than having to dig through all of your bags to find your essentials.

5. Pack a smaller day bag.  And something that even Ryanair would let you fly with.

Even if you don't know all your smaller trips in advance, you'll want to have ways to carry your stuff without lugging everything around.  Also remember that you'll be buying stuff, so that you should bring stuff that you can leave.  Presents for cousins or books; I have a friend who brings old clothes on her trips & gives them to any homeless people.

Also the cheap airlines charge extra for suitcases. Like Ryanair, which is going to get me from Santa Maria to Lisbon for $90 roundtrip.  Easyjet is another great airline that services the Azores, but they just revealed that nobody at the company knows what Portugal looks like.

Muito Barulho

This morning, as I left Midtown Manhattan for my first leg of my journey to the Azores, I was unusually grateful to be escaping the city.  It was hot & humid and even worse, it is the beginning of "Tourist Season".

These plentiful strangers appear everywhere and walk 5 people abreast, blocking sidewalks, always getting in the way and generally stopping for no reason. Real New Yorkers seem to understand the delicate dance and can navigate the streets without changing speed and managing to avoid bumping into anything.  This past weekend, I was a witness to the Northside Festival in Williamsburg, which was less a music festival (as billed) and more an excuse for drunken revelry from the Bridge & Tunnel kids.

As I am writing this, I happen to be watching RTP's "Pros E Contras", and the topic is Turismo/Tourism.  I haven't heard much (if anything) about the Azores, but I keep hearing "Muito Barulho".

It generally means there is a "lot of noise" (and annoyance).  It's a phrase I'm familiar with, having been a child in a Portuguese family, I got the message it was something that we created on a regular basis.

Now I am feeling a pang of guilt, which gets added to a larger ennui about being a witness to the gentrification of the best places on earth. I have worked in theater (another source of muito barulho), which invites people who can afford tickets to neighborhoods where even the artists can afford to pay the rent.  Within my NYC experience, both the Lower East Side and Williamsburg have turned from wild, deserted places where artists could put down roots and create. They are now unaffordable and insufferable places.  Less than a generation.

Granted, the Azores have not yet been "discovered" by the masses of tourists who have gotten tired of the Greek Islands.  Nor has Lisbon turned into a constant Mardi Gras, unless you count the St. Anthony Festival (discussed in the previous post).  But watching the show, I relate to the argument of annoying tourists.

NYC is dealing with the issues that AirBNB is bringing in (and I just heard it mentioned on the program).  Unregulated taxis, Uber.  In New York, the worst problem of all is the international super-rich real estate sharks who purchase a pied-de-terre (4 bedroom) apartment and leave it empty for 50 weeks of the year.  I'm not sure how much of that exists, maybe in the form of summer/vacation homes that stand empty most of the year on the islands or on the mainland of Portugal (Faro, maybe?)

In writing on the topic of tourism, and of bringing different cultures together without diluting them, I feel this is something that needs to be addressed. Yes, it is good for the economy, and yes, it is usually a whole new can of worms for quality of life.  Isn't it possible to share authentic experiences and still make both sides happy?  How can tourists get a real sense of a city and not visit a place that could be as artificial as Disneyland?

St.Anthony and the Fishes

Full disclosure, I've arrived in Lisbon during the St. Anthony holiday (June 12/June 13th and beyond), and my cousin brought me to a street party.  As usual,  I was happily thrown into the action of an all-night-long festa without any larger context or explanation.  It might've been the first time I had a Caipirinha.  I had no idea that the city was celebrating something; my vision of Lisbon to this day is that they have raving parties with amazing food all the time, IF you know where to look.

As an American, the sardines were the most shocking.  I was generally horrified to be handed something that had a face, and even my mother hates having to de-filet her own fish at the table.  But it it all worth it.  i.e. Learn to get over stuff like that if you want to be a good traveler, learn to smile right back at your food.  It helped me when I was in China too, eating at amazing restaurants!

According to Slate's article about the St. Anthony Festival, the current sardine shortage might be blamed on a saint.

St. Anthony was born in Lisbon, the child of local nobles. He went on to become a Franciscan friar, and legend says that after a particularly frustrating day of preaching to heretics, he went to a river and began preaching to the fish. The fish gathered around to hear him, raising their heads above the water until he finished. It is a fitting story for the city’s patron saint, who today presides over an all-night fête that takes place in a smoky haze produced by thousands of grilled sardines.

If you are into celebrations just for the food, that's okay.  It happens to all the best holidays.  During the month of June, Portugal consumes 13 sardines per second.  That's a miracle if ever I've heard of one.

Pacific Sardines seem to be more sustainable at the moment, and it seem that humans eating sardines are not as much of the problem as sardines being used as feed for larger fish, like tuna, in farms.

And if you want to try this in Manhattan, go to the Michelin-starred place on 17th Street, Aldea.
I imagine they will take out all the bones if you ask.  Unless they include it as part of the "experience".

Lies My Immigrant Mother Told Me (And Other Deeper Truths)

Let me start by saying that my Mom (a minha Mae) is wiser than I can ever hope to compete with.  I went to schools and have degrees, but she can overturn any argument I have, anytime.

"That's too American,"

Mostly, it's things like ketchup, pickles, hamburgers, television, lawyers, politics, or buying anything that is supposed to "make your life easier".  Also, according to my Mother, everyone in Portugal eats fruit before meals.

These things exist in Portugal, too.  Somehow, presented in English, with an American accent, they appear overwhelmingly foreign to her.  She has lived in America longer than on Portuguese soil, and even my family in Portugal will agree with me, somethings are just my Mom's preferences.

But there are a few things I have discovered that are WRONG.

Nobody in my family, or anyone else in Portugal in my experience eats fruit (fruta) before meals.  Even at family gatherings, my Mom is the only one at the table, peeling her oranges, eating the "Portuguese Way".  Her argument includes inherited wisdom from her mother (my Vovo), who practiced this throughout her life.  Vovo was known for her herbalist/superstitous wisdom; she knew exactly what kind of plant to boil for tea to cure whatever ails you.  As the modern health narrative goes, the earth is a bounty of recognized vitamins.  That is to say, many modern studies actually support eating fruit before a meal: it slows digestions & helps absorption of vitamins.

So who am I to believe?  A Minha Mae (my Mother)? In short, yes.  I believe in the larger truth of what she tells me, even if she is mistaken about the actual source.

(Now if I can only stop using the made-up words my Mom used for bodily functions.  It turns out, those words are not actually Portuguese.  My cousins still make fun of me for it.)

"Queijeira"= When Someone You Love, Loves Cheese

Apparently, my aunt had a secret nickname as a child.  "Queijeira".

It roughly means "she who loves cheese".

I won't reveal which of the sisters it was, in a family of 8 kids; I was surprised that only one held the title, and that it was not my mother.  Nor will I reveal which of the brothers in the family hated cheese.  Learning about his hatred for cheese scandalizes me, even as a grownup.  (To be fair, he doesn't like milk either, so I suspect it is a dairy intolerance/hatred).

For those who don't know, cheese=Queijo=the national Portuguese comfort food & delicacy. It is pronounced like the American word "cage" (the final "o" is usually swallowed), and as a child, I imagined it was a way that grownups described the way the cheese naturally appeared.  It was formed in a "cage" of wax, a protective coating.  I knew it came in a wheel, it had its own crust on it, like a well baked loaf of bread.  My mother would buy it a wedge at a time, and we would savor it from the thin pliable edge to the crumbly hard base.

American cheese did not have to be contained properly; it came in it's own naturally growing prepackaged containers.  Plastic sheets of Kraft Singles or shredded bags for pizza, or weird foil wrapping like Velveeta, the "cheez" I had growing up in Massachusetts was another substance than what my Mom treasured.  It could also NEVER be used to cross the cultural lines.  I have NEVER seen a grilled cheese sandwich (or pizza) made with Queijo Sao Jorge, or served on Wonder Bread. It took me years before I was able to accept that they were even part of the same food group; I had always taken for granted that American food was processed, made by machines and not hands.  Like red "cherry" flavoring, the frozen ice was its own fake imitation of a fruit that maybe was the same color.

There are more stories about cheese & the national obsession with it, than any other Portuguese food I can think of.  Most breakfasts consist of a simple papsico (bun) and manteiga (butter) and Queijo (preferably Queijo Sao Jorge).  And if you want to stop for a snack during the day, you can buy the same sandwich at a cafe.  Your mother will send it to school with you in your lunchbag and none of the other kids will want to trade with you, because the cheese is so piquant.  To this day, my mother still has Queijo Sao Jorge for breakfast and after every lunch & dinner as dessert.

Every time I go through customs in Boston after flying SATA, all the Customs Officers scratch their heads and ask why all the little old Portuguese ladies all have cheese in their purses.  I shrugged and held my own cheese filled bag a little closer. You can buy Queijo Sao jorge in Cambridge.  But it does not taste AS good.  The ladies are all connoisseurs, Queijeiras all.

So when my mother began telling me about the Cheese Wars that her brother and sister had, I couldn't stop laughing.  She admitted that her brother hated cheese so much that when they were kids in Faial, he would sniff the table knife to make sure it hadn't been recently tainted by cheese.  When her sister would come home from buying cheese for Vovo, half of it would already be gone.  That's how she got her nickname, Queijeira.

Once, while her Queijo-hating brother was asleep, she snuck a piece of cheese into his mouth.  He chased her around the house.  To this day, he can't stand it.  Poor Tio!!  He was no match for the family Queijeira!!

Why are languages easy for some people?

And why do they gloat??

Here is a story of an Austrian, who writes in English, and after a YEAR she has become "fluent".  It is a well known trope, at least by those who speak more than one language, that it is easier to learn a 3rd language if you already are bilingual. (Not sure about 4th and 5th, but I sense it may get easier.  Although it might get you a bit confused in the process.)
http://www.creativelena.com/en/travel-blog/fairy-tales-for-real-portugal/

This Portuguese blog is written by her friend, in Portuguese.  At the bottom is a video of CreativElena, speaking *perfect* (Brazilian) Portuguese.

http://www.oportoencanta.com/2015/05/as-andorinhas-voltam-e-os-encantados.html

I envy and aspire to be her.  To have the words come off my tongue easily, to be laughing through the delivery, as if it is no big deal.

At the moment, it feels like I have a speech impediment, a stutter and a shy personality all rolled into one.

The Best and Worst Phrase You'll Ever Learn, "Eu nao fala"

Knowing that I was going to be trapped overseas with my family, and lots of Portuguese strangers, I wanted to be prepared for the worst.  I got my hands on a phrasebook & scoured it for useful phrases to memorize.  I found one. I was 8.

"Eu nao fala Portugues"

I don't speak Portuguese.

This was my first phrase.  And for far too long, it was my last.

When I tried it out at Portuguese festivals around Boston, for my Mom's friends, I got immediate rewards.  People laughed.

"Of course you know Portuguese, you are speaking it right now!"

They would laugh, and continue to say something brilliant in Portuguese, which of course, I would miss. It would quickly dawn on people that it was merely a parlor trick. They would then admonish me,  in Portuguese, and then of course, in English.  Because, they were bilingual.

You should learn it while you are young!

But as a child comedian, I already had my one joke.  I could quit while I was ahead.

At 8, it actually conveyed me perfectly, the jingoistic, lazy version of myself.  Most of the people I'd meet were my Mom's peers, grownups who would kiss & hug me, like I was a doll (right at the age when you want it to stop) My silence afterwards was me wanting to convey a false sense of superiority & entitlement.  I was the Stereotypical American.

I don't speak Portuguese, so don't bother with me.  I know you are my Mom's friend-or about to become her friend- and that you are about to kiss me on both cheeks.  Yes, I'm a cute kid.  No, I don't feel bad I'm not learning Portuguese.  It's the language of the people who didn't immigrate to America, the land of opportunity. It's the land of fishermen and grandmothers. It's not helpful at school to be different, it only impresses the teachers and I don't want to be a brown-noser.  My Mom translates everything for me.  The TV here is mostly in English, anyway, so what would I need it for?  Isn't Hollywood the capital of the world?

And now, I still use this phrase as my knee-jerk reaction.  Don't expect me to speak it well, even though I've been trying to speak it my whole life.  I can't conjugate anything. I can't pronounce some words properly, not even as well as I could when I was a kid. It's been my crutch for far too long.

I'm working on it, though.  This summer, I hope to reach semi-fluency.  

Polvo/Octopus and Muintas Animais

Sometimes you can learn so much from children.  Like words.

Watch this kid, Luis Antonio, on why he wants to be a vegetarian.  "I want them to stay standing up!"

And while we are on the topic of not eating Polvo/Octopus, here is an octopus who grabs 2 half coconut shells. Because.

To be completely honest about my level of Portuguese, this is one of the few videos which I actually realized that I understood every word.  I used to call my level of learning "Caveman Portuguese", I'd point to things & grunt.  I'm not quite at "Kitchen Portuguese", I'm sure there are some vocabulary words I wouldn't know, especially when cooking (my Mom's cooking lately includes buying a whole roasted chicken and she stops there.  She does have some recipes up her sleeve & I've been trying to get her to share).

At this point, after not being on Portuguese soil or within Portuguese earshot for 4 years, I have the same grasp of the language as a 4 year old.  I like how he uses a similar sentence structure to reinforce his point.  And I recognize all the animals he mentions. (And so should you if you want to know what you are ordering in a restaurant!)

But I'm sure I'll remember more as I practice more! It happens every time.

What is a Curisco?

When someone annoys you, or does something terribly annoying, what do you say?

"Listen, buster!"

"Hey! You think you can get away with that?"

In my crazy Portuguese family, you thump the offender on the arm and say, "Ai, curisco!"

I always grew up with this word.  It might be the first Portuguese word I ever heard or learned.  And when I say that my family uses this, they are most of the Portuguese people I know. My perception might be skewed.  (I've heard it's really bad, but I've only ever heard it playfully)

Literally, it means "lightning".  Nothing bad in that, right?  Except if you call someone that, "them's fightin' words" (to use the American Western vernacular)

It's not quite bad language, or in the category of a swear word.  Used mostly on Sao Miguel, every island (and immigrant) seems to recognize it.

I once had a teacher from Brown University try to explain it when we were all on a class field trip to a Portuguese restaurant.  He was dealing with the bill and asked the waitress for $40 in singles.

She turned to him immediately, punched his arm (somewhat playfully) and said "Ai! Curisco!!"

RAIZES, Performance Art in Brooklyn

As I was walking into my art studio building in Greenpoint, Brooklyn last night, I thought I was hearing things. There were some people who were getting out of a taxi, and they were speaking continental PORTUGUESE. I usually expect a Brazilian accent.

There was a tiny sign, in pencil, on notebook paper.
"the performance will begin at 7:30pm. on the roof"

I later found out, that -yes- they are Portuguese, and in fact have done residencies there & all over the world.  The project is called RAIZES and this link is their blog  Their Facebook address can be found here.

My Portuguese curiosity got the best of me and I went up to the roof.

There, I found a young woman, in full costume, braiding her hair and prepping a giant ball of yarn and fabric.

 There was a long, rope-like piece, made of many colors and textures.  She began weaving.

At the bottom of the fire escape stairs was a young man in a full nude-colored bodysuit, crawling up in time to a drum, which seemed to be calling him to the roof.

It was magical with the NYC skyline & sunset on one side.

And with the Digester Eggs of the Newtown Creek Wastewater Treatment Plant on the other side.

Everyone was very satisfied with the event.

---
Additional random coincidence:
I have been VERY lucky to have discovered a local Portuguese restaurant down the street from my art studio.  (The perfect place to take your mother, or at least, MINHA MAE!  The woman who owns it is from Sao Miguel!) It's called Raizes, which means Roots.  It's not an easy word for Americans to pronounce properly.  If you are in the Greenpoint neighborhood, specifically McGuinness and Nassau, just ask for the restaurant that has a car parked on top of it! ;)

Dighton Rock: The American Legend of Portuguese Explorers!

Dighton Rock, located in Massachusetts is proof that Portuguese explorers from the 1100's arrived in America.

If you believe the legend.

The legend must also include a version where they arrived, carved their initials, took a look around America, and went back home.

This is a larger plot point for all you Portuguese descendents out there, who imagine that the "Old Country" actually has a lower quality of life than America.  The smartest Portuguese always return to the islands.  America doesn't live up to anything.  The ones who stay just cannot stand the idea of making the awful trip again.

The stone has long been documented as having strange carvings, possibly graffiti-but from before 1690!  Here is a quote, from an admittedly questionable article.  But Cotton Mather directly references it:

Adding to the list of anomalous places within Freetown State Forest is an immense, 40 ton boulder known as Dighton Rock, which is approximately 5 feet (1.5 m) high, 9.5 feet (2.9 m) wide, and 11 feet (3.4 m) long. The boulder originally lied in the riverbed of the Taunton River at Berkley, Massachusetts but has since been moved. Covering the rock are numerous and various mysterious petroglyphs, drawings of figures, geometric shapes, and alleged cryptic writing, none of which can be comprehensively identified and have unknown origins. There have been many theories as to the origins of the strange carvings upon the rock, ranging from the native peoples of the region, to ancient Norse explorers, to even the Phoenicians and the Chinese. The rock was described in 1690 by Rev. Cotton Mather in his book The Wonderful Works of God Commemorated thus:

Among the other Curiosities of New-England, one is that of a mighty Rock, on a perpendicular side whereof by a River, which at High Tide covers part of it, there are very deeply Engraved, no man alive knows How or When about half a score Lines, near Ten Foot Long, and a foot and half broad, filled with strange Characters: which would suggest as odd Thoughts about them that were here before us, as there are odd Shapes in that Elaborate Monument.…

The legend & rock is referenced in another Portuguese source, this time in the novel by Frank Gaspar, called Leaving Pico.  (Even the New York Times took note!) A grandfather tells his grandson all about it.  It makes you want to believe.

Cheira Bem, Cheira a Lisboa!!

All my life, I have heard the Portuguese grownups sing ONE song every time they enter a Portuguese house.

i.e. There is always someone cooking, and the food always smells like home.  This could be considered hyperbole, but visiting often takes place on weekends or festival/holidays, which would explain the "always on" oven/stove.  But the houses that would host, the WOMEN who would host, also were usually the ones with a lot of/the most children. And they WERE always cooking.

(And it took me YEARS of putting on my best "American" kid straight-face, of pretending that everyone else's houses smelled good.  Grilled cheese just lingers in the air differently than Carninhas & Buttitinhas!)

I have heard the lyrics translated as:
"It smells good, the smell of Lisbon"
or
"It smells good, it smells like Lisbon"

Either way, it is a little rough in translation.

Note, this phrase works as a call & response too.   Whenever you hear someone say "Cheira bem! [It smells good]!", you can answer "Cheira a Lisboa!" and you can share a wink & a connection, without having to learn any pesky grammar or conjugations!

It is good to learn & sing this ENTIRE phrase, even if you don't know the song.  I've sung it based on my Tio's version & it sounds nothing like the song!  Don't worry, nobody will care about your singing!

Here is Amalia singing it:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=exhrWRY8iGk


Here are the legit lyrics in Portuguese & further below in English:

Cheira Bem, Cheira A Lisboa

 

Lisboa já tem Sol
mas cheira a Lua
Quando nasce a madrugada sorrateira
E o primeiro eléctrico da rua
Faz coro com as chinelas da Ribeira
makes a chorus with the sound of the slippers in Ribeira

Se chove cheira a terra prometida
Procissões têm o cheiro a rosmaninho
Nas tascas das vielas mais escondidas
Cheira a iscas com elas e a vinho

(Refrão)
A carnation flower in the attic...
smells good, smells like Lisbon.
A rose, blooming in the park ...
smells good, smells like Lisbon
A frigatebird that takes fly from a boat fore ...
or a woman that persistently passes by,
they all smell good because they are from Lisbon
Lisbon has the perfume of flowers and sea

Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa (2x)

A fragata que se ergue na proa
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa

Lisboa cheira aos cafés do Rossio
E o fado cheira sempre a solidão
Cheira a castanha assada se está frio
Cheira a fruta madura quando é Verão

Teus lábios têm o cheiro de um sorriso
Manjerico tem o cheiro de cantigas
E os rapazes perdem o juízo
Quando lhes dá o cheiro a raparigas

Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa (2x)

A fragata que se ergue na proa
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com/en/Cheira-Bem-Cheira-Lisboa-it-smells-good-it-smells-Lisbon.html#ixzz3cLBM3Wus

ENGLISH (mostly)

it smells good, it smells like Lisbon

Versions: #1#2

It's a sunny day in Lisbon,...
but it has the perfume of the moon ...
when the early morning comes quietly.
The first tram in the street...
makes a chorus with the sound of the slippers in Ribeira

when it rains, Lisbon has the perfume of promised land.
The processions have the smell of rosemary.
In the taverns of the most hidden alleys,...
there's a perfume of appetizers and wine all together

Um craveiro numa água-furtada
Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa
Uma rosa a florir na tapada
Cheira bem, cheira a Lisboa
A fragata que se ergue na proa
A varina que teima em passar
Cheiram bem porque são de Lisboa
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

it smells good, it smells like Lisbon

A varina que teima em passar
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

Lisbon has the perfum of the cafés from Rossio
And fado always has the perfume of loneliness
When it's cold, Lisbon has the perfume of roasted chestnuts
when it's summer, it smells like the perfume of ripe fruits

Your lips have the smell of a smile
Manjerico has the smell of sweet tunes
And the boys all lose their mind...
when one gives them the smell of girls

A varina que teima em passar
Lisboa tem cheiro de flores e de mar

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com/en/Cheira-Bem-Cheira-Lisboa-it-smells-good-it-smells-Lisbon.html#ixzz3cLBd3nGB

Mouras Encantadas

I was talking to a friend (daughter of Sicily) and mentioned the notion of an "Evil Eye".

"Do you think it's real?" she asked.

I wasn't sure.  I'm not sure what inexplicable phenomena I believe in or not.

My grandmother, Vovo, was afraid of thunder & lightning.  She'd go around screaming & unplugging things & getting people off the phone & covering up the mirrors. (Mirrors?)

My mom still reflexively gets off the phone during a thunderstorm.  Even a cell phone.

And there is this article, about mysterious Portuguese women (Mouras Encantadas) building stone tombs, dolmens, megaliths-whatever you want to call them.  These stone monuments are dated from 4800 BC to 1200 BC.

"Portuguese sources that were written down in the late 19th century, people seek out mouras in midday, at midnight or in midsummer to help them with illnesses, infertility or with hard luck in love. The mouras may require a moral test before giving help. In these stories mouras are surrounded by rabbits, chickens and piglets, which they may give to people as gifts.

There is another category of story where mouras appear to people as a sign of approaching death or appear to women in difficult childbirth and may even decide the outcome of the birth—whether mother and baby survive."

The research comes out of the work of Henna Lindstrom, who studied the phenomena beyond Portugal:

She said linguistics connects the Portuguese mouras to many other European goddesses, including the Greek Moirae, or Fates, who held everyone's destiny in their minds and to whom even Zeus had to answer. The Fates, like the Mouras Encantadas, wove mankind's fate on their looms and then cut it at death.

“Linguistics gives also a hint about the tasks of these moura-mari-marion goddesses by connecting them to the themes of death and spirits, and folkloristics connect them to life, fertility, health and old wisdom,”  Lindström wrote.

My friend also asked if the Azores were thought to be the lost islands of Atlantis.  (A topic for another time!)

What language did your Vovo speak?

When I was a kid, Portuguese existed as a lullabye language for me.  My Mom sang it to me to fall asleep, when she saw the moon (Lua, o, Lua) and as my Father lay in his hospital bed, dying.  She taught me words for my face and food and how to name my family.  They were all fluent and swam in the language easily, naming things and having animated discussions across the table, in front of me and instead of with me.

Since most of it was about grownup issues, as a child, I turned away and to the television.  My Portuguese American cousins gave up on the Portuguese arguments in the kitchen and we sat in front of their Cathode Ray Tube, watching early versions of MTV, back when it meant Music Television.  (Cue "Sister Christian")

If Portuguese were an endangered language, it would have died out with my Mom's generation.  English was what you needed to know to get a good job.  All the Portuguese-Americans I knew were poor.

So here is an infographic about the world's languages, from the South China Morning Post.

7,102 is the magic number of living languages in existence now.  Comparable to the number of stars visible to the naked human eye at night.  The number of languages is decreasing as the last speakers die and they are not taught/used by the younger generations.

Portuguese is being spoken by 203 million people, compared to 399 million Spanish speakers.  "Fala Portugues" in 12 different countries, whereas 120 countries speak English. The US has 422 languages that are spoken as a first language; English is maybe the "lingua franca".

Or it is the language of money.

In the world of Linguistics, a "language" is defined as a "dialect with an army".  That means it can defend itself. Maybe now, it is also defined as a "dialect with a web presence".

Even now, the immigrants have a certain stereotype to them, acknowledged by the next generation.  They are older, religious, superstitious, cautious, etc.  But don't you DARE speak that way about my VOVO!!

In the New York Times today, there is this article, about the Azorean Diaspora.  To me it seems a little sloppy (i.e. NOT written by someone who knows the communities, or was RAISED in any of them.  The most ignorant of Americans.)  And it seems a little reductive/simplistic/stereotypical.  The author is capturing that many Azorean Immigrants go back for the religious festivals.  But not the deeper Saudade.

To quote:

"“I don’t think there’s another place in Europe with a diaspora that has kept such an intense relationship with the U.S.,” said Gonçalo Matias, director of the Migration Observatory, a Lisbon-based institute that monitors Portuguese migration.
"The Azoreans," Mr. Matias added, have given Portugal “a political weight that is larger than its geostrategic importance” because they formed “communities that have been extremely successful and politically powerful.”

Portugal has a political weight because of these immigrant groups?  I would LOVE to see the evidence behind this statement. Maybe I am the ignorant one.  But I do not see any cohesiveness that translates back into the Portuguese political or economic life, other than the family-tourism.  I think it is more like hoping that the family you have sent to America will send back money, and all they send back is their hand me down clothes.

Another quote: 

However, some visitors have to take much longer and more costly trips requiring overnight stopovers to reach the islands. They are driven by their determination to witness the religious celebration, during which the statue of the Christ of Miracles is carried for four hours around Ponta Delgada, the main town in the Azores, along a route that is carpeted with brightly colored sawdust.

Ahem, "sawdust"??  Woodchips, thank you very much!!   And even then, they are only used to emulate the FLOWER PETALS that they used to use.  The wood chips last longer.  And are still biodegradable. (How would you dye or paint sawdust?) 

And the issue of "requiring overnight stopovers".  If the article is AMERICAN based, where exactly are these stopovers occurring?? Eventually, all the flights must leave out of Boston (okay, maybe), but the ONLY place they can go is Sao Miguel, the island the article is discussing.  Yes, any trip may include multiple nights, but there is NO place to stop in the ATLANTIC OCEAN between Boston and Sao Miguel.  It IS the layover.

To me, all that I read about the Azores is Non-Fiction, like everything is coming out of an Encyclopedia Brittanica volume (not even Wikipedia).  Either that, or it is a land of untranslatable magic & legends.  How to break the code for that?  How to capture the REAL Saudade of a place?

Why You Should Go, Or Not

I have a friend who considers herself a traveler.  She ticks off countries like she's hoping to visit every spot in the world before she dies.  She only stays at LUXURY places where she can go shopping for EXPENSIVE things.  She has the exact SAME experience everywhere she goes.  No different from going to a McDonald's, you know you'll get the same hamburger, with mildly regional variations.

I have another friend who has to find a new animal sanctuary every year.  A place where protected animals can be visited and petted by tourists who have enough money to visit them.  She went to the Galapagos Islands recently, and was annoyed by how many other humans were around her, and how the birds and sea creatures are being crowded out.  This person also complains about how much Jackson Hole, Wyoming has changed in 30 years since she started coming every summer. She doesn't seem to notice that she's part of the problem.

If either of the above is you, I might ask you to stay home.

Or, better yet, GO.  But leave behind the above expectations.  Talk to the people on the islands.  Understand that there IS a culture there and that it goes back centuries.  That it connects to the earliest Portuguese sailors, and Fado music and the idea of "Saudade" (a longing for something that never existed).

YES.  It is pristine and gorgeous.  And YES, you can find almost any sport, activity, scenery that you want to imagine. If you want to hang out by the beach all day, with or without alcohol, you can do that too.

But it's not Disneyland.  It's not about hikes or rappelling down into ravines and volcanic variety that would make a geologist drool.  (Okay, it IS, but it is still MORE)

You can go island hopping; there are 9 of them, each different.  But spend time getting to know how they are different.  I've lived in NYC for years, and I describe visiting exactly the same way.  "It's a great place to LIVE, but I wouldn't want to VISIT there,"  The travel is the part you might remember more if you don't get enough hours on the ground to actually experience it.

It is like the most amazingly attractive, sincere, delightful person you have ever met.  The more you get to know her/him, the better it gets.  Except this is like 500,000 of them.

I've been there a bunch of times and I still haven't figured out how to define the magic of the Azores.

Okay, here is a link to some of the fancier pictures:
HuffPo's Version of the Azores as the Best Kept Secret, with Jaw Dropping Pictures

PS If you go to just one island, my vote is for Sao Miguel.  Start there. I'll tell you why in a future post.

Meu Primo Who Wants To Be A Milionario!

My cousin in Santa Maria, Sergio, is famous and infamous. He was a contestant on the Portuguese version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire.

There is also a version of The Price is Right. ( Preco Certo!!)

Apparently, his episode is being rebroadcast.  He didn't make it to the very end, but I believe he got to be a thousandaire. Which isn't bad!!

The Countdown Begins: I leave in 21 days for Sao Miguel!

My cousin visited from Santa Maria a month ago.  I realized that it was time for me to visit, again.  I have family all over the place & I try to go every 4 years.  I got my ticket on SATA, after much internal debate. But deep down, I knew I'd be going.

I'm excited to tell everyone that I'll be gone for the summer.  I say that I'm going to Portugal, then correct myself for them.

"Actually, it's the Azores," I say, "a bunch of islands in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean,"

Most people react well to "Portugal"; they generally have a sense of where it is ("Europe, right?" Yes, Europe) and what language they speak ("Spanish, right?" No, not Spanish.  You're close, though!)

I say, "most people" when I mean, "most Americans".  And even then, there is a giant difference between where I live now, New York and where I grew up, Waltham (outside Boston).  People in New York may not know about the Azores, have never had heard the word, but they won't admit it. We are all immigrants on the island of Manhattan.  Outside Boston, there is a chance that someone *knows* someone who is from there, or has visited, or both.  It works for New Bedford, Fall River and Providence.  And certain parts of California.  I've heard that there are so many Azorean immigrants to California that they have completely taken over the dairy industry.  If you get your milk from a West Coast cow, chances are pretty high that is speaks Portuguese.

That was a joke.

Most people have NO CLUE about the Azores.  And maybe it's better to keep it that way.  I feel slightly as if I'm betraying the selfish part of me, the future me who wants to keep it all a secret.  It's like I have inherited a Van Gogh painting, something breathtaking, and I keep it locked away in my basement. I want to keep the endless beaches and scenery all to myself.  But sharing is what makes anything worthwhile, right? I want to encourage people to come, but I don't want it spoiled, okay?

To all the future tourists who come to visit, especially because of any of my writings, be warned.  This is not just another vacation. These islands are pristine and unspoiled by uber-tourism.  These mountains and views are treasured & holy.  My family lives there, and has lived there for centuries.  Be respectful.

You are coming to my home.

Joe's Place on Pico

One of the amazing mysteries is the ongoing legacy of my ancestors on the islands.

There is a story of Pai Martins (which I can only begin to explore here) and how he fell in love with my great-grandmother and how they begat 2 children.  And how he walked the streets of Pico, proudly, with his children, one in each hand.
And how once the bishop learned of this, he banished my great-grandmother to Faial. And how she was afraid, even 50 years later, to go to the island with the proper hospital for her because she still feared the edict of the bishop.  How she suffered and died of a preventable illness, because of a rule in a religion.

Some words which are only as strong as the fear they can create.

The house that Padre Martins lived in was this one.  I visited a few years ago; it had been turned into a Bed & Breakfast.

http://www.joesplaceazores.com/

I hope to visit again this year.  More stories are hidden in the walls, I am certain!.

English is Weird

My brilliant cousin, Sergio, just pointed out to me that the words "Bread" and "Bead" have 2 different vowel sounds, even though they are the same vowels.

And I think Portuguese is hard!! :)

Trying to Travel to the Azores for Writing

I would LOVE to go to the Azores this summer, ESPECIALLY because I am working on a book (okay, several!) about the islands.

One story is about my family and history.  NonFiction.

One story is about a ghost and the supposed caves. Fiction.

One story is about a modern day American girl who goes back and brings her cousin, and the very amazing people they meet on Santa Maria.  Autobiographical Fiction/Magical Reality

One story is about the title of this blog; how every word is a story in itself.

One story is suitable for a movie.

There may be overlap above.

I need to get financing to get over there. I would LOVE to go for several months.  Right now, I am afraid I cannot make it this year.  Which makes me VERY sad.  I will write what I can here, in Brooklyn.  I WILL make it back there soon!

NEVER LET YOUR DREAMS DIE!!!

My Next Visit to the Azores

Hoping I was going to visit this summer, not entirely sure. 

I miss it a lot. Saudades.

Above picture is from my first visit as a kid, taken in Sao Miguel. So many stories from this image.

Visiting Relatives

My eldest cousin saves Massa Suvada for me and my mother.

Even when we cannot make it to Thanksgiving.

She will let us come

And visit and pick up leftovers

And inquire about 2 jugs of wine from the grape arbor this summer.

Perfect grapes, 

My uncle would be proud.

And she will serve us soup,

Like her mother made,

And her mother,

And the lemon,

Never quite enough 

Until it is the perfect amount

The lemon reminds us of 

All the meals we cannot remember.